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The Deadbolt Effect

I was talking to some folks about cheating and game design not too long ago, and it was such a fun conversation I figured I’d share some of the conclusions. Basically, it boils down to recognizing three types of people.

1) A small number of people will basically never cheat, even if an easy opportunity presents itself.
2) A large number of people will cheat, but only if it is relatively easy and seems to carry low risk of getting caught.
3) A small number of people will almost always cheat, even if it’s very difficult, time-consuming and/or risky.

You don’t really have to worry about group #1 or group #3 – well, you do have to worry about #3, but only so far as catching them. You won’t be able to deter them, though; no matter how hard you make it for them to cheat, they will try it anyway. (There are many reasons why they are so persistent, but that’s another discussion for another day.) The trick is setting up the rules to make cheating just difficult and/or risky enough to deter group #2, the people who are normally honest but don’t mind taking shortcuts, especially when they see others doing it. Or to put it another way, you need to balance putting in so many safeguards the test becomes impossibly long and complex against having so few that the honest people find themselves wondering why they didn’t just take a few shortcuts. It’s what security experts call the “deadbolt effect” – you don’t need a deadbolt to keep out honest people, and it won’t stop determined criminals either. But it will deter casual snooping, amateur criminals and other crimes of opportunity.

One of the things that undermines a lot of good game design is the designers feel they have to go beyond deadbolts and install a full-on laser grid. They work endlessly to plug loopholes, scale back rules and abilities to avoid abuse, and otherwise make their games as airtight as possible. The problem is that, after a certain point, avoiding abuse starts diminishing the game itself. This is particularly true when it comes to combat, where a lot of games spend so much time trying to close possible cheating problems that they forget the purpose of gaming is fun, not making sure no one can ever possibly abuse it. They underestimate the power of the table, namely, that game groups can and should police their own.

That very notion, in fact, is one of my favorite trends that has emerged in tabletop gaming, especially in the indie field – the idea that rather than design a game to foil cheaters and power gamers, folks should simply design games the way they want them to be, and let groups worry about sending losers and creeps packing. Houses of the Blooded has my personal favorite mechanic for this: Bad Form. Whenever a player tries to manipulate the rules to do things they oughtn’t, the Narrator simply says “Bad Form” and that’s it. No need to argue rules for hours – if it violates the spirit of having fun, just say “Bad Form” and move on. Elegant simplicity.

Don’t get me wrong – I think deterring cheating is still an important element of game design, whether it means trying to plug a loophole or simply calling attention to it so that groups know it might come up during play. But the more people learn the value of the deadbolt effect, the more time we can spend creating awesome games, and the less time we have to devote in trying to discourage jerks from breaking in an rifling our stuff.

Game on!

Posted by petewoodworth | September 16, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: gaming, thoughts | Leave a comment

I Heard It On The Wire …

So, there’s an amazing little show called The Wire.

You may have heard about it.

I come back and revisit it from time to time. It’s one of those very rare series that simply gets better with time and repeated viewings. If you’re not familiar, it’s a series that follows a web of criminals, police and civilians in Baltimore. It begins with a single police unit investigating a drug operation in the west Baltimore slums, and grows organically outward from there over five seasons, touching on a lot of areas of the city: the slums, the port, the schools, the paper, the mayor’s office at city hall, you name it. You can feel the love that David Simon has for his city, but also the hurt and outrage that he feels over what has happened to it, the waste and corruption that he sees sinking it. Characters come and go, but one of the most impressive things about the show is the fact that despite the large and shifting cast, it never loses its footing, never feels like it’s casting about or trying to reinvent itself.

And the writing. Sweet mercy, the writing.

The dialogue snaps and pops hotter than bacon frying, and the plots wander as slyly as burglars casing a neighborhood, looking natural but constantly scheming under the surface. Things rarely play out quite the way you expect, but don’t go for sensation, cheap twists or other lazy tricks. Instead, the surprises come from the fact that the series almost never follows television conventions – things unfold more or less as they do in real life, which makes them even stranger and more powerful. It’s a testament to trusting your material, really, and letting it take you where it will, instead of forcing it to take some more unnatural shapes. It manages to employ a lot of moral ambiguity without falling into cynicism or resorting to stage-y ethical conflicts. You find a lot to sympathize with on all sides, and a lot that leaves you feeling really conflicted, and some things that just outright shock you.

