Pocket TTRPG Roundup: Attention Span Games Spotlight, Part 1
To finish up my series of pocket TTRPG reviews, I was originally going to write one big review of three similar games. As I dug in, it turned into a monster, since apparently I can’t shut my yap for two seconds. So I’m breaking it into three regular reviews instead. Please! … Enjoy.
In this series we’ll highlight three pocket-sized RPGs, all ostensibly parodies, from the same publisher, Attention Span Games. All the books in this review use similar rules, differing mostly in classes, campaign structure, and tone. Such as it is. You’ll see what I mean.
DnDizzle: Dragons in the Hood; Laser Metal; Big Eyes, Small Brains (BESB)
Other pocket games deal with their small form factor by being innovative in their construction, packaging, and organization. These games, meanwhile, are just … books. Small, flimsy, soft-cover, perfect-bound books, printed in black-and-white on thin matte paper. The sort of books that merely opening them cracks the cover. Being actual books, they have far less need to be economical with their content. Their size fits our format, but it still feels like cheating.
Gameplay: All three games use the same basic rules. Characters have four Stats: Might (or “Strength” in BESB), Agility (“Speed” in BESB), Intelligence (“Brains” in DnDizzle), and a fourth metaphysical stat (“Soul” in DnDizzle, “Metal” in Laser Metal, and “Luck” in BESB, all doing roughly equivalent things). Players divvy up 7 points between these, with a minimum of 1 and a maximum of 3. Most Classes have a preferred Stat, so you probably shouldn’t take, say, the Combat Butler Class if your Speed were too low.
Each book has wildly varying names for their Classes, but they all generally fill classic party roles: the healer, the tank, the mage, the marksman, etc. A character’s beginning Skills (or “Skillz” … yes, thank you, DnDizzle, very droll) are determined by their Class. All Skills/z begin at rank 1, and the character has a number of extra points equal to their INT/Brains score to add to that.
Characters then gain one Ability based on their Class, like the Trigger Man’s Accurate Shot (+1 to hit for all ranged weapons), the Shred Master’s This Cut was the Deepest (+2 damage to melee and laser attacks), or the Idol’s Hypersonic Tune (a damaging sonic blast that can potentially push enemies away from you). You get more Abilities as you level up. Your Class also determines your initial equipment, plus a small amount of the coin of the realm (gold, credits, or Ryo) for accessorizing.
When attempting an action with a chance of failure, players roll 2d6 and add the relevant Stat plus Skill. If they don’t have the right Skill, they just add the Stat -1. Snake eyes is an automatic failure and boxcars is an automatic success. For non-contested rolls, the GM sets the difficulty. If it’s a contested roll, ties go to the defender.
This is a very simple, neat, easy dice resolution method, which also happens to be almost exactly the same as the classic Japanese RPG Sword World. Now I’m not saying the designer lifted the system wholesale, but I’m not not saying it either. (In 2013-ish, when this system was in development, /tg/ was already flogging around partial translations of SW 2.0. However, the rest of this system doesn’t resemble SW that much. I’m willing to give it the benefit of a doubt and chalk this up to some sort of 2d6 carcinization theory.)
When combat breaks out, everyone rolls 2d6 + Agility/Speed + Awareness and acts in descending order. Rounds are 5 seconds long, and characters can move up to 25 feet and perform one item from a pretty standard action list: attack, cast a spell, use a skill or ability, draw a weapon, stand up/lie down, grab something, or take a second 25-foot move. There are no “held actions;” if you do nothing on your turn, you miss out.
Each character has a Defense Rating equal to 5 + their Agility/Speed + any armor bonus (up to +5). A character’s DR defends against every type of attack from guns to spells to laser swords. If an enemy rolls an attack above this number, the character takes damage somewhere between 1d6 and 2d6 + some number, depending on the attack type. At 0 HP, they pass out and will die if they don’t get treatment within as many rounds as their Might/Strength score. Even after all that, they can be revived by anyone with a resurrection-type Ability, but only within the next hour.
Then there are items that affect blah blah, nobody cares, get to the actual games already, you cry. These are parody games, how to roll the dice is secondary. Just tell us about the funny stuff.
Well okay. You asked for it.
DnDizzle: Dragons in the Hood
Writer: Ron Leota
Year: 2014
Dimensions: 6¼” x 4” x ¼”
Playas: 2+
Term for GM: The Big Pimp (BP)
Term for PC: OG
Page count: 112
“Motherfucker” count: 79
Comparable media: Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood, Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood, Bright (non-laudatory)
In the ancient hood known as Comptonia —
Okay, yeah. That’s the level we’re on. Soak that in a second. Now let’s continue.
