This Artist Creates Hilarious Comics About Parenthood And Dungeons And Dragons (23 Pics)

Parenting is basically an open-world campaign where the quest log keeps updating itself, the NPCs refuse to wear pants, and your inventory is always full (mostly of snacks you swear you didn’t buy). So it makes a weird amount of sense that some of the funniest comics on the internet happen when parenthood crashes headfirst into Dungeons & Dragons.

Enter Ché Crawford, the creator behind The Immortal Think Tank, whose comics mash up family life and tabletop chaos in a way that feels like rolling a natural 20 on “being painfully relatable.” This particular batch highlights 23 comics (yep, the “pics” you came for), and each one is a tiny reminder that raising kids and running campaigns share the same core rule: you can plan all you want, but the dice (and the toddlers) are in charge now.

Meet the Mind Behind “The Immortal Think Tank”

Crawford is an artist from Tauranga, New Zealand, living the very modern creative-parent life: making art in the margins of the day, wedging imagination between drop-offs, dinner, and whatever mysterious mess appeared in the hallway. In an interview, she described how switching to an iPad made it easier to draw anywhereoften right at the table while her kids color or play nearbyso she didn’t have to disappear to a desk just to create. That detail alone feels like a parenting hack you want to write down on a sticky note and tape to your forehead.

She also didn’t start out as “the D&D comics person.” Like a lot of parents, she began by sketching funny kid moments she didn’t want to forget. But she later explained she didn’t want her children to become targets online, so she shifted the spotlight toward tabletop storiesbecause adventurers can’t be doxxed, and goblins have famously terrible Wi-Fi anyway.

On her Patreon, Crawford notes that her tabletop comics are based on real games she runs or plays in, capturing the in-between moments that happen around the table: the derailments, the overconfident plans, the dramatic speeches, and the emotional attachment to a character who technically only exists on paper and vibes.

Why Parenthood and D&D Fit Together So Well

If you’re new to D&D: it’s a cooperative storytelling game where players form an adventuring party and the Dungeon Master (DM) acts as referee and lead storyteller. You create characters, explore fantasy worlds, roll dice to see what happens, and build a shared story that can be epic, ridiculous, or (more often) both.

Parenting is suspiciously similar. You’re also in a party (family), you’re also managing encounters (bedtime, grocery stores, pediatric appointments), and you’re also improvising constantly because the “plan” was written by someone who has never met a real child. Both worlds run on the same fuel: love, chaos, snacks, and the occasional heroic speech delivered to absolutely nobody.

The shared mechanics

• Unpredictability: D&D has dice. Parenting has “my kid just licked the shopping cart.” Both can happen without warning.
• Resource management: Spell slots vs. your last shred of patience. Short rests vs. naptime. Long rests vs. “we slept until 6:12.”
• Party dynamics: Everyone has different goals, moods, and snack requirements. A lot of conflicts can be solved by communication. Or bribery. Or both.
• Improvised storytelling: The best moments often happen when the “correct” plan explodes and you pivot into something funnier.

That’s what makes Crawford’s comics hit: they don’t just reference D&D like a nerdy bumper sticker. They use D&D as a language for the emotional reality of parentingwhere every day has stakes, surprises, and small victories that deserve a loot drop.

The Comedy Style: Four Panels, One Critical Hit

The Immortal Think Tank comics often work like a tight little one-shot adventure: setup, escalation, complication, punchline. The humor comes from contrastepic fantasy logic colliding with the mundaneand from how recognizable the tone is if you’ve ever sat at a table and watched a group of adults debate whether a door is “obviously trapped” for 17 minutes.

Crawford’s style is also intentionally playful. In a Reddit spotlight, she talked about pushing herself toward a sillier, wiggly look as a way to fight perfectionism and keep creating. That decision matters, because it keeps the comics feeling like campfire stories: friendly, quick, and made for sharing.

The 23-Pic Tour: What’s Going On in These Comics?

Below is a guided, spoiler-light tour of the themes in this 23-comic set. No images here (you’re publishing this on the web), but you’ll recognize the beats instantly if you’ve ever juggled a family schedule and a character sheet.

1. #1 The “Warrior Introduces the King” Moment

   We start with classic fantasy gravitasintroductions, hierarchy, epic vibesthen the punchline lands like a stray LEGO underfoot. The joke is how adults try to make everyday life sound important, the way parents announce ordinary things (“we are going to… the DENTIST”) like it’s a royal decree.

2. #2 The Robot, the Artist, and the “Help With Chores” Fantasy

   A robot and an artist discuss AI in a way that instantly turns into the real dream: not “make my art,” but “please, for the love of dragons, help with chores.” It’s a perfect parenting truth: support isn’t glamorous; it’s dish-related.

