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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 2000 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 2000 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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FED AND SANDWICHES For the past month or so, you may have seen me in Fed sporadically. I’ve been checking in to make sure everything is alright. To see if the Apocalypse had come yet, for example. Also to see if Hell had frozen over, in which case my planet would probably have been destroyed by some newly implemented Martian attack code. Yesterday I made one of those short hops into Fed when I heard Olias, everyone’s favorite (and my least favorite) scoundrel, lamenting about the silence on channel 9. To break the silence, he spouted off a limerick about Zeke, a voyeur (who I still firmly believe is just an alias for Olias). It was funny though, as limericks and things from Olias tend to be, so I laughed. That was the end of it. He was overjoyed to see me and immediately ported (stupid porting bastard) to my LP where I was at the time. The following followed (edited for clarity and space constraints): Olias appeared with a shimmer of
teleportation effect. (I check my <sc> and <di
mythose>. Sure enough he had given me that cash, but
was offline before I could thank him, so I publicly would
like to thank him here. Thank you Macnbc, for whatever
reason you chose to shower me with money!) (Note: Hazed’s constant whippings for missed deadlines can easily make FedChron writing feel like a chore!) Olias said, "Hmmph." We all know that disappointing Olias can result in bad things, like explosions inside your exchange building (Olias’s note: you can please me 100% and still find an explosion in your exchange), so I took an active roll in my sandwich. I made the sandwich inspire me. As a result, here is my twisted, demented comparison of Fed to the turkey sandwich I made under an hour before writing this: (NOTE: If you are easily sickened by surreal comparisons of lunch foods and Online RPG’s, please stop reading now, scroll to the bottom, click ‘next page,’ and accept the fact that Gavin is back to write again. Otherwise, continue reading, and then wish you had taken the above suggestion when you reach the end.) 1. Collection of the Ingredients 2. The Bread (Wheat bread of
course. Healthy for you, just like Fed) (I just used formal logic to prove that the game is the bread. I told you this was surreal.) 3. The Toaster 4. The Turkey Also, the amount of turkey/people matters. More turkey is a hungry person ready for a hearty lunch; more people is peak time in Fed. Less turkey symbolizes perhaps a snack of a sandwich; less people is Fed right after a crash. 5. The Mayonnaise 6. The Mustard 7. The Cheese 8. The Lettuce 9. The Knife and the Slicing of the
Sandwich (I just manage to make some strange connection with everything...) 10. The Side Dish 11. The Drink 12. The Last Bite 13. ZDTV (::snickers at all the
questioning looks::) The purpose of ZDTV and a sandwich, however, is a little less obvious. You see, in this day and age, just eating a sandwich is not enough. We have to multi-task, even when eating lunch. Which is why I watch ZDTV while enjoying my sandwich. Ingenious, huh? How does this relate to Fed, though? Well I have a feeling I’m not the only one who needs something else to do when macro-hauling or constantly trying to reconnect to a crashed Fed. That distraction could be a book or other websites to look at. They serve the same purpose as ZDTV while eating my sandwich. Phew! WordPefect tells me I just spent 5 pages extolling the similarities of a sandwich and Fed. I really am insane. But a sandwich did inspire me, and a sandwich has gotten me to come back to the world of writing for the FedChron! Has Gavin gone over the edge? He’s writing about sandwiches now, in case you hadn’t noticed. If you think this sandwich-crazed maniac should’ve stayed in obscurity, though, e-mail him at Gavin_of_Mythose@yahoo.com so he can laugh at you, since he is here to stay. But if you just want to tell him that mustard is edible or his sandwich opinions are worthless, he doesn’t wanna hear it. (Final Note: Did I really just write all that about a single turkey sandwich? Just take comfort in the fact that next week I will make headway in the C.U.J.O. series, which should be just slightly more sane than an article about sandwiches.)
