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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 2001 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 2001 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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Folks, I think we're being scammed. Before you call your lawyers and tell them to "bring back heads" let me explain precisely what I mean. I'm sure at some point we've all owned a ship, even if we don't own one at the moment. I'm also pretty sure we've all sold a ship at some point in our life. Which means that we can all understand the question: just who is BUYING all these ships? The only ships you see in space belong to players, so that rules out workthigies buying ships. Pegasus has a very distinctive custom ship, and Monty is also a non-stock flier. When you add it all up, it means that there are, by now, literally BILLIONS of ships unaccounted for. Or are they? I think there are two possible
theories that could account for the missing ships. 1) They're disassembled and the parts are used during those usefulness-questionable "overhauls" we occasionally endure. This could explain why everything breaks so quickly; it already has fifty million light-years on it. 2) The entire ship is recycled. That's right; all they do is slap a new coat of manky paint on it and stick it in the back until someone orders that particular model, at which point they roll it out and pass it off as "new." The concern for the environment is admirable; throwing out that many ships could cause problems, such as finding landfill space (Venus?). However, I think we should hold the shipbuilders to the same standards we once held paper makers and fast-food chains to and require them to list how much of the product is recycled material. At the very least, we'll know how much will have to be replaced on the next "overhaul."
FED
OP-ED: TURNING THE INTERVIEWER/INTERVIEWEE TABLES Jelly needed a column and decided it should be about her campaign for a husband. Of course, it's not proper to interview yourself (twice), so I agreed to interview her, Fed's most eligible bachelorette, for her own column. The answers will daze and amaze you. (Come on! Football!) Find out if her bachelorette status will be permanent... and how to apply to become the lucky man.
"That says correctly then", says Jelly. "Is this by your choice?", asks Danny. Jelly says, "Absolutely not! I think it's time I got a husband and settled down." Danny checks his cards and says, "So my sources tell me you've started a campaign to find such a husband..." Jelly says, "And your sources are right! The campaign details can be found at: http://bejellyshusband.homestead.com... the site's purty." "So for those of us too lazy to actually look at the site, and who have also never talked to you, or even met you, could you tell us a few reasons an eligible man would want to apply to marry you?", asks Danny. Jelly exclaims, "Well, first of all, I'm sweet, high ranking AND rich!" Jelly adds, "Did I mention I'm rich?" Jelly says, "I also own vast amounts of real estate." "...And I'm rich", says Jelly. Danny shuffles through his cards again and says, "It also says here you're an NFL fan." "Yes, football is a high priority in my life", says Jelly. Danny asks, "That's a plus for many guys too, is it not?" Jelly says, "Sure! I mean, no whining about 'turning that dang game off'... no having to explain that the color scheme of the uniforms does not matter to the game." Danny asks, "And one final question, what type of wife would you be?" Jelly thinks very hard. "A good one.", says Jelly. "Thanks for your time. Do you have any final comments?", asks Danny. Jelly says, "Yes, I do. If someone wants to apply... they can visit the webpage http://bejellyshusband.homestead.com, or send an email to BeJellysHusband@yellowhat.org. Hurry now! Offer ends soon. Residents of Guam not eligible for prize."