Just listening to the dialogue is a master class on its own. It’s not unusual for a series to get one “sound” right – the streets, maybe, or the police. The Wire manages to hit every group and make it sound natural and effortless. You come to love certain characters just because of the way they talk – my favorite’s Proposition Joe, though Omar and the Bunk are close behind. It’s incredible to hear so many unique voices, especially with so many characters to juggle, you’d figure that sooner or later someone would get lazy, write some filler. But it just doesn’t happen.

So sometimes when I have trouble sleeping, or just need a fix of some fine writing to jumpstart my own inspiration, I put it on like some people put on the Beatles, and just sit back and listen to the poetry. If you haven’t, give it a try. I’ll tell you this much – it takes about three episodes to kick in. Those first couple are a little confusing, not because they’re poorly written, but because they refuse to play like the television we’re used to, wrapping things up neatly each episode, with clearly defined arcs and outcomes. Then it kicks in, the shape of the series starts to emerge, and damn! Off you go.

Enjoy. And listen carefully.

Posted by petewoodworth | September 10, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: thoughts | Leave a comment

Love & Hurricanes

In the movies, it’s easy to know when someone realizes how much someone means to them. The music swells, the camera zooms, the dialogue slows down and the actor(s) focus everything on a single point. Realization dawns on them, and then they march off to war, turn the cab around on the way to the airport, put on a tutu and dance in their kid’s recital, etc. It’s simple, and even though there may be more obstacles in the way, we know that they will find a way to express it eventually.

In life, unfortunately it’s the bad more often than the good that pushes these moments. (I blame the lack of orchestral musical cues.) It’s another cliche that we only recognize what we love, what we value, when we are on the edge of losing it. But like folktales and good lies, most cliches have an element of truth to them. Those moments force us to put our hands against the mural we make of our lives and remember that for all its beauty, it’s still just stained glass. It only ever takes a little pressure to bring it down around us. Even if, looking back, we realize we might not have been so close to the edge as we thought at the time, that never really matters. The knowledge we gain is all that counts.

That’s where I am tonight, watching the weather howling on the other side of all the colors and swirls. I love so many people, and I want them to be okay. I want to see the sun come up tomorrow morning and shine through that mural without so much as a single piece out of place. I love each one so much it just about breaks my heart.

I love.

Posted by petewoodworth | August 28, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: thoughts | 1 Comment

The Problem of Stickiness

I have watched a great game slide slowly into oblivion for about a decade now.

(I bet some of you thought this would be a different kind of problem, didn’t you? Cheeky!)

I won’t name the game – if you know me, you know which one it is, and if you don’t know and it’s really bugging you, feel free to drop me a line privately. Anyway, the specific game is pretty much beside the point. Because this is a post about the obligation of a creator to their creation, and in particular about an obligation you don’t hear about much: the obligation to put it down, slide it over to your audience, and walk away.

First, some background. When I started attending my first boffer LARP back in October of 2000, I had already been doing live-action role-playing for seven years. I went to the game on the advice of some friends I’d just met at a local Changeling game, just my brother and I driving to the wilds of south Jersey, excited and not knowing quite what to expect. Almost all of the people I knew were actually NPCing for the weekend, which meant my brother and I were largely on our own, playing new characters in a group of total strangers. We were poorly dressed, poorly equipped, ran around like lunatics and generally had a blast. We quickly pulled in pretty much all of our gamer friends, and after a year or two of playing we started getting involved in writing events and even serving on staff. It was, for about five years, the single biggest unifying factor among my friends – just about everybody went at least now and then.

As a game designer, let me tell you, it was a wonder. The rules were some of the simplest and most efficient I’d ever seen, particularly in the field of boffer LARP, which is notoriously prone to bloated and complicated systems. They blended roleplaying with mechanics, stressed teamwork, encouraged player interaction and made combat dangerous and exciting. When I arrived, the third version of the rulebook had just been released, a rough if lovingly crafted book. I was assured that the “final draft” was just around the corner, and sure enough in another year or two the game’s creator, an intermittently charismatic man with a Faustian knack for getting people to believe in his game, fired everyone up with photo shoots, professional printing and a big release at GenCon. We giggled at some of the mistakes that crept in, editing or not, but we were sure this was it – the beautifully simple game we loved was done!