FED
OP-ED: FED NAMES After the fiasco I went through, I was happy to return to my regular duchy polling. This week I wanted to know how everyone I passed came up with their Fed names. Let’s find out, shall we? "mine... I quit Fed and Shostopr who used to play talked me into coming back... he quit, I'm here", says Sholuvr with a wink. Eaglewing winks and says, "Ah like Eagles" Rythion says, "Um, I just
pressed random letters on the keypad" "I like mythology? :P", says Loki. Bix says, "I wrote a play/short story; Bix is a character name from it. Really just picked for the story off the top of my head" Skiierdost says, "I'm
simple... I kept my AOL S/N...." "Chose mine because i was
going to do an arabian theme at first.. but.. then just
kinda went with what ever.", says Sargon. "Oh, it's the nickname my nephew gave me, Rere, for Marie", smiles Rere. Gaminglady says, "Well, I was
given the nickname of The Gaming Lady by Inquest
Magazine."
SCOUNDREL'S
CORNER: THE HIERARCHY OF NEEDS Abraham Maslow (1908 – 1970) was an eminent, forward-thinking psychologist some believed to be ahead of his time. His primary contribution to psychological studies was a behavioral model he termed the "Hierarchy of Needs". In this model, Maslow perceived human needs arranged like a ladder. For example: Self-Actualization Needs – the
need to fulfill oneself, to achieve one's maximum
potential. It was Maslow's belief that the higher and more complex needs on this ladder could not be achieved if the simpler, lower needs went unfulfilled. For example, according to this model, a person who feels that their life is at risk would be unconcerned with love; likewise, someone starving to death would be unconcerned with safety risks. Maslow felt that by fulfilling these needs in this necessary order, a person could reach the highest tier, that of Self-Actualization. Self-Actualized individuals, in Maslow's opinion, are those that tend to focus on problems outside of themselves, have a clear grasp on the truth, are spontaneous and creative, and are not too bound on social conventions. Self-Actualized people tend to experience many moments of profound inner peace through experiences of happiness, understanding, and fulfillment. So how can the average Fedizen make use of this model to improve his or her own quality of life on an everyday basis? I decided to conduct a scientific investigation, in which I selflessly spent countless hours of my free time using an ICU-2 Non-Invasive Behavioral Sociological Scanning and Observation Unit (spybeam). Though there were a few distractions and sidetracks during my research (most of which involved women, beer, women and beer, women and women, or beer and more beer) I feel I can safely say that I got at least a good eight minutes worth of scientifically-sound empirical behavioral evidence regarding this topic. After the long and painstaking process of compiling and analyzing this vast pool of eight-minutes-worth of data I had collected, I came to some rather surprising conclusions. It would seem that the observations I made unequivocally supported Maslow's models at the lower levels of the hierarchy. I offer as an example: >spynet report Susan SPYNET REPORT: Subject Susan >spy susan /Mercury orbit />s /Solar orbit />s /Solar surface /Luckily you were insured! After an eternity of darkness and silence, consciousness gradually returns to your newly cloned body. /-* DON'T FORGET TO RE-INSURE YOURSELF! *- Certainly this unfortunate bit of navigation fits into Maslow's Hierarchy at the first level. To review, the first level of needs deal with physiological needs such as the needs for food, air, water, and not flying into the sun. At this point, however, a question occurred to me. Does the Hierarchy of Needs apply in the same way to males and females? I needed to find out. >spynet report Harold SPYNET REPORT: Subject Harold >tb harold Hello there, I am Olias, Baron of Emancipation. Are you a new player in need of hauling jobs? Your comm unit signals a tight beam message from Harold, "ya-me new need work" >tb harold Ahh, very good. Tell you what, I need some goods hauled. We can do a ship-to-ship transfer. Meet me at the location that is two sectors south of Mercury. I'll give you a bonus of 2,000,000 groats. Your comm unit signals a tight beam message from Harold, "u will? WOW!! that is real generous of u thx very much for helping out a newbie like this" >spy harold Sure enough, Harold flew into the sun and died horribly. I think it is safe to say that physiological needs like air, water, food, and not flying into the sun are the same for both genders. Safety and security needs seemed to be similar between the genders. Men and women both seemed in a hurry to get through the low ranks and establish companies and planets as stable and safe sources of income, neither sex seeming to desire the hand-to-mouth existences of commanders and captains. There was, however, a small divergence to be found at this tier of the hierarchy. Males, while needing the safety and stability of merchant and planet-owner ranks, seemed