SEARCH FOR JELLY'S HUSBAND ACCUSED OF DISCRIMINATION Dear Danny, I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about the dicrimination displayed on the web site about finding a husband for Jelly. I would have thought in these enlightened days that we were past such blatant exclusions. Since you are so keen to find a husband for the young lady, it seems incredible to me that you should exclude such a large number of potential spouses, due to out-moded, out-dated and simply spurious restrictions. I speak, of course, of the requirement that applicants must be male. These days, women do not accept restrictions on what they can do based purely on their gender. Women can be haulers, traders, own their own ships and planets, women can even run duchies. For heaven's sake, even the current Emperor is a woman (albeit a missing one)! So why do you feel that a woman somehow lacks the qualifications to be a husband? Yours in disgust,
I have learned you are displeased with the exclusions associated with finding me a husband. I would like to apologize whole heartedly, but also, explain why I still cannot change the rules. I consulted with the wise man known as "Webster" and he explained the definition holds that a husband is "a male partner in a marriage". Clearly that states that one must be male. I know exclusions always feel unfair and leave a large group of people out, but they are a present reality. Despite women's advances, role-wise, in the past years, this is one role that has yet to be changed. Other exclusions that have yet to be changed are just as unfair. The lowly commander, because of his rank, cannot leave the confining space of Sol. The poor soul tries his hardest at working, but is looked down upon by others of higher rank. The (in)famous Chez Diesel's has its exclusions too. Humble newly-living people, and the badly dressed cannot get through those doors. Once again, I apologize for the exclusion. However, it still stands. One day, maybe all restrictions will be gone. But for now, they aren't... Until you can get Wise-Man Webster to change his mind, that rule lives on. Thank you for alerting us to this,
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Sometimes it takes a little more than perking up my ears so the words I've had tattooed on the inside are displayed to stay out of trouble. 'It's Not My Fault' only works the first couple times, then more sophisticated techniques must be employed. I've found that avoiding responsibility is an art and best perfected by studying and adapting techniques used by other species. My studies in this field have taken me into the realm of monkeys and man. They've both perfected the technique of see-no-evil, and (especially the younger ones of the species) have incorporated it into their lives as a perfect example of fault avoidance. If something goes wrong, they merely cover their eyes and pretend it doesn't exist. Now most monkeys retain this ability throughout their lives, while humans tend to either mature out of this skill or become corporate lawyers. However, a canine would look quite silly trying to hobble around with paws over eyes, so I adapted this technique into something I call the beetle. You know, those pesky little bugs that crawl over the floor and under the door. If I need to ignore a situation to stay out of trouble, I just find a handy beetle, follow it with my nose, and pretend the rest of the universe doesn't exist. A couple weeks ago I tried this when stronger measures than 'It's Not My Fault' were required to duck an issue. We all knew that AboveNet was going to have to make repairs after someone just had to go in the house. It's Not My Fault their computer cabinets reminded me of fire hydrants. Furthermore, I'm sure I didn't have anything to do with that slightly chewed radiator hose that went out, leaving Fed running on battery power and sending staff scurrying to try to shut down the universe in an orderly manner. No no, It Wasn't My Fault. But just to make sure no one blamed me, I found a beetle and followed it over half of DataSpace. When Hazed started yelling I couldn't hear her because all my attention was nobly focused on the beetle. When Bella started yelling I ate the beetle. Okay, so this technique needs some practice. The beetle didn't agree with my digestive system, resulting in a few listless days where I moped around CDs looking miserable. Her demi-goddessness got concerned enough about my well-being to call in the vet, and I got the pleasure of finding out just where that thermometer goes. It didn't take much of that treatment before I perked up and got back to reviewing planets.