Oh, if only.

You see, the game’s creator had a problem, one that I should have spotted in those years of rulebook versions, errata every other weekend and the like. It’s simple – he couldn’t let go of his creation. Despite the fact that the game was a success, as boffer LARPs go at least, despite the fact that the players loved the simplicity of the rules, despite the fact that it seemed an ideal time to expand, the creator kept on tinkering. A game that was known for its wonderful simplicity became more complicated; a game that had begun with a lot of flavor become bland as its rules were generalized. Our group left, most after the sort of drama blow-up that LARPs are infamous for, the rest ebbing away over the next couple of years. I still check in with the game every now and then, out of morbid curiosity more than anything else, and the game is pretty much totally unrecognizable (and still changing). The simplicity is long gone, along with a lot of what made it unique and evocative. There a lot more tables and charts, and it has spawned a half-dozen spin-off settings that are simply different skins placed over the rules system.

Sure, you can create a much wider range of characters now… but why would you want to?

One of the hardest things about many creative activities in general and game design in particular is knowing when to walk away, to accept it for what it is and move on to your next project. Projects are sticky – you don’t want to let them go, and that’s the problem. There will always be something you want to fix – a loophole you missed, a rule you wish you had written differently, you name it. But you have to learn when you’re fixing things, and when you’re changing things. It can be easy to get so caught up on the details that you forget what you’re doing to the big picture.With that game, it eventually became clear that he wanted to create something like a universal LARP framework, a game system you could adapt to almost any setting – the GURPS of LARP, if you will. That’s a fine goal. But why gut your existing fantasy game to do it? You’ve already got players that are loyal, enjoy the system, and – most importantly – it works. Shelve the first system, and create another to do what you want. By trying to change one over to the other, you wind up making a bit of a mess of both instead of creating two great things.

I made this argument to a friend of mine once, and his response was to shrug and say “so the guy pulled a George Lucas?” I guess that’s a comparison a lot of geeks would agree with, Lucas now being infamous for tinkering with the original Star Wars films and changing so many beloved elements with his various editions. The game I knew locally, though, that one stuck with me a lot more. Maybe it was because I saw it happen up close, I don’t know, but it taught me a valuable lesson: no matter how much your game sticks with you, you have to let it go, let it be what it is, what other people enjoy.

Posted by petewoodworth | August 24, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: LARP | 1 Comment

The Poetry of Escalation

One of the greatest pieces of relationship advice – argument advice, really – I’d ever gotten came from, of all things, a role-playing game. I know, what are the odds, right? That’s what your surprised face looks like, I’m sure.

Anyway, it comes from a wonderful mechanic in D. Vincent Baker‘s equally wonderful game Dogs In the Vineyard. Many gamers already know it; if you don’t, look it up, it’s one of those great little games that changes the way you look at games afterward. For those that aren’t gamers, or haven’t read it yet, I’ll skip the setting and get right to the good part: Conflict Escalation. You see, when you get into a conflict in Dogs, you gather up some dice based on what type of conflict it is – social, mental, physical – and roll them. You compare them to your opponent’s dice, and if your dice come out ahead, great! If things go against you, however, and you start losing the conflict, you have two choices:

1. Give up

2. Escalate

Giving up is easy – your character loses, admits they’re wrong, gets their butt kicked, or otherwise gets the short end of whatever’s going on. Rough, and hard to accept sometimes, but usually not as bad as what might happen if you stayed in and made things worse. Because if you’re losing and you want to stay in the conflict, you have to escalate it – you have to make the conflict about something more than it was originally. A debate becomes an argument, an argument becomes a fistfight, a fistfight becomes a gunfight, and so on. I thought this was a beautiful game mechanic, because it really makes you consider what’s worth fighting for and what’s worth letting go. Sure, escalating might give you the edge, but it might also make you a bully, and it’s important to remember that the more you throw into a conflict, the more you have to lose.

