My son and I are doing a podcast about this game we’re creating called Yum Yum: A Scary Adventure Card Game. We’ve been working on it for awhile but having only just started sending out some snippets on postcards to a select few.
It’s been growing in pieces; it has been fun to find something we both like to do.
It seems to want to forge some connections with Paper Dungeon (another game I’ve been working on), and so their fictional universes seem to be joining in unexpected ways. We’re like, “Oh, hello, Ghouldria.”
I started a Patreon. There are tiers and chances to become emperors, junior wizards, and goddesses.
Some of the digital or physical stuff included with the transformation may include: new issues of Elizabeth von Dracula (a comic); Yum Yum Adventure Card Game postcards (a solo ttrpg my son and I are creating); Paper Dungeon materials (a solo ttrpg with some crossover with Yum Yum); Pink Midnight (zines about movies); Juke Juice (printed materials about music); and chapbooks (short stories; 1 per chapbook FIRM).
We might’ve heard among things said we could only communicate through rumors, whistles like you were struck by lightning twice or thrice or as if a windshield-smashing accident could crack the road these were explosions of our being this was us: born teachers the boyish athlete wanted to surge out of
you were complete, on the evening of some talent show on the same bases rounded by Abbott and Costello at blistering speeds, at amusement parks in constellation school bus rides to Misquamicut-washed twilights who tied his bowling shoes to telegraph poles and minimarts a perfect evening spoiled by the harpy cry, of a movie theatre’s belittling dreams as if to close his shutters could renew a passion for theater in the winking of a blinking exit-stage-left-generous eye.
A troll flying on a dragon has run off with your entire family. You were already running late to school. The goblin egg bread was burning. Snow threatened to peek through the pink, velvety clouds. Your favorite television show was on, Living with My Alien Family, so it was especially difficult to leave. You’d also been spending less and less time with your son and begun to grow sick of driving to work with the sun barely rising and then returning home after the sun had already set.
You are studying to be a stationmaster. You’ve always had the most delightful conversations on trains, surrounded by cigar smoke and cinnamon buns on your morning commute. A spare bit of jam is passed to you for your toast by a mechanical hand, more like the fist of a buzzard sprouting right out of one of those grandfather clocks modern trains are all abuzz with these days.
In this campaign you will visit “The Cave of Wysterical Pines.”
You may play this solo or with a group. The .pdf contains a map to roll a d6 upon, a character sheet, descriptions and encounters for the six map locations, and methods to interact with this world using a d100. Be prepared to narrate, draw, or journal to make this world your own.
Procedures for play-watching TEENAGE EXORCIST (1991; dir. Grant Austin Wolfman):
1. Roll to see which character you will play as on the game collage board.
2. Roll a d50. Then pick the state you will be in from the United States.
3. Search houses to rent on a real estate rental website. Then pick the cheapest house to rent in the state. This will be your daily rent, not your monthly rent, in this game.
4. Roll a d100 to determine how many thousands of dollars you have in savings then divide this number by 5.
5. The object of this game is to stay in the house for 30 days.
6. Roll a d30. This number is your stress level. If you go above 30, you become a teenage exorcist for life and lose.
7. Every thousand dollars you go into debt, raise your stress level by 1.
8. Each day you stay in this house you follow this procedure:
a. Write one sentence or draw a quick sketch about what might happen next while watching the film.
b. Deduct daily rental amount from your total savings.
c. Write one sentence or draw a quick sketch about the struggles you face in your school or in your neighborhood living secretly as a teenage exorcist.
d. Roll on the following d6 table to determine what might be going wrong with your rented house:
9. Try to make it to the end of the film or to the end of 30 days (whichever comes first) before raising your stress level past 30.
A guided parachute wins ruined leaves from a hunter on the verge of sprouting deer wings, incited by a chorus of blind serpents’ leggings crossed gloss our fish legs tied to stirrups in a bottle of spirits by a chipmunk’s skull until a riptide of oblivion involves blossoms.
I’ll swear by the jacket of your destitute of hairs and flies and paramours when long hairs stick to a murderer’s white cotton cape, brief top hat smoking mustache ire destined for cannon-fodder a grin to wedge past centuries bikinis, at bottom, ferocious pests and like snarling, staring into ore long past microscopes the gypped oath, chipping along candy-cane lanes legs for dollars, our sweethearts when all dolls have laughed enough gadflies or gallbladders, one last innocent look, before the droppings of coal the ecstasy of rabbits footprints in the snow which shall hold no name known bearers of the sun’s weight barren as the pockmarks shattered bullets in our lockets.
Let’s make a truce, draw lines in the sand, pull fruit from the bottom of potted plants, pull fools from stars, crown the crutches, deliver the imps, outline the jesters in magic ink, for we are the rivers of twice-told tales, the tomfoolery, the barns without answers, bars filled with ice skaters, we’re in our pretty dresses, ready to be placed on cakes, and we were you, holding hands in the sunset distance vanishing but with a streaking trace we were here for your temporary rescue we were your lover’s regrets we were your missed-you tissues but we’ll come flocking back we’ll always need to recollect the roses.
For though the broken ramparts, and the reed tidies up her string, the cost of a cool morning the bankrupt, like dining out, waves crushing this speed without a destiny tends to loosen grips both impish and mighty, in thunderous applause in rage that includes the edging as if neighbors still could mean something till the smoke still has risen, the finality of your grave the show is closing and about to begin, you are and there, you’re the breath rising along the ridge, left to us and dying of thirst, for at last our marathons, at last our mimics in amber.
nicholauspatnaude 