"Well, enough time wasting," you bark, "let's get started." You pull your stringy hair into a ponytail for immersion purposes. Dirk pulls out his character sheet and notebook and starts his roleplaying. "So, we were in Cloverhoof Swamp, right? Where we met the--" "ACTUALLY!" You can't help but shriek, Dirk is slow on the uptake sometimes and it's how a man of your superior authority regains control. "If you had been paying attention to my worldbuilding memos, you would have seen that I decided to introduce realtime elements. Your character died since our last session and mine became WhickerKing Marty, mate to her majesty Goddess SparkleMane. You're going to have to make a new character."
Dirk's face bunches up defiantly. What a petulant novice. You were going to become the WhickerKing sooner or later, and create a decree to banish the Pegasus clan to the Outer Cloud Stables. It was only a matter of time before he would have had to create a new character anyways. "It's not very fun playing this game when you don't let me do anything," Dirk says, disturbing your fast-paced thoughts. How tiresome. "Fine," you say, "we can pick up from last time. But it's such a step down from my superior story." Your friend nods happily. The things you do for him, you think. You are truly a legendary gentleman.
"Ah, yes," you say, sipping your lemon-lime elixir, "you were just about to ask the Traveling SalesPony about his son's whereabouts. He's missing in the swamp." You outline your carefully woven tale, crafted with the guidance of other redditors on the MTHtheRPG subreddit. It's the only place where you can find other intellects as great as yours. "However, when the Salespony finishes his speech, you notice a suspicious verbal tic with your high Watchfulness stat." Dirk grins excitedly, your impeccable world-building has captured his attention. "What do I notice?" You laugh heartily. "You still have to roll, even if it's easy. You can use 8 dice and need to get a 15 or higher."
Plucking his new green dice out of their case, your friend prepares to make his move. Dirk rolls all the dice and gets a high roll. "Yes!" he shouts. "That's a... 44!" You grumble. "You don't have to tell me, that's obvious," you say sharply. "Give me the next..." Your friend's voice trails off, and when you look up, you are startled to see a middle aged man in Dirk's place. One that is nearly bald, hairy, and... wait... what a strange mistake for you to make. Obviously you recognize the man. It's your father, Dirk. "Give me the next beer," he says in a deep voice. "And two more so I don't have to come down here to see... whatever the hell this is." You sigh. "For the thousandth time, its CLEARLY the My Tiny Horse role playing game."
Your father is covered in a dense layer of hair, fat, and dwindling muscle, and has the same dark features and squat stature as you do. You two share many similarities, although, of course, you have already surpassed your father in intellect. He wasted his youth playing football like the other hicks in this town, while you exercised your mind. Which is obviously the most important muscle of all. If Dirk (sometimes you call him that to show superiority) had followed a path as promising as yours, maybe he wouldn't be out of work from the factory now. Dirk only comes downstairs to get liquor from the dwindling supply in the basement fridge, or to bother you with such frivolous concerns as jobs, showering, and menial household labor. You can't be worried about such silly things -- you are trying to find opportunities worthy of your time, like tutoring women in Japanese or video game tester postings.
You are forcibly removed from the rapture of your own thoughts when...