There is a saying out there that the modern Internet makes you the worst version of yourself. I hear stories of YouTube creators who get pigeonholed into clickbait and outrage videos, and they are fundamentally unhappy because the Algorithm forces them to talk about the same thing day after day, or they lose the Algorithm's blessing and fall off people’s recommendations.
Creative content? Positive? Useful? Thoughtful?
Forget it. The Algorithm demands outrage, hate, narcissism, and the worst versions of ourselves to survive.
This is happening in gaming, too.
I am totally divorced from 5.5E just from the vibe of those books. They have zero to do with heroism. Look at the art in the 2024 Player’s Handbook: characters are rendered bright and flamboyant, often smiling or posing, with reviewers describing the overall effect as superhero-like or almost Fortnite-bright. The grit, dirt, fear, and hardship that used to sit on the page are largely gone. Adventurers look untouched by the world they are supposed to be risking themselves in. That is not wonder or discovery; it is a catalog of cool, self-reinforcing portraits.
The rules push in the same direction. The rules moved ability scores off species (formerly races) and onto backgrounds, so any species can optimize any class without friction. Species lost the cultural and mechanical packages that once gave them weight. Critics have called the result “humans with decorations.” The character sheet process removed traits, ideals, bonds, and flaws. The system declares identity up front and reinforces it, rather than earning it through sacrifice or discovery. Heroic Inspiration (the renamed Inspiration) lets you reroll any die after you see the result, and some class features hand it out on a schedule. Outcomes feel predetermined because the design goal was fewer decisions, smoother progression, and more consistent player power so characters can show off their abilities.
History, culture, and heritage—once huge selling points of a setting or game—are gone or made optional. The Player’s Handbook reframes orcs as nomadic explorers with family depictions rather than the classic threat; the new Monster Manual no longer gives them dedicated entries. Instead, the game intends for orcs, drow, and other humanoids to use generic NPC stat blocks. The Monster Manual condenses lore entries into shorter, more utilitarian blocks. Monsters become less interesting and more interchangeable stat blocks, leaving their uniqueness up to the DM to invent. The game is primarily designed to make its designers look good and to sell you the idea that if you aren’t playing D&D, you won’t look good either. Even the love of the game and hobby feels missing, and the entire presentation feels like a fast-food restaurant at a turnpike rest area. If you put “the worst of the hobby” into a set of rulebooks, they would be D&D 5.5E, as the game reflects the worst parts of ourselves: the self-centered reinforcement, the refusal of real stakes, the erasure of inherited texture, and the constant demand that you perform the current approved version of yourself.
I am buying another shelf-top Christmas tree this year and keeping it lit and on all the way until Christmas. Why? It is what my family did. What does this have to do with the previous part of this article? It is a statement of “I am who I am,” as Popeye used to say. This is me. This reflects my values. This breaks the Matrix. Every day, when I walk by and look at it, it tells me there used to be a better time in my life, and in gaming, too.
And I reject games that appeal to my worst nature. I can be better than this.
Why am I clicking on YouTube to inject anger into myself today, or learn how the latest optimization and rules expansion “totally breaks the game”? Why am I letting people I don’t know tell me I am running the game “all wrong” and that I'll fail unless I listen to them? YouTube is becoming a classic cesspool of toxic negativity designed to break down your self-confidence and personal experience. The Algorithm demands compliance and consumption.
I am done with it.
The games I have out? The ones with real memories behind them. Why would I hold my nose and play D&D 5.5E when I have things here my brother and I loved and played every week? It is a false replacement for what I can actually hold and touch. I have Palladium, Champions, GURPS, OSRIC, and a dozen other great games that still work and aren’t infected by marketing, Internet-ism, or corporatism.
Like my Christmas tree, those games are part of me.
And they reflect me saying “not anymore.”
I won’t be the worst version of myself anymore.

