also to have needs that were in direct opposition. The male need to not ask for directions seemed to often inhibit the pursuit of the merchant rank, as it interfered with hauling. Furthermore, the male need to not read the directions often leads to an upset of the stability and safety needs, for when the male achieves planet-ownership, he often has no idea how to manage it. This often leads to a third divergent need: the need to ask a female how to work the thing. My first analysis seemed to indicate that the divergence in male and female needs seemed to disappear on the higher levels dealing with the needs for belonging, love and acceptance. My initial observations were of the female section of the populace (as my spybeam sessions normally are), and indeed it seemed that females in general actively engaged in the pursuit of these needs. Observation of the males seemed to indicate that they were very accommodating in offering the fulfillment of these needs to the females. I witnessed such statements of the males to the females as: "Honey, you seem to have lost some weight. Have you been dieting?" "Dear, that is a beautiful dress you are wearing tonight." "Sweetheart, are you feeling well today?" "Sugar, the roast was delicious." "Sweetie, I love you with all my heart." "Love, how was work today?" "Babe, I'll always put the toilet seat down." "Kitten, I think you are beautiful and I want to make love to you." "Hon, will you marry me?" Such statements as these seemed to support Maslow's model. It seemed that the typical male also pursued his need for love, acceptance, and belonging and seemed to achieve the fulfillment of these needs by accommodating the same needs in the female. I would have been satisfied with these test results, but on a whim decided to follow up my research to see if I was receiving accurate information. I ran the aforementioned male statements through a standard BS-239 Deceit-O-Meter and was surprised with the true meanings of the male: "Honey, you seem to have lost
some weight. Have you been dieting?" "Dear, that is a beautiful
dress you are wearing tonight." "Sweetheart, are you feeling
well today?" "Sugar, the roast was
delicious." "Sweetie, I love you with all
my heart." "Love, how was work
today?" "Babe, I'll always put the
toilet seat down." "Kitten, I think you are
beautiful and I want to make love to you." "Hon, will you marry me?" This alarming discrepancy, of course, could only hint at a greater schism between the sexes at Maslow's highest level: the need for personal fulfillment of potential. Indeed, my research confirmed that males strove for personal fulfillment in very different ways than females. To them, the ultimate goal of a self-actualized male was to devise flawless schemes to get females to have sex with them. They weave intricate tapestries of deception to entice the female, some going so far as to utilize the public domain to spread their net, such as the Fed Chronicle. For the females, my observations seemed to indicate a real effort and desire to improve themselves on a deep, inner level, achieving states of self-actualization and moments of profound insight. Such females are able to use their gained wisdom and intuition to see through the deceit of the male. They also know to steer clear of publications such as Scoundrel's Corner.
If you are female, I would just like to take this opportunity to say that you appear to have lost some weight, your eyes shine like diamonds and I hope you had a good day at work today. I enjoy listening to your stories and you may talk as long as you like to me at Olias7@aol.com. (Feel free to make offers of sex to me at Olias7@aol.com. ) ALSATIAN'S PLANET REVIEW: MISTAKEN IDENTITY
I was sleeping on the steps of the mansion, hoping another adventurer would stumble over my snoring form and tumble headfirst to the landing when these comments on channel one caught my attention. The idea that I might really be someone else was certainly kibble for thought. I knew I had some things in common with Alan Lenton – after all, both our names could be Al, and uh, well, er... further comparisons needed some research. Short biographies on key players and staff can be found on the ibgames website – all except mine, that is, and I decided to use the information found there to further investigate the probability that I, Alsatian, dog of legendary digging talents, illustrious tree marker, planet reviewer extraordinaire, could actually be Alan Lenton. Here's what I found: "Alan likes good wine, neat
programs and wargaming." "He reads extensively and
likes a variety of music particularly blues/rock." "He has significant
interests in social welfare and takes an active part in
his real world community." The evidence was overwhelming; I was surely the famed Alan Lenton – placed in DataSpace in this canine form by some insidious plot devised undoubtedly by Hazed and Barb for some nefarious and evil reason, subjected to treatments meant to inspire memory loss, run-on sentences, and a distinct wet fur odor. >spynet report Hazed Darn. Maybe not.
