Web Fed News Yearbooks - June 2002

HOW TO AVOID COMMON SENSE
by Horatio

If there is anything my new commuting schedule has taught me, it's that human beings in large groups somehow lose all sense of intelligence and courtesy and instead become truly vicious, ignorant, frustrating creatures remarkably similar in behavior to television lawyers. You know, people you just want to hit in the face with a crowbar. I understand that the average commute in the States is a time-consuming, stressful affair that is about as enjoyable as swimming in a pool filled with piranha (at least it seems that way to me), but it might be less so if people were to just take a moment to not act like idiots.

For example, we'll look at the turnpike interchange near my workplace. This is a place where about four or five lanes coming out of the toll plaza have to merge down into one lane (or, if we're using the shoulder as our traditional turning lane, two lanes). Now, for normal, thinking human beings, this shouldn't pose much of a challenge. If we all just take turns and let each other filter into line, we'd be out of there in no time. But no, these are commuters, so of course, instead of taking the easy, civilized route, we all jam into a snarling knot of cars, each fighting to gain three precious inches over the next guy. This invariably causes accidents.

It's different when cars are travelling at road speeds and don't see each other, or misjudge. That's just an accident, and usually truly accidental in nature. Not at the toll plaza. We're going, tops, three miles an hour at a sprint. A kid on a skateboard could pass all of us. These are not high-speed areas. So, essentially, we have cars playing chicken at absurdly slow speed and still somehow managing to lose! These accidents aren't just avoidable, they're foreseeable, and you don't need a crystal ball.

Perhaps that's why we Fedders, who often live in less sane places than the toll plaza, are lucky planets are so big. This keeps us from having to encounter something truly heinous: merging spacecraft. Usually we're fairly impatient people as we haul - after all, we just want to finish so we can get back to drinking. So it's a good thing planets have so much space to merge in. Earth is still a pretty busy place, and with sometimes upwards of a dozen ships all headed for the LP at the same time, you can imagine the headaches we'd be in for if they all had to crush down into one lane. It'd still be chicken, but this time at warp speed.

Maybe in the future we saw what a disastrous mess the traffic system was and made adjustments for it. More likely, we decided that angry commuters armed with twin lasers was a pretty unhealthy combination, so we took steps to appease them. Either way, I'm in favor of the changes. Sure, the tolls are bigger now (yay, Sol tax), but that's the price of convenience. After all, if we didn't kick in a little bit of cash for upgrades in convenience, you know where we'd still be.

At the toll plaza, right. me, you anything to want Horatio_theWriter@yahoo.com! to free to feel send If e-mail to it.

ANNOYANCES AND IDIOTS
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!

It is amazing how Fedders find ways to annoy people. In my case, most of the time it won't work. When it doesn't work, it only makes you look like an idiot. That is the risk in it: instead of succeeding and annoying someone, they laugh at your efforts and you become the talk of the day. "Do you know what that moron did?"

What I find funny is when one player annoys another and the outcome forces the edition of a new rule. Even funnier: a rule that could conflict with other rules.

Then there are things that shouldn't annoy people but do: spying, placing rewards, and hauling in their deficits. When someone is spying you, that is a perfect time (providing you know who is spying you) for you to tell the spy what you wish you could tell him via comms or in a public location. One statement the spy beam should clearly make to you is that there is no privacy in Fed – there is always someone who can spy you.

To me, rewards are jokes. Not only can they be very expensive to issue and time consuming to actually make them worth something, but can also be expensive to actually shoot them out of the sky. And what if they are like Danny and never move from a location? Is that the only security of life you can have in DataSpace.

When someone hauls in my deficits, I am grateful. That is just another thing I can take off of my to-do list. I'll even fill your deficits if you let me.

CALIFORNIA COOKIE BREAKFAST, FOR THE HUNGRY TOAD IN EVERYONE
by Thefrogprince

After many weeks of stalling, deceiving, and confusing our beloved editor, Hazed, I've finally found something worth writing about. I'm bound and determined to bring a bit of Frognellian culture to this region, even if it's not the wide range of Frognellian tongue sports I grew so fond of as a young lad.

That is why I've decided to begin publishing my annual recipe entry, something that will hopefully harbor a greater understanding of Frognellian people. This week's special, California Cookie Breakfast. As you might tell I've adapted the name to better suit the earth centered mindset.

First, we grate five cups of Frognellian Mushroom into a large mixing bowl. Into that you crack a simple earth egg and mix well. Set the base of the recipe aside and continue with the rest. One important and very rare ingredient to find in these galaxies is the giant albino slug. This is preferred sliced and placed into a warming pot of tree sap. Upon its addition, it is Frognellian custom to frequently taste the mixture with the tongue, but this is not recommended for human chefs. The second addition to the warming tree sap will be the mysterious seven-legged fly, found only in Chez Diesel on mars. Allow the contents of the pot to heat, and stir frequently while baking a large, pan sized portion of the Mushroom mix.

After the Mushroom cakes are fully cooked (lightly browned), divide accordingly (by number of mouths [one mouth per life-form]). While the tree sap spread is preferred warm, it is entirely conceivable to serve it after cooling it in the freezer, or if you're preparing it in deep space and like any good hauler you've forgotten to repair your refrigerator after 70,000,000 light years, you can substitute by placing the mixture into a sealed container and placing it on the outside of your ship's hull for about 15 seconds. This should sufficiently cool the mixture.

Liberally apply the mixture to the cakes, and eat joyously. Frognellian custom forbids all speaking while eating this sacred meal, the fifth of the day. That is why it is most common among Frognellians to eat this meal alone, often consuming multiple servings in a single sitting.

Below I've supplied a conversion of Frognellian cuisine to foods better favored by weaker palates. Though they fail to meet my unusually high standards, the dull senses of the human tongue should allow for an equivalent flavor shock.

Mushroom/Egg mixture = Oatmeal cookie dough (prepared according to number of mouths)
Giant Albino