3. #3 The Fairy Sky Dancer Toy, a.k.a. “Why Is This Loud?”

   If you’ve ever watched a kid fall in love with the noisiest item in a store, you already know the punchline. The fantasy angle makes it even better: children treat toys like enchanted artifacts, and parents treat them like cursed objects you shouldn’t have identified.

4. #4 Party Chat That Feels Like a Group Text From Doom

   A group of players debates what’s happening, who’s doing what, and why the plan is already melting. This is D&D realism: the “adventuring party” is often three chaos gremlins and one person trying to take notes while everyone else argues about snacks.

5. #5 Storytelling, Dice, and the Fragility of “A Great Plan”

   Two people play with dice and narrative controlan elegant reminder that D&D is storytelling plus randomness. Parenting is the same formula, except the randomness yells “NO!” and sprints away holding a banana.

6. #6 Runes and Dungeon Warnings (Also Known as Childproofing)

   Characters talk about runes and ominous warnings, and every parent thinks: “Yep, that’s the cabinet under the sink.” The joke is how danger signage in fantasy looks dramatic, while danger signage at home is a tiny sticker your child will peel off immediately.

7. #7 Players Reacting to a Game Move

   A table reaction strip is basically a documentary. The humor here is the emotional whiplash: one roll can turn triumph into disaster, the same way one quiet minute in the other room can mean someone discovered markers.

8. #8 “Should We Free the Petrified Creature?”

   The party debates freeing a petrified creature surrounded by stone statues. The parenting parallel is delicious: you see the obvious consequences, but someone still says, “What if it’s friendly?” This is the exact energy of letting kids “help” with baking.

9. #9 Blending Parenting Choices With Role-Play Decisions

   The strip mixes parenting talk and character choices, highlighting how both worlds revolve around tradeoffs. You can’t do everything. You pick a path. You regret it instantly. You improvise. Repeat forever.

10. #10 Emotional Attachment to Characters

    D&D players fall in love with imaginary people they invented, then act shocked when danger appears in the dangerous game. The punchline is that the love is real even if the character isn’tlike a kid’s favorite stuffed animal that becomes a full household citizen.

11. #11 Watching Anime and Reflecting on Modern Nerd-Parent Life

    This one hits the “quiet corner of the day” feeling: the part where you’re still a person with interests, even if your schedule is built from crumbs. It’s a soft reminder that joy counts as maintenance, not a reward you earn after the laundry is done (because it will never be done).

12. #12 The Lizard Cleric and “Charisma Is a Dump Stat”

    The term “dump stat” is peak D&D humor: the trait you sacrificed so the character could be great at something else. Parenting feels like that too. You may have “dumped” free time to max out “keeping tiny humans alive.”

13. #13 Talking Characters and the Joy of Inventing Weirdos

    Two characters discuss fantasy character choices. It’s a celebration of the part of D&D that feels like parenting at its best: getting to watch a personality emerge, surprise you, and become beloved.

14. #14 A Shift Into Big Feelings

    Without giving away the exact beat, this one leans into emotional truth: the moments when a joke isn’t just a joke, it’s a little pressure valve. The best D&D tables and the best families both rely on that: laugh, reset, continue the quest.

15. #15 Parenting and Disguise

    “Disguise” is a D&D staple, and it’s also parenting reality. Sometimes you’re disguising vegetables. Sometimes you’re disguising exhaustion. Sometimes you’re disguising the fact that you absolutely forgot it was “bring a snack” day.

16. #16 Tactics Talk That Sounds Like Household Logistics

    Fantasy tactics and parenting tactics often share the same grammar: “If we do X, then Y, unless Z happens.” And Z always happens. That’s the joke.

17. #17 Debating Mission Outcomes

    The party debates what might happen if they choose door A or door B. Parenting is the same debate, except it’s “Do we leave now and risk a meltdown, or do we wait five minutes and definitely be late?”

18. #18 The Nanny Figure

    A nanny character enters the fantasy frame, and suddenly the joke becomes: support systems are magical. It’s a reminder that “having help” can feel like receiving a legendary itemrare, valuable, life-changing.

19. #19 Roleplay vs. “Doing the Thing”

    The characters wrestle with roleplay and game challenges, and every parent recognizes the debate: do we talk about feelings, or do we just put shoes on the child like we’re defusing a bomb?

20. #20 Preparing for Game Night, Then Reality Says “No”

    One partner declines to play due to other commitments, and that’s the whole joke: adult scheduling is the true final boss. Game night is sacred… and also extremely fragile.

