Macho Women With Guns (MWWG) is silly, sexy, violent and wacko. Karl Marx called it "as good a reason as exists for the workers' revolution." Sigmund Freud described it as "an obvious manifestation of the neuroses associated with severely repressed longings of an oral nature, coupled with the eroticization of implements of mass-destruction typically found in declining, hysterical minds." Goethe was unavailable for comment.
MWWG is a role-playing game (RPG) for women. It's your chance to blow the snot out of those construction workers you have to walk past every morning. To jump a Harley over a boat-load of frat-boys, dropping grenades as you go. And it's all harmless fun; the only hardware required is your imagination. Nine out of ten MWWG players surveyed are still free women.
How do you play? First, you design a character. You can be a Bat-Winged Bimbo from Hell, a Macho Woman with Guns, a Renegade Nun on Wheels or one of the neato types Mav and I worked up: Macho Librarian with Guns, Barbarian Princess, or Kung-Fu Killer Cyber Clone. Using a starting number of points, you "buy" skills and advantages (check out the list - go on; it won't hurt you.) For more points you can take disadvantages; little oddball quirks and problems. We've all got 'em. Macho Women just have 'em worse.
Then you play-act your character. You and your pals respond to situations invented and described by a moderator. In role-playing-game lingo, the moderator is usually the Ref or the Game-Master. Too pompous, right? In Macho Women with Guns I prefer to think of the moderator as the Straight Man. I give you the straight lines, you get the punch lines. I set the table, you break the china. What you get to do is limited only by your imagination and your character's individual abilities. The only goal of the game is to have loads of fun, keep your character alive, kill the most obnoxious and slobbering creatures, make the worst joke, stun your friends with your tasteless double-entendres. Dice come into it to measure your success and keep things chaotic. For your consideration, a play sample follows:
Me: Well, you've just finished strangling the Sm*rf when a beat-up van with a tacky flame-job squeals up next to you. The window rolls down and somebody in sideburns and shades leans out to ask: "Hey honeybunch, why don't you and me have ourselves a little party in the back of the love- mobile, here? I've got room for two and a big, big view."
Kristi (Macho Librarian with Gun): "Sorry, big-boy, I prefer my men to have frontal lobes." I'm going to shoot the bastard with my big gun (rolls 3 dice). I got a 14.
Me: Yikes! Elvis yanks his head back into the van just in time. You blew off the door...
Kristi (interjects): Did I get any of that awful paint-job?
Me (refusing to be intimidated): ...but the sleaze-bag seems to be okay and you see him frantically shifting into drive. Through the hole in the side of his van you can make out what look like a bunch of Ew*ks or something: cute, fuzzy little critters trussed up helplessly. "Help, tough lady!" they cry to you. "He's going to sell us into slavery at the 99th Annual Toy and Indentured-Servant Fair!"
Erica (Bat-Winged Bimbo from Hell): Am I still in the air?
Me: Well, yes, the lack of ground under your feet would seem to indicate that...
Erica: Shut up. Okay, I'm going to flap down a few feet and toss a grenade through the hole in the side of the van. I rolled a nine.
Kristi: What about the teddy-bear people?
Erica: I saw a 7-11 back there. We can buy some B-B-Q sauce.
See? Good, clean, harmless fun. C'mon over and play!
But put your parents/kids/boyfriends/husband to sleep, first. They'd prefer it that way!