That’s awesome enough in a game, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized this was really an interesting point in general. I realized that this tendency is more common than people think, though usually more subtle. Listen to your co-workers if you don’t believe it – keep track of how often a person on the losing side of a debate adds a topic, expands the scope of the discussion or even gets personal in order to stay in the proverbial fight. Pretty much everyone hates being wrong, no question, but it’s surprising how often people try to avoid it by using escalation. If two people are talking who’s the best quarterback in football, for example, and one person presents convincing stats that show their candidate is better, suddenly it’s not about stats, it’s about teams as a whole, or it’s about a particular game, or the other person just sucks and is dumb. Escalating is a great way to save face – by making the argument about something else, you conveniently avoid the need to admit you were wrong about the original subject.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not immune. Sometimes when my wife and I are arguing, and she makes a point I don’t have an answer for, or that inconveniently reminds me that I’m being an idiot, I realize one of the first instincts I have is to escalate by bringing up some other matter, usually totally unrelated, where she was wrong (or at least I looked better). I try to stomp on this instinct whenever I can, but sometimes it’s really tempting to do it, because part of me knows it would get a reaction, and when you’re ticked that’s all you want. Since reading Dogs In the Vineyard, it’s been easier to keep track of this behavior, because whenever I’m tempted to escalate, I remind myself that it’s usually just a way of avoiding the fact that I was wrong in the first place.

Gaming that helps with relationships. Who knew?

Posted by petewoodworth | August 22, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: gaming | 1 Comment

h+

Between anticipation for the new Deus Ex installment, reading the superb Eclipse Phase game and a couple of books like Soft Apocalypse and Altered Carbon, the future’s been on my mind lately. A couple years back, I was introduced to the concept of transhumanism, which can be briefly described as a philosophy that seeks to anticipate and sometimes even precipitate what’s going to happen to humanity in the next 10, 20 or 100 years. One of the big things about a lot of transhumanist writing that sets it apart from more traditional views of the future is that it tends to take a close look at the changes that will happen within us, both as individuals and as a species, as opposed to external changes and technologies.

To put it another way, for traditional science fiction, think of Star Trek. In that vision of the future, almost all the technological advancement is external. Human beings are basically unchanged physiologically (though that might have had more to do with the makeup budget in some cases). Sure, they have awesome medical advances, and occasionally you find out that someone like Picard is actually a super cyborg with a crazy artificial heart, but otherwise they deal in external technologies: holodecks, starships, phasers, three level chess sets, Mr. Data. When he looked forward, Rodenberry saw a future like our present, only with better toys.

By contrast, for a more transhumanist view of the future, read the graphic novel series Transmetropolitan, Warren Ellis’ gonzo, foul-mouthed, hardboiled and venomously optimistic opus. In this future, there’s plenty of external technology – most of it weapons, predictably enough – but it pales in comparison to the stuff that people have done to themselves. Genetic engineering, cybernetic augmentation, neural enhancements, cryogenic statis, even migration of consciousness into clouds of nanotechnology. In other words, Ellis looked at the future and figured that we’d use all of our wonderful advances to get high, score more often and otherwise enjoy ourselves. When we weren’t killing each other in new and interesting ways, that is. Transhumanism isn’t necessarily that gonzo and decadent, but the heart was there.

Personally, I look into the future, and I see the next decade or so bringing big changes. I think we’re going to see a few big leaps – restoring sight, restoring hearing, improved prosthetics, etc. – and I think I may be a little bit too conservative, on the whole. I think of the future and I keep hearing “This Is the Moment” from Jekyll & Hyde, though if you know your musicals, that’s not necessarily the best omen. But I think we’ll manage. I hope we do, because I’m an optimist at heart, and I think we have it in us to go more Star Trek than Transmet.

Though I would love a bucket of caribou eyes.

So here’s my question for you out there in reader land:
What do you think we’ll see in the next 10 years?

Posted by petewoodworth | August 22, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: comics, the future, thoughts, transhumanism | 2 Comments

Three Reasons Your Boffer LARP Is Rubbish

What I See Is Not What I Get

Whether you’re trying to imagine a high fantasy sword & sorcery world, a grim post-apocalyptic nightmare or a shadowy world of occult conspiracies, just trying to imagine that you’re actually immersed in the setting instead of wandering around a hotel, friend’s backyard or rented Boy Scout campground is a major investment on the part of your imagination. Add to that seeing the other players as their characters instead of fellow geeks in costumes, and your imagination is working in overdrive pretty much the entire time you’re in-game. Add to that an extra level of narrative flourish – “OK, guys, I know that looks like a tent, but it’s actually a huge castle!” or “OK, when you see me, I’m 15 feet tall and have two heads and a glowing sword!” – and staying immersed becomes essentially impossible. Don’t tell me you have a glowing sword, show me! Stay as close as possible to what your props, costumes and makeup can already create, and let our imaginations do the rest. If you need to narrate, keep it brief and stay close to what’s in front of us. Our imaginations are already heavily taxed, so don’t add to that burden unless it’s absolutely amazing or absolutely necessary.