In Comptonia, all was chill under the enlightened rule of King Pimperton, the illest motherfucker in all the land. Everyone loved him and his fly honey of a daughter, Princess Fabula. Then one night, a big-ass snake motherfucker called the Black Dragon pulled up, straight wrecked Comptonia, and flew off with hella dolla dolla bills y’all, and, weaker still, the princess.
The king put out a hit on the Black Dragon, offering his daughter’s hand in marriage to whatever smooth OG could lock her down back home. All the big ballas of the kingdom turned out to punk the Black Dragon’s ass. Just when it looked like they were going to win, the Dragon called up his homies and everyone bailed before a flood of wack-ass monsters.
Meanwhile, the princess, hella mad that her daddy offered her up to the first golddigger to come along, went thug and dipped into the Big Ass Forest.
Now Comptonia’s all kinds of fucked up, and only the hardest OGs will be able to regulate the monsters, take back the hood, and bring the pain to that Black Dragon motherfucker once and for all.
I shall now present a direct quote from the book:
“Now it’s time for you to go forth! Cry, ‘thug life!’ and let slip the gats of war; just don’t be caught trippin’.”
All right. So. How did the previous section make you feel? A little second-hand embarrassment, maybe? Like you’re looking through a twisted portal at the thinnest veneer of 1990s-era hip-hop culture? About as hard as Vanilla Ice?
That’s this book’s one single joke.
The actual rules are presented in a clear straightforward style. But everything, and I mean every pig-friggin’ thing, is accompanied by running commentary by a character called “Fat Warrior” who uses thick wannabe gangsta speak. I’d estimate half the text in this book is Fat Warrior’s incessant, pointless fronting. I mean look at this shit:
I’ll get to that awful font later. But gee Zeus. There are whole entire chapters that are nothing but Fat Warrior rambling on (and on and on) in this tone. It’s not even creatively done; by about the fortieth “motherfucker” the word had lost all meaning. The lack of chill, as they say on the streets, is palpable as all fuck.
This ragged cloak of hip-hop sensibility has been draped over the whole game, from its Classes (Doc [cleric], Freestyler [bard], Jacker [rogue], Street Magician [mage], Thug [fighter], Trigger Man [ranger]) to its equipment (Low-Rider Carriage, Sack of Holding Shit, Pimp Cane of Control) to its monsters (Crazy Ho, Weak-Ass Goblin, Ghetto Leprechaun, Medusafarian … okay that one’s funny). There’s a history of Comptonia which is essentially “we had a great pimp king, then a bad stoner king, and now it’s today,” a list of “interesting” citizen stereotypes, and a sample adventure, “King Smokey’s Secret Stash.” Then the book ends, which is my favorite part.
Portability: It actually fits the pocket quite well, even when you add 2d6, some copies of the character sheet, and a pencil. The book is a bit fragile, so don’t run a marathon with it in your pocket. B.
Legibility: The regular rules are easy to read, in a decently sized sans-serif font, with excellent spacing. Fat Warrior’s narrative text, on the other hand, is beyond awful. It’s some kind of bizarre cursive (?) typeface with enormous ascenders and descenders and horrible kerning that makes letters tend to blend together. Even that wouldn’t be a complete deal-breaker if there weren’t whole chapters of this shit. Honestly. D.
Completeness: It is at least a whole game. With as much space as they have, it would be weird not to be. This is the one thing I can’t complain about. A.
Final thoughts: Who is this game for? Well, I’d expect people who love (and I mean loooove) West Coast urban culture would get a kick out of the slang, repetitive though it may be. Obsessive collectors (raises hand sheepishly) would feel bad not having it. Cultural and linguistic anthropologists might get something out of it. People who really like fucking mothers, maybe? I’m kinda stretching here.
You may be thinking that my objection to this game is that I don’t like hip-hop (extremely untrue) or I’m clutching my pearls at the content (somewhat untrue; there’s some bits that feel like it’s making fun of the culture instead of having fun with it. But shit, man, I’ve been on the internet for 35 years, you think I’m gonna balk at tone?). No, my absolute, overriding objection is that this is a comedy game that stops being funny around page 5. Unforgivable. Off with its head.
Big-ass motherfuckin’ nope from me, homies. Peace out.
Next time: You’re killin’ me, Smalls