TOP TEN
WAYS TO ACCIDENTALLY REVEAL YOUR SECRET ALT IN FED So, you want to start an alt in Fed and you don't want anyone to know it's you? You're not the first. Heck, you're not the 1000th even. We've all done it. But eventually, everyone makes mistakes and someone finds out who they really are. Bummer! Just don't ever think no one is watching, because someone always is! Here are the top ten mistakes you can make to let everyone know who your alts are without really trying to:
But the very best way to let everyone know your alts is: Log all of your characters into Fed at once, and then get punted by your ISP. Then bring them all back. Got a good story for me? Email Bizcarp@aol.com and let's get it here.
C.U.J.O.,
Part IV Re-cap from last week (scratch that… it was last week when I wrote this first part of this article over a month ago, now it’s from a long time ago): Maybe I don’t wanna give a re-cap! How about you all actually click a few times, use your eyes, and read the earlier editions of C.U.J.O.?! What did you just say? You… you would boycott my articles if I didn’t give a re-cap? You’re putting a gun to my head in that case… Gun-to-my-head re-cap from the most recent C.U.J.O. article: I managed to acquire some groats and information from various sources which let me spy on Mr. Joe Camber, President of C.U.J.O. I learned various pertinent facts about the organization and their reasons for wanting my demise, when something froze me. "Everyone, it has come to my attention that Gavin is actually spying on me at this very moment!" exclaimed Mr. Camber to the crowd. They collectively gasped and soon began talking furiously amongst themselves. "Quiet! Quiet everyone!" yelled out Mr. Camber. After some more shouting, the crowd finally calmed, and Mr. Camber continued, "So he knows we are after him, then we just have to cut our planning a little short. Come on everyone! To your ships!" The audience of C.U.J.O. members began to go into a frenzy and rushed headlong to their parked ships. That’s when I noticed many had ships bristling with weapons and IGWA (Intergalactic Weapons Association) slogans painted on them. There didn’t seem to be a pro-weapons control member in the lot. Meanwhile, inside my ship, it seemed as if I myself were two south of Mercury. It felt like the temperature had skyrocketed to Transuranics-on-Titan-room levels. Sweat was pouring down me at the thought of thousands of experienced fighters on my tail. So I did what any normal, self-respecting, scared-out-of-his-wits journalist would do. I panicked. I began to shake, moan, cry, and lament about how life was too short all at once. Randomly punching buttons, I continued to remaining in this pitiful state until I noticed my ship was moving. Abruptly I stopped, and wondered just where I had sent myself off to. When the hyperspace jump was complete, I was relieved to see where I had landed myself: Mythose. Somewhat more relaxed, I landed my ship and settled into my office, wondering how I would get out of this one. Then a comm message was relayed to the surface of my planet. "We know you’re here Gavin. This is the first place we would look of course! You’re such an idiot, Gavin. You think about as well as you write!" the voice of Joe Camber howled at me followed by laughter. Then, I got pissed. They insulted my intelligence and my writing in the same sentence. That crossed the line. So I did what any normal, self-respecting, pissed-at-his-potential-murderers journalist would do. No, I didn’t buy a fighting ship, blast into orbit, and turn an entire fleet of C.U.J.O. members into spacedust. I’m a journalist, remember? Rather, I sold my ship and called an Interstellar Taxi. C.U.J.O. wouldn’t dare touch it. Disrupting intergalactic commerce would get the Galactic Administration onto C.U.J.O.’s tail faster than they could corrupt a random planet’s government. C.U.J.O. would have no idea that the taxi was there to pick up me. Just because Mythose has as many visitors in a year as Starbase1Disney doesn’t mean they know that too. As far as they’re concerned, there could be any number of people on Mythose needing a taxi. So I hopped into the taxi content with myself. By the time C.U.J.O. figured it out and landed, I’d be long gone. They might mess the planet up a bit, but I’ve been done that road before thanks to a certain scoundrel. As I settled into the seat that had probably once been plush leather and was now ripped in several places and smelling of low quality beer, the driver asked me, "Where ya headed, guv?" I just stared blankly at him. I hadn’t thought of that yet. "Come on, meter’s runnin’ while ya think," he told me flatly. Quickly running through a mental list of my friends, or lack