Sometimes it's scary how closely real life and Fed echo each other in ways they probably shouldn't. Sure, sometimes we notice a striking similarity between the Simplified US Tax Code and the exchange system, but sometimes we see something that draws a very clear line but makes us wonder a little. This is what I was thinking as I was on my vacation last week, out of sight of human habitation... or land, for that matter. My vacation last week was to engage in one of my all-time favorite activities, one which I rarely get to take part in, and yet one I enjoy so much, I actually put a location on my planet for me to enjoy it in Fed. You see, my dear readers, I love to fish. I find something oddly appealing about a sport where sitting on your butt is a winning strategy. I also find something amusing about a sport whose sole goal is to outwit an organism with a brain the size of a pea. And I'm willing to bet that the fish find it amusing that I'm never able to catch them. I've invested hundreds of dollars in lures and equipment, and all they do is scoff. Meanwhile, the guy fifty yards down the beach with a five-dollar rod and a kernel of corn is hauling them out one after another. The same thing happened at my Fed fishing hole. Yet, for some reason, my luck has always been fantastic at ocean-going fishing. So, this is where I went last week: deep sea fishing. And it was while I was at sea that I noticed a disturbing parallel between the real world and Fed. Since I live near New Jersey, I set sail from Avalon aboard the Fast Pace, skippered by John German. I've been out with the Fast Pace before, and had a grand time; Captain German is a very friendly fellow, the exact kind of person you'd want on a sport fishing trip. (If you're interested, he sails from Avalon NJ, and I can get you contact information - just email me.) I've always loved the ocean, so the trip offshore - we went thirteen miles out - was a joy in and of itself. Then we set lines and waited for the fish. We didn't have long to wait. Somehow, though, as I was reeling an obstinate bluefish in, I noticed a distinct and disturbing similarity. Remember trying to find someone to haul that tonnage so you could promote? You had to lure them in - often by lying your tailfeathers off - and then, after you've snagged them, reeling them into your clutches before they know what's really going on. This is very close to fishing - you dupe the pea-brain into biting something that isn't food, then hauling them into a boat before they realize they've bitten a very sharp object. Of course, the fish will usually fight (wouldn't you?), thus simulating the occasional tug-of-war that develops between competing would-be promoters. I'll agree that the Fed version is far less amusing than pitting your strength and safety against the pull of an angry fish, but each has its place in the world. There are, natually, major differences between deep-sea fishing and the Fed version. Namely, you're far less likely to get your shoes redecorated in the Fed version. This is true: I bobbled the retrieval of a bluefish, causing it to flop about the deck for a few minutes, and in the process, he smeared my left sneaker with scales that have so far resisted all attempts to remove them. I'm about ready to try explosives. However, all in all, it was a grand trip, disturbing relation notwithstanding. I'd recommend it in a heartbeat to anyone who even somewhat enjoys fishing. I also highly recommend Captain German and his boat, and not because he paid me to say that (he didn't). And although it did bring a series of scary realizations to me, I did notice one reassuring non-parallel. When that hauler is flopping around, he rarely leaves scales on your shoes.
WHY
BOTHER? School starts for me again this Monday. I enjoyed the 6 month summer I received for transferring from a school with a year-round-schedule to a school on a normal one, however I wish it wouldn't end. Fortunately, there is no school in Fed. You can screw up and learn as you go! For instance: A long time ago I opened fire on a official in Fed (won't say who) with vulgar insults. I soon learned that was a really bad idea. If I had a netcam I would've taken a picture of the expression on my face when I learned that my comm unit could be taken away. I also explored planets without insurance once. That too was a bad idea, especially since the space locations looked exactly like Sol's space. Sadly, I didn't realize I made a typo when I did my two jumps back to Sol (I didn't jump back, get it?) and then was shot down by some trigger happy yahoo. Learning not to pick fights with a guy who wants your character name was pretty easy, but was a costly lesson. Back in the early days of web Fed, after the game left AOL, I did this. The guy offered to pay me 1.5 gigs for my name. I had no interest in running factories or a planet, so other than just having that large lump of groats, I didn't have a reason to accept. I figured he would let it go… wrong! About a week later he was called me over and begged for my name, I still held my ground and refused. He told me I'd regret it and I replied, "I can kick your (guess what!)." Bad idea. He said he'd meet me in the Arena. I had no idea what the arena was at the time. While looking for a place to land: boom. That kinda sucked. I sat in the Cantina until he left Fed for the night and snuck over to Venus to reinsure. If I still had the same character name today, he'd probably still fire at me when I past by him in space. Probably one of the dumbest mistakes I ever made in Fed, is the most recent and the most costly lesson: DD'ing on my own planet. Hold the laughter. I'm sure there have been other people who've done it, maybe it was intentional, but I'm going to continue to use that as my defense. Read the Federation Chronicle next week for more articles of nonsense by me!
