I own a lot of very geeky things. A glance around the bedroom that I laughably like to call an office when I need to pretend I’m a real person says many things about me. The ancient pile of six IDE hard drives. The troublingly large Optimus Prime toy lurking atop my bookcase. The expensive Pro-Ject turntable I really couldn’t afford, and which looks in need of yet another dusting. The battered collection of 1980s comic trade paperbacks. The tiny wax candle in the shape of Stalin’s head. The iPhone. The cat. The other cat. Yet the one thing that truly gleams like a beacon of undying manchildishness is the venerable boardgame known as Talisman. It’s a fascinatingly, unashamedly uncool thing, forever existing in a halfway house of awe and contempt. It’s proto-MMO fantasy grind, requiring a simultaneous dedication to the twin social no-nos of statistics and pretending to be an elf. It’s wonderful. It’s monstrous. Why isn’t it a PC game?
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