thereof, I came up with a destination, "Brazos." The driver just shrugged, pulled up the coordinates on his computer, and set course for Brazos. We pulled into orbit and began to fly through the mass of C.U.J.O. ships in my orbit. I was understandingly frightened half to death until I assured myself that it was all right, I’m in a taxi. I even smirked a little bit. I could get enough tourist time for a Tungsten Tourist Trap Trophy from all these people in orbit of Mythose. Finally the taxi made it to the edge of the system, entered hyperspace, and, seeing as Brazos was in the same duchy, pulled out a short time later. After making planetfall, paying the driver and meagerly tipping him (much to his annoyance), I began to look for Grewl, Technocrat of Brazos. He was hauling, as expected if you’ve made it to Technocrat. I managed to flag him down as he sped by with commods and present to him a proposition. "Grewl, you said you were interested in starting a hobby as a fighter. Well, I’ve got the perfect chance for you to begin! You see, there are some C.U.J.O. members that I’m not exactly on the best of terms with. Perhaps you could get some practice against them," I suggested in my best sales pitch voice. Grewl looked interested as I described the situation and I inwardly smiled. Then he asked the one question I hoped he wouldn’t ask, "How many are there?" He was my duchymate, I couldn’t lie to him. "Oh… ya know, not that many, maybe, about forty, give or take a view. Nothing you can’t handle," I assured him. He recoiled at that. "Forty?! Forty?! Gavin… I want to get into fighting, not go on a mercenary mission and get myself rushed off to the hospital before I can even power up my shields! I’m sorry, but I can’t help you." In despair, I began mumbling and trying to come up with another persuasive argument, but Grewl just shook his head. "Sorry Gavin." He entered his ship and continued hauling. I wasn’t mad at Grewl, just frustrated and desperate. Then I thought of an old friend I could call on. Calling yet another taxi, I gave my destination without hesitation, "Isleofview, please." The driver nodded at me and we headed off. But when we reached the Landing Pad, a sign was posted that read, "Gone hostin’." After I quickly called up a list of the current events running throughout the universe, I was able to tell the driver I wanted to go to Golgotha. The driver just pointed at a small placard pasted below the fare list. It said: "The following destinations are considered overtly dangerous: Starbase1, Golgotha, and Karma. An extra surcharge of 10,000,000 IG must be paid for all trips to these locations." Despite the heavy hit to my account it would make, I thought of those C.U.J.O. thugs that were after me and paid the extra. Upon arrival, the ship was flooded with Maydays. Plenty of fighting was in full swing. We managed to stay in one piece until landing, and I approached Sholuvr inside the hospital. She was busy tallying off victims, booking fights, and generally doing the things that hosts do for ‘Guts and Glory.’ I managed to give her my proposal, however, during lulls in the action. Unfortunately, her reply didn’t help much. "Gavin, I’m busy hosting right now, could you please not interrupt me? Besides, I’ve got other hosting duties this week, fighting events myself to enter, and a planet to manage. I’m way too busy to help you with your own little war. We may have been friends in Mba way back when… but I just can’t help you now." I dejectedly left and called my third taxi of the day, preparing for my last try: Tomyris. She was on Artemisx as expected, just relaxing, probably savoring one of her many fighting victories. I was practically on my knees begging this time for her help. She just laughed at me. "Gavin! I’m winning weekly fighting events, hosting my own event, compete in a league where I can win prizes, and you want me to help you, for nothing I might add, kill off forty little C.U.J.O. punks because you somehow managed to tick them off and can’t remedy the situation yourself?" When she put it that way… I just left and sat on the Artemisx Landing Pad when the strangest thing I’ve ever seen happened. No, Martians didn’t appear and blast the C.U.J.O. ships to pieces. Rather, a trader sent a comm message into Altaria space, "Could I please get a price check on holos?" I gasped. A real-life trader in Altaria! Who would’ve guessed that? I chuckled and pulled up a Spynet Wire Service on holos for Altaria. Then, I got an idea… Yes, next week will be the last installment of C.U.J.O., and then we can all get on with the rest of our lives. Oh, and if it’s not, feel free to e-mail bomb Gavin at Gavin_of_Mythose@yahoo.com. It’ll only annoy him a little.
FED
OP-ED: MY FAVORITE PLANET This week, I again went around to different places and asked one general question. Let’s see what everyone thought:
Loki: "Discworld cause Uncle
Pin gave me groats once and now he can't get rid of
me." Swald: "thats easy:
Discworld" Cen: "That's also easy...
Sin" Bigmac: "Right now for me it's
Mezmer because you never know what the old Wizard will
come with." Neecerie: "Art would be my favorite... why... fun puzzle, great writing, it really makes you feel like you are -there-... if that makes any sense." Bix: "hmmm, mostly visit players; Guess I like Carnival best because it's about fun and has rides to play on :)" Witchdoctor: "lol...most of the best ones are closed. I would say Coeur in Art, it is imaginative, well written, a variety of themes and also the PO is young and eager, something players with a zillion alts tend to lack." Snocat: "my favorite place to visit is Que... got some real cool droids on the tunnelmobiles." Drexxell: "I'd have to say Lotus, but not because of the planet layout or anything, but the atmosphere is always warm and the people are always friendly. :)" Macnbc: "Hey ya know, I really
like Smuckers, because I think sucking up never
hurts."
SCOUNDREL'S
CORNER: THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE After the whistling ceased, glowing white letters appeared on the screen proclaiming that the truth is out there. I flipped off the television and opened the front door, where I was pleased to see that Amazon.com had delivered the book I had ordered, the latest in the Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind. I walked into the dining room where I placed my new book next to Clear and Present Danger, a DVD I had recently purchased. Under the DVD's title is a caption that reads, "The Truth Needs A Soldier". I decided at that moment that if truth was what everyone seemed to want so badly, then truth I would give them. Starship Cantina A brazen Harlot has just arrived. Harlot poses. >ex harlot UCA brazin, blazin harlot. Wears a piece of dental floss as a bra w/ lepard skin bikini bottom. Looks yer way and batz eyelashes. "Like what you see, sailor?", says Harlot with a wink. >say Um…nope. "What?? But…why not??", Harlot asks. >say Well, first of all, it took me TWO YEARS of playing Fed before I was able to figure out that UCA was not, in fact, a college somewhere. >say Furthermore let me say that in a text-based game letting your description be that full of typographical errors is to me the real-life equivalent of, say, having your nose growing out of the top of your head. >say Also it has been my experience that people that try so hard to shovel themselves off as some sort of sex fiend nymphomaniacs in Fed are generally those that a blind man who was a castaway for fourteen years living on nothing but Ginseng would not touch with a tree limb. >say Other than that, I guess it's okay. Harlot has slapped your face! >say Hey! I was just being truthful! Harlot has just left. Okay, I figured, there are exceptions to every rule and this Harlot person apparently was someone not terribly interested in the truth. Moments later a tight-beam message presented another opportunity for me to practice my new commitment to honesty.