21. #21 Dungeon Exploration Meets Parenting Mishaps

    A fantasy scene turns into character mishaps that echo household mishaps. Whether it’s a potion spill or a juice spill, the cleanup is the same: immediate regret and a towel you found by instinct.

22. #22 The Mysterious Temple (a.k.a. Any Public Space With Kids)

    Exploring a temple with “parenting humor” layered in is basically walking into a museum with children: wonder, danger, questions, and the constant possibility someone will touch something expensive.

23. #23 Potion Mishaps and Fantastical Chaos

    Potion trouble is fantasy’s version of “we opened glitter.” The comic lands on the same truth the whole set celebrates: life is messy, but it’s also funnyespecially when you let yourself see it as an adventure.

Why These Comics Work (Even If You Don’t Play D&D)

You don’t need to know what “initiative” means to laugh at these, because the emotional engine is universal: managing expectations, surviving surprise, and finding joy in the chaos. The D&D layer just makes the metaphors sharper.

There’s also a real mental-health-friendly logic here. Medical and psychology sources consistently describe humor and laughter as tools that can help lighten stress and shift perspective. Parenting is stressful. So is trying to keep a party of adventurers from adopting every suspicious goblin as a pet. A comic that makes you laugh is not “extra.” It’s a tiny reset button.

Want More of This Energy at Your Own Table? Try These Parent-Friendly D&D Moves

1) Keep sessions shorter than your optimism suggests

Two to three hours is often the sweet spot for adults with families. Quit while it’s fun. Leave on a cliffhanger. Everyone feels heroic and nobody has to perform the “tired-drive home” saving throw.

2) Use a “recap torch”

Start each session with one minute per player: what happened, what you want, and what snack you brought. It sounds silly until you realize it prevents 30 minutes of “Wait, who is the mayor again?”

3) Build kid chaos into the story

If you’re playing at home, embrace interruptions. Create an in-world explanation: a tiny chaotic fey spirit visits the party (also known as your child needing water). You’ll laugh instead of fuming, which is basically emotional armor.

4) Protect what you don’t want online

Crawford’s approachshifting the spotlight away from kidsreminds creators (and sharers) to think about privacy. You can tell stories without turning your family into content. The best jokes don’t require the internet to know everything.

Conclusion

“The Immortal Think Tank” comics land because they treat both parenthood and D&D with the right mix of affection and honesty. Kids are hilarious. Players are chaotic. Plans are imaginary. Love is real. And sometimes the best way to survive a hard week is to laugh at how absurd the quest has gotten.

Extra: of Parent-D&D “Been There” Experiences

Imagine you finally get game night on the calendar. Not “we should hang out sometime,” but a real date with real humans and real dice. You feel powerful. You feel organized. You feel like the kind of adult who alphabetizes spices and remembers birthdays. You set the snacks out like offerings to the gods. You open your notes and think, Tonight, I will tell a story.

Then the pre-session encounter begins: someone texts, “Running 10 minutes late.” Another says, “Can we start 30 minutes later?” A third announces a surprise work call. This is when you learn the true meaning of “initiative.” The DM doesn’t roll it. The universe does. You adapt. You always adapt. Because you’ve been training for this exact moment since the first time a toddler demanded a different cup than the one they asked for.

The session starts. Within five minutes, the party tries to adopt something. It might be a goblin. It might be a weird dog. It might be a haunted spoon. You, the DM, watch this happen with the calm of a parent seeing their child fall in love with a plastic toy that makes noise forever. You know you can fight it, but you also know the fight will take longer than simply letting them carry the cursed spoon until they forget it exists.

Somebody makes a plan. It’s a gorgeous plan. It’s so good you want to frame it. It has layers. It has contingencies. It has a little flourish at the end that makes you proud of your friends. Then they roll a die and the plan evaporates into dust. The wizard is suddenly on fire. The rogue is emotionally committed to a lie that makes no sense. The barbarian is negotiating with a chandelier. The plan is gone, but the laughter is aliveand you recognize the pattern, because you’ve lived it at home in a different costume. You’ve watched a carefully packed diaper bag be undone by one surprise poop. You’ve watched “a quick trip to the store” turn into a meltdown side quest. You’ve learned that “failure” is often just the plot taking a more interesting route.

In the middle of the chaos, you find a tiny, perfect moment. A player does something kind in character. Someone protects someone else. Someone makes a ridiculous joke that breaks the table. You realize this is why the hobby survives adulthood: it gives you a pocket universe where you are not just a caregiver or a worker or a tired person scrolling in bed. You are a party. You are a story. You are allowed to be silly. You are allowed to be creative. And for a couple of hours, the world feels manageablebecause even when the dragon wins, you can always roll again next week.