The Rules Are In the Way

LARP needs to flow smoothly, because when you interrupt the action, there’s an awkward pause where we all suddenly realize we’re playing a game instead of stayig immersed in our characters. This is especially true in boffer LARP, where maintaining the flow of things like combat and large group social interaction are crucial. Any time I see a skill that calls for a time-out, I cringe a little, especially if it’s a skill that will be used even relatively often. The same goes for skills that call for measurements on the fly – it’s one thing to have a ritual-type skill that takes 10 minutes to create a 15 foot circle of protection. That’s plenty of time to measure out the distance, and indeed creating the space is part of the roleplaying. It’s quite another to have a skill that calls for people to try to measure a 10′ radius in the middle of combat. Keep your mechanics as unobtrusive as possible – try to incorporate them into roleplaying whenever possible, instead of being something you do in addition to roleplaying, and when you can’t, try to make them quick and easy to resolve, instead of chewing up valuable game time.

“PC” Also Stands for “Paying Customer”

The best boffer LARPs I’ve ever seen never forget this – that a player has laid down some serious money for admission, not to mention costumes, props, food & drink, gas, etc. Some games take a very haughty “we are Serious Artists and if you don’t like it or get screwed over or whatever then too bad” approach, where the staff feels free to openly favor characters, do terrible things that ruin people’s fun for the weekend or otherwise mess with people’s entertainment in the name of Creating Art. I remember attending a boffer LARP where a player’s character was hit with a Big Deal Magic Effect on Friday night and essentially removed from play for the rest of the weekend. The staff congratulated themselves for being amazing and daring, but the player was pissed – he’d gotten his gear together, hauled it to the game site and paid his money to play, and less than four hours in his game was ruined. When he complained, they told him he could be an NPC all weekend, and gave him guff for his “bad attitude.” Needless to say, I’m with the player – he paid to play his character, not do their grunt work all weekend. (If you want to NPC for a whole game, fine, but that should be your choice, not one forced upon you.) Mind you, I’m not saying that players should always win/get what they want, or that staff cannot endanger characters, challenge players’ expectations or whatnot, or even that LARPs can’t create Art. But games need to remember that there are different obligations when it’s your friends sitting around your kitchen table, and when it’s 100+ people who’ve paid $50 or more to play your game. One is a friendly meet up, with nothing more than pizza money on the line; the other is a business, and forgetting that is a bad idea.

Pete Woodworth wrote, edited and developed for White Wolf Game Studio’s groundbreaking Mind’s Eye Theatre LARP game system for 8 years, and has been playing and writing both parlor and boffer LARPs for 17 years.

Posted by petewoodworth | August 18, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: LARP, thoughts | 2 Comments

Visitations

Last night I had a nightmare so disturbing that I woke up crying.

I haven’t done that in a very long time, as evidenced by the fact that it completely baffled my poor, concerned wife. I’m not terribly superstitious about a lot of things, but bad dreams fall into that tiny category, and as a result I don’t really want to talk about the main topic of the dream itself. Instead, I want to talk about one of the elements of the dream that most disturbed me: the arrival of my mom’s parents, my grandparents.

As a bit of background, I am one of the very lucky few who grew up knowing all four of my grandparents until well into my 20s. I felt close to all of them, though due to simple geography we tended to see my mom’s parents more often. Many of my friends met her parents over the years, and I take it as a telling tribute that when they passed, both times friends and even exes asked to attended the memorial services, because in their own ways they had loved my grandparents too.

