DRG is a life simulator disguised as a dwarf survival game that tricks you into thinking exploitative labor is fun. It promotes alcohol abuse by infusing abusers with temporary superpowers; it encourages vanity through a gluttony of customizable appearance options; it rewards the pathological murder of innocent bystanders whose only crime is needing precious gems for nourishment.

It is also one of the best ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ games I’ve played in my life.

There is no literal narrative to be spoonfed here, no real celebration of time-honored fantasy genre conventions to extrapolate onto our own human existence. Instead, you, a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ gorgeous dwarf in outer space with a specialized skillset and unique weapons, take commands from a British colonialist who barks poorly-timed orders at you to help line the coffers of the presumably already-wealthy while you and your friends are held captive, incrementally rocketed down to an alien planet, and try to survive treacherous biomes while setting aside enough money to be a little boozy and express yourself through the delicate art of dance.

If you do a task well, you are rewarded with more tasks, which will give you the chance to upgrade your skills and equipment to navigate increasingly difficult tasks ad infinitum until, well, Dwarf Jesus calls you home.

What’s the endgame here? What’s the meaning? What’s the point? you say, waking up to go to school or work to qualify to sell your labor for cheap to survive until you die. What are all of us doing this for? Why do I have to pay for my own promotion?

The answer is the disco, baby. It’s because your labor is beautiful; you’re ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ good, champ; you’re an artist at work, and so are you friends. It’s because your ability to drill 150 meters to the dropship to ensure the safe completion of your mission, your trigger discipline as you mow down hordes of alien life and not your friends, your uncanny platform premonition and your ability to grapple out of danger to the crannies of the caves all exist in perfect harmony. It’s because as you pile up rare gems and unknown alien cubes, it doesn’t matter who or what it’s for. It matters that it is. Your labor has intrinsic meaning beyond the confines of wealth. DRG is survival, the ultimate art, and the one you and your friends have perfected.

Sure, you’re being exploited, but when you walk up to one end of a breathtakingly long gold vein having just drank a Pot o’ Gold and your friend walks up to the other end and you meet in the middle, that’s true wealth. When you buy a round of beers so strong they make everyone blackout to a harpsichord rendition of Christmas classic “What Child Is This,” that’s real money, honey. When you kick your millionth barrel into a fiery hoop for leisure and then throw your own body through the hoop as a sacrificial offering to an unknown God, that’s the whatfor, tex.

DRG is life. The Barrel Hoop game is the meta. We exist. We drink. We game. We rock and ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ stone, cuz if we don’t, we ain’t comin’ home. And though the man calling the shots won’t stop incessantly yammering on about the task at hand, we mash “v” until we drown that flaccid penis imperialist out, because we don’t do it for anyone else but ourselves and each other.

So, chief, take a deep breath and throw yourself through the fiery game hoop and know in your heart you’ll come out the other side reborn, secretly liking your life just as it is.