Meet the Team - Doople (Author)

Heyhey! We are starting a small series of "meet the team posts" over the next months / years, slowly introducing you to some of our notable team members and sharing their story on how they ended up working on the game.

This time around you´ll hear the story from Doople himself - our games writer!

Also: Take care this is a bit of a short story :D Doople does not know how to control himself. He IS outrageous!

Original Post on Dooples Website 

A Story of Desperation, Tragedy, and Triumph – Or How I Ended Up Working in H*ntai.

Come, join me. Sit a while and cozy up by the fire. Grab a glass of  wine, bring your parents along, and lend me your ear as I tell you all  about how I ended up working in the H*ntai industry.

Back in the day – Roughly three years ago – I was suffering from what  is known as “Starving Artist Syndrome”. In a nutshell, I wasn’t making a  living off of my craft.

For those of you who are unaware, my craft is writing. At least, I like to believe that it is.

Some of you may want to argue that point.

Luckily for me, at the time, I made a living by doing normal human  work for a normal, human office. I got a normal human salary at the end  of the month, that I spent on normal, human things.

Like snap peas. And cocaine.

That is not the case for most artists, though.

So, as artists, we have to resort to scouring the web for potential  gigs. And I must say, that as a writer (or any kind of creative craft,  really), p*rn pays the best.

Ask anyone in the p*rn industry. They pay you fat stacks to do tasks that would normally only get you paid the minimum rate. Slightly above, if you were extra lucky.

Everyone was fighting tooth and nail to get in on some of that hot, sweet p*rn cash.

And one day, I was lucky enough to stumble upon one of those job listings:

“Hiring a NSFW writer for an up-and-coming H*ntai game! L*wd humor recommended, English fluency required."

Why, that’s perfect for me! Not only do I consider myself fluent in  English, but it’s actually one of the only languages I know! Not to  mention that l*wd humor is my specialty! My only specialty, really.

I was born for this job!

Naturally, I fat-thumb clicked that “message” button faster than you can say “Daddy’s Disappointed – Again”.

But hold on. This person must have had at least three other people applying for the very same position! What if they also have l*wd humor? Or even worse, fluency in English!

I had to do something to stand out from the crowd, or I’d never get the job!

After pacing back and forth for an hour, it clicked. The perfect opening line. The perfect cover letter.

Feel free to copy it. You can thank me later.

Here’s what I said:

So, I heard you’re looking to hire a NSFW writer.

Well, look no further! For a limited time (all the time), I am available for hire!

But Doople, you may ask, why should we consider you over the other three people who applied?

Well, simply put, because they’re not me!

L*wd humor? F*cking check.

Experience? Nope!

Passion for all things NSFW? Use it every day!

Hotel? Trivago!

What you get out of hiring me is not only a dedicated, starving writer who will do anything to make next month’s rent (and I mean anything, wink wink),  but all the money you spend on me will go towards feeding different  amounts of h*roin to orphan dolphins in the name of science!

But Doople, you might ask, that seems highly ill*gal and morally wrong!

To that, my answer is: you sure like asking a lot of questions, don’t you?

But enough with the foreplay, let’s get to the meat of this application:

There he/she/it was, Interviewer’s Name, standing in the open. His/her/it’s back turned towards me as I carefully made my way towards them/it/who?

I rest my hand gently upon their shoulder, feeling the reassuring solidity of it. They turn their head to glance at me, their  blue/green/brown/rinnegan eyes assessing me as they turn around.

“So, you want to work with us?” he/she/it says, as they place their hands in their pocket.

“Y… Yes, I do.” I reply, trying to find my voice as their presence sends shivers down my spine.

Hold it together, Doople. This is work. Nothing more, no matter how handsome/beautiful Interviewer is.

“I have my application right here!” I say, forcing myself to sound  more confident. What comes out sounds more like a rushed squeak.

I fight the urge to hide my face and run.

They take my application, their fingers lightly brushing against mine, causing the hair on my arms to stand up.

They lift it in front of them, their face slowly turning to confusion as their eyes scan the page.

“The only thing you wrote was ‘please’, repeated across the whole page! What kind of application is this?!”

Stunned by the harsh words, I turn away from him/her/it, as warmth rushes to my cheeks.

“It’s… It’s not like I want to work with you or anything! B…. Baka!” I reply, as I cross my arms over my chest.

“Dude, what the f*ck? You’re a 22 year old man, you can’t be saying weird sh*t like that!” he/she/it replies, shocked.

I huff, as I reach into my pocket, my hands shaking. I grab the other folded slip of paper, turn to face him/her/it, and hand it to them.

My heart races as I look into his/her/its eyes. But I must be firm. Rent is due in a week.

” You can send me the details with that.” I say, my voice coming out  clear and authoritative, despite my racing heart, “you can also use it  to talk to me… I mean, if you want to. Not that I want you to.”

He/she/it opens it, looking confused. “it just says ‘kenneth.balswork@gmail.com’?”

“Yes, that’s my email.” I say, the blush returning to my face, “you can tell me if I get the job or not on there.”

“Look,” he/she/it says, as they run a hand through their hair, “I’m pretty sure you won’t-“

“Ah ah ah! I don’t wanna hear it! You can email me the result!” I say, cutting them off mid-sentence.

I hate spoilers.

“But I can tell you now you’re not-“

“Noooo! If you want me to know, you’ve gotta email me.” I say, as I  turn around and start walking away, “I’ll be expecting it soon! Don’t  leave me waiting!”

I start running before they can reply, placing my arms behind myself  Naruto-style for an added boost as I hear them shouting behind me.

As I run, a smile grows as I think of him/her/it emailing me, telling me I have the job and would I want to go to dinner sometime? I’ll say  yes, and I’ll go in my red dress and they’ll open the door and be almost  completely n*ked, cus the dinner will be at their house, and they’ll  take my coat and hang it up on the coat rack, then they’ll take my hand  and lead me upstairs (their house will be two… No, three stories  high), and they’ll take me to the bedroom where there’ll be hundreds of  lit candles and Celine Deon playing on their stereo, and we’ll do…  Things… And get married and have kids and we’ll die in each other’s  arms!

Sadly, I never heard back from them. One of the three other applicants must have been more fluent in English than me.

Luckily, this story does have a happy ending! A few months after this  happened (about 25, to be exact), An angel approached me with an offer.  One with massive t*ts, big anime eyes, and too many hole-seeking t*ntacles to count.

You see, deep within the jungles of Germany, down within the darkest  of basements, lies a Production Manager by the name of Helltaker. He can identify the desperation of an artist just from the smell, and once  he’s located a new target, he’ll drag them back to his Hentai cave with his highly effective bait of “Money” and “A Salary”. A bounty which most  artists only hear of in myth, and only speak of in hushed tones.

As luck would have it, for some unknown reason, my little job  application became one of the first 100 results on Google when you searched up “Funny Hentai Story.” Sealing my fate.

Helltaker smelled blood on the waters.

He tried to sed*ce me, his voice dripping with sweet honey. He used words such as: “Stable Job”, “Monthly Salary”, “Creative Freedom” and  “You can write f*cking p*rn for a living, man!”

A lesser man might have given in to such temptations. After all, who  doesn’t dream of making a living off of their craft? Of writing hot h*ntai s*x scenes, day in and day out, where the anime babes hobble away  after being stuffed like a Christmas turkey?

A lesser man might have jumped at the opportunity.

So yeah, it’s been over a year now and I’m loving it! Best job I’ve  ever had. So f*cking glad I took it! Honestly, it’s been the best  decision I’ve ever made. Would recommend to family and friends. 10/10!

I just really wish my dad would answer my calls.