To sketch the nightmare scene, I was in my parents’ house, and it was late at night. Everyone else – because I felt that my parents and my brother were also there, just like when we all lived at home – was asleep, and I was up reading. I heard a knock at the front door, and went downstairs. There was another knock, and I opened the door to find my mom’s parents standing there. They looked the way I tend to remember them, older but not as frail as they were near the end of their lives, and definitely not “ghostly” or “zombie-like” in any way. They didn’t have fangs, red eyes, spooky voices, or anything like that. It was just them, standing on the front step with sad expressions, but it still scared me out of my mind. It took poor Meg almost half an hour to calm me down, as I woke nearly hysterical, and even after regaining some composure I still slept with a light on for the first time in many years.

When the sun came up, though, I thought about how confusing a response that is, and to a degree how some other ghost stories are too. I mean, it was my grandparents, who loved me and supported me and would never, ever in a million years want to hurt or frighten me. And in the nightmare they didn’t do anything scary or disturbing – yes, seeing your deceased grandparents could be considered disturbing on its own, but that’s not what I mean. All the fear seemed to well up in me, rather than come from them or anything they did. But when I think about it, I’m not so sure what scared me so badly about seeing them.

Especially when I miss them so badly while I’m awake.

Posted by petewoodworth | August 17, 2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: dreams, ghosts, thoughts | 1 Comment

A Crow’s Murder

A brief tale of the Impossible Mister Lapin.

“But who’s the victim?” I asked yet again, struggling to keep up as we crossed the neatly trimmed lawn. Early morning fog accumulated on my glasses, rendering me nearly blind, and I could feel my trousers getting soaked from the dew kicked up by our brisk pace. In the muted half-light of the earning morning, I could make out the indistinct shapes of men ahead, arranged in a circle. There seemed to be something on the ground, but when I attempted to clean my glasses my escort gave me such a pointed look that I abandoned the thought and simply hurried along after him. “Really, I appreciate your esteem for my abilities, but I am no pathologist.”

“You were sent for, sir.” It was a refrain I’d heard several times on the carriage ride over. It seemed sufficient answer for him, though I was growing impatient. However, one does not doubt the word of a Yeoman Warder, especially when he arrives before dawn bearing a dour expression. So I held my tongue and instead spent the ride contemplating the only other detail he’d provided: “There’s been a murder.” I had scoured the lists of my memory, trying to figure out whose untimely death would merit such a visit, but lacking any other clues and with my companion unwillingly to provide them, ultimately I settled for restlessly peering into the gray ambiguity of the fog.

“Here we are,” my escort said, quite unnecessarily, as I had already supposed whatever warranted a protective ring of Beefeaters was likely the source of my mysterious summons. They parted as we approached, none of them quite meeting my eye.

“Good lord,” I whispered. I could finally see what it was they were guarding so closely: a white sheet was draped over a tiny form, a single, ominous reddish stain immediately apparent. I felt my heart leap into my throat. “Is that a child?”

Around me, I was acutely aware of the Yeoman Warders exchanging inscrutable glances. “Take a closer look, sir.” My escort gestured in the direction of the tiny shape, though made no move to join me at its side. “If you would be so kind.”

I don’t think I’ve ever handled a piece of cloth with such hesitation. I took a deep breath, then pulled it back in one quick snap. Underneath was the crumpled body of a crow, a poor battered thing with one wing obviously broken, its ribcage gruesomely ripped open. I blinked, shook my head, and looked again. Still a crow. “It’s a crow,” I said simply, the measure of sympathy I felt for the poor creature’s sorry state overshadowed by my own relief at the fact that it was not a child.

“Oh, he’s a clever one.” A high, harsh voice sounded from somewhere above me. I cast my gaze in that direction and saw a half dozen ravens perched on a stone overhang about ten feet overhead. When I glanced in their direction, they cocked their heads simultaneously, the incongruity of the timing sending a shiver down my spine.I have stared down some very unusual sets of eyes in my lifetime, including my own reflection, and yet the air of bemused contempt that came across in their manner was both unmistakable and deeply disconcerting.

Then the leftmost raven opened its beak, and the same grating voice issued forth. “Now that we’ve established the bloody obvious, Mister Lapin, would you care to open that pretty bag of yours, do whatever it is you do, and tell us if poor Brother Morgan was a victim of the darker side of your precious Art?”

To be continued…

Posted by petewoodworth | May 12, 2011 | Categories: Previous Posts | Tags: Mister Lapin | Leave a comment