It is a mysterious coincidence that since I first began writing for the Chronicle, terrible disasters have occurred to me and my family every Friday night. I have lost eight cousins, seven uncles, five grandparents and two dogs to such inexplicable Acts Of God as earthquakes, torrential downpours, volcanic eruptions, and stampeding buffalo. I personally have been involved in three automobile accidents, two open-heart surgeries, one lost expedition to Malaysia, and four plane crashes. All on Friday nights. Or so Hazed thinks. >tb Hazed, Well, you see, it was like this… I gritted my teeth and remembered I was supposed to be telling the truth. >tb Hazed I goofed off all week like every other week waiting until the last possible second to write the article. I tried to write something last night but the pressure of trying to crank out an article at the last minute stopped me up like cheese. >tb Hazed I decided to ease my hypertension by drinking heavily and passed out on the keyboard. >tb Hazed I decided that such stress is not good for my system, so rather than experiencing it again today by trying to write something, I decided for medical reasons that I should take it easy and goof off some more. >tb Hazed So it's not my fault. After recovering from severe head trauma and returning home from the intensive care unit, I decided that Hazed also seemed like someone who was not terribly appreciative of the truth. Undaunted by the ruthless beating I had received, I continued in my efforts to spread the truth. >teleport Mythose 10 Mythose Landing Pad C.U.J.O is after him, Gavin is here. "Heya Olias.", smiles Gavin. >say Listen, Gavin, there are some things I need to tell you. Gavin says, "Okay, shoot." >say You remember last week how I asked you to come back to the Fed Chronicle and told you that I missed your articles and the Chronicle had suffered for your absence? "Of course, and that really meant a lot to me. Thank you.", says Gavin. >say Well what I meant by that is I missed having your column in there because it is normally so horrible that it makes everything else in the Chronicle - no matter how rotten - seem like Shakespeare. Gavin gapes. >say You know, it's kind of like how when you have a girlfriend that is sort of a woofer, you try to stick a picture of her into a truly awful frame hoping it makes her look better. This bit about how Fed is like a turkey sandwich you did last week just served to make my article look like a masterpiece. Gavin begins to tremble. His lip quivers. >act claps Gavin on the back. "Just wanted to let you know. Thanks for your contribution, man. Keep up the lousy work." >act stops and turns on the ramp of his ship. "By the way, what happened to this LP? It looks like hell. You should get someone to come clean up around here." >act smiles and waves. Afterward, I again got the sneaking suspicion that the truth was not appreciated in the least. The various hate letters and mail bombs I received from Mythose only seemed to confirm this impression. I paused to give this matter some serious contemplation. The truth is, in fact, out there, but so far no one seemed happy to find it. Maybe I was seeing a message that wasn't there. It had been my assumption that such a proclamation indicated that not only was the truth out there, but that people wanted to know it. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps people just wanted the blatantly obvious stated to them. "The truth is out there." Another possibility occurred to me. Maybe people want to feel as if they have a good grasp of what is true, but simply don't want the responsibility of having to deal with new, hard truths. It could, perhaps, run along the lines of the above example, "You know, it's kind of like how when you have a girlfriend that is sort of a woofer, you try to stick a picture of her into a truly awful frame hoping it makes her look better," or, "I want the truths I am prepared to deal with seem much larger than they are, thus making me feel proud of myself. I will, therefore, fabricate a mess of lies to frame them in." Hence the conspiracy theories. Hence the little green men. Hence the inane debates on channel nine. Hence the Fed being like a turkey sandwich article from Gavin. I suppose that with a large, lengthy treatise on how Federation is like a turkey sandwich floating around in the background, the sudden realization that Fed is, in fact, more like an online massively multi-player role-playing game can seem like one of the great revelations of a lifetime. With celebrities telling you that the day you realize your software sucks is an epiphany, then realizations such as your loved one needing a little more support or that you could be doing more to realize your potential must be great defining moments in life. The truth is out there. It's just obscured by the very obvious and buried in the hogwash. Oh, and I must grudgingly admit the truth that I like Gavin a great deal. We here in the newsroom are all hopeful that if he sticks to his medications he will soon be cranking out articles that have nothing at all to do with how Fed is like any form of food object.
If you didn't like this article, feel free to heap compliments on me at Olias7@aol.com.
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SECRET ALT IN FED