Alsatian did mention last week that he was planning to have a hangover, but I didn't expect that he would spend the whole week drunk! Do you know what that dog did? No, of course you don't, so I'll tell you. He snuck into the cellar at Chez Diesel. He tugged some old sacks into an untidy heap underneath one of the barrels holding the premium ale Diesel's Old Peculiar. He kicked them into the semblance of some kind of dog bed. He climbed onto this makeshift bed, and did that dog thing of turning round and round several times to make himself comfortable. Then he punctured the barrel with his teeth so a thin trickle of beer was released. Positioning himself so that the ale stream ran into his open mouth, he spent the week getting steadily more intoxicated! Two days ago, a waitdroid who came into the cellar to change a barrel heard strange noises and investigated. He discovered Alsatian, intoxicated, semi-conscious, and singing. The droid told Diesel, and she commed me and demanded that I remove the drunken dog from her cellar, and what's more pay for the beer he had consumed. Since then, I've kept the mutt in an icebath, but by my reckoning it's going to be several days before he's sobered up enough to walk, let alone review a planet!
FED
OP-ED: PIANO ABUSE Ever wonder why the piano in Diesel's is so rickety and... well... just plain in bad shape? Well, I found out this week... read on to see why.
Never wonder again!
BARK! Sometime during Survivor I, I befriended a popular duchess after she smothered me with barbeque sauce and ingested me like a pork product. Can anyone guess who that is? Satinsheets (happy now, Satin? I wrote something about you)! So now she takes me for walks, gives me baths (those are fun!), feeds me canned w00kie food, and gives me a nice scratch behind the ear when I need one. >north Main salon *Exits-S,W,N,U,D* The pirate goddess, Satinsheets is here. Chewbacon has given Satinsheets a nice hug! "Salve," says Chewbacon. ("Hello," in Latin.) Satinsheets has given you a friendly hug! "I need a new flea collar!" Chewbacon exclaims. Chewbacon scratches behind his ear. I'll point out that I never got one and the heathens are still biting me. After finishing a glass of iced tea, I became thirsty again (tea never cures a thirst). "I need a near beer," says Chewbacon. Bartholomew notices your glass is nearly empty and whistles to the barwench for a fresh round... Bartholomew has bought you a Blockade Runner! As you finish the intoxicating concoction, a little Jolly Roger runs up the straw, the mug wheels around and fires another round into you!! "Satin," I whined, "Bart's giving me intoxicating drinks." I indulged anyways, one after the other and letting that little Jolly Roger fire one round after the other into me. I'm going to feel, see and smell that in the morning. What did it smell like? It smelled like Jager, man! So being a pet isn't what it's cracked up to be. I'm one of those pets with an owner that's at work all the time, I jump up her legs for attention when I see her and get smacked on the nose. But while she's gone, I do get to run wild and chase the mailman when I see him. Questions? Comments? Death threats? Email them to: Chewbacon_and_famous@hotmail.com.
Last week Hazed found me lying on my back in the cellar of Chez Diesel trying to directly infuse a barrel of Diesel’s Old Peculiar. It had taken me a week to find the correct flow rate to induce the perfect level of intoxication, but I’d done my job well and had managed to stay blissfully unaware of the rest of the universe for several days. Hazed fixed all that with an ice bath. Eventually she quit ducking my head under the chilled water, kicked me out of the house armed only with a bottle of aspirin, and directed me with a whap on the nose to get the next review done. I tried, I really did. I approached Flashback from every angle possible, but the psychedelic strobe lights directed at the orbit combined with the throbbing in my head, and the resulting discomfort was too much to overcome. Sneaking back into Sol and under the porch of the mansion, I settled in my dark hideout to wait for the hangover to subside. I’m still waiting.
I've sat on this gripe for long enough. Normally, I try to spare you, my kind readers, the brunt of my pet peeves, but unfortunately, it's time for a blowout. Just bear in mind that I'm going to be doing a lot of generalizing. Be that as it may, I think more than one of you will probably agree with what I'm going to say. [NOTE: If you're violently loyal to your SUV (if you own one) you might want to stop reading now.] Something has to be done about this SUV craze. I remember a time where we had cars, full-size vans, pickup trucks, and tractor-trailers. That was it. There were no evil mutant combinations of car and bus. However, it appears that somewhere along the line, that very thing happened, and we got stuck with the SUV. I wouldn't mind it so much if they weren't so inherently dangerous to car-driving persons like myself. Worse yet, it seems as though the bulk of the "inconsiderate" drivers in the world have bought SUVs, and are now merrily monopolizing the roads with vehicles the size of major geological formations. Like many other people, I long for the good old days. Days when cars and busses were different creatures. Days when people didn't drive what are essentially two ton battering rams. However, I'm also an inventive (and possibly slightly greedy) fellow, so I've decided to cash in on the SUV craze by designing new ships for Fed. For the longest time, we've had the same hulls available, and they don't have too much pizzaz to them. Big, blocky, ugly things slathered in disgusting paint. So, in order to better your opinion of your ship, I've decided it's time for new ships based on today's cars. Without further ado, the 2001 Model Year Fed Ships: (Based on the "standard"
SUV) (Based on those "luxury"
SUVs) (Based on the
"stereotypical" SUV) I'll admit that I'm probably a little biased about my conversions, since I find sharing the road with an SUV about as enjoyable as lighting my hair on fire (I've done that, so I can make the comparison... please don't ask). However, I think that the new diversity of available hulls could prove to be a nice thing for people, since we've all had our fill of the manky institutional paint jobs that look as though a very large creature got violently ill as it was standing next to the hull. And beyond the benefits of making people happier, these additions serve a far greater goal. Getting me out of debt, right. As per the usual, if there's anything you'd like to share with me, feel free to send it to Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com! I realize some of you who drive SUVs might not like the comments I've made here, but they are actually factual; SUVs are dangerous to ordinary cars in collisions, more so than any other vehicle with the possible exception of tractor-trailers and bulldozers.
AN
EXPENSIVE SUIT This Microsoft case has been an ongoing fiasco for a while and I'm starting to wonder if it's really worth it. When I say fiasco, think about how many times in the past year you've heard of a verdict being reached. Think about it, the United States government is suing a company that almost exclusively writes software to launch their missiles, so naturally, they won't shut Microsoft down and forget about it. However, they will carry this case out for more years to come and cost the country millions of dollars. Oh, and off the subject, all personnel of a Statistical Analysis department of a local airbase are required to read "Business @ The Speed of Thought" by Bill Gates (makes sense, huh?). Personally, I am sick of it; I'm pretty sure I'm right when I say that this was started because of Microsoft trying to dominate Netscape, which pretty much doesn't exist anymore. I use Windows 2000, but if MS can't produce something else that runs as good as Win95/2000 then I may leave them for Linux. Okay, on with my article: While watching the news Friday night and trying to think of an article, a commercial came on about the upcoming show with a featured debate about Microsoft. A couple words hit me: Jarrow Shipbuilders. Discern this: Every new player in Fed has to buy a ship from Jarrow. Why can't they buy one from me? I have the lowest financing in Fed! So let's look at the bigger picture here. Players will eventually start buying their ships elsewhere once they pass the rank of commander. However, if you type ‘registry' in Federation, you will notice that most of the ships listed are purchased in Panama (Earth). Could this be an illegal monopoly in Sol? Is there even a law against it in Sol? Nevertheless, I want some extra groatage and I'm going to file a suit against Jarrow Shipbuilders… see you in court!
After a week in the lock-up detox ward of Earth's hospital facility I was finally declared sober enough to resume my duties as planet reviewer. It was bad enough that they took my leash away, but a week without a flea collar has made for a heck of a lot of scratching afterwards. In detox I made a fine complement of new friends. Most had been long-term associates of Mario, and the lack of drug packets on Earth lately had sent them to this facility for help in enduring the withdrawal symptoms. A few were in for a second try – they had made far too much use of the hypodermic on Mars and found it much more addicting than Mario's offerings. The rest of us were once patrons of Diesel's fine establishment but had all eventually, like me, resorted to frequenting the seedier bars of Sol or just tapping a keg and lying under it for a week. With hangover only a distant memory, I was discharged from the hospital with only a slight nose-whapping for the leg-loving I kept trying on the nurse, and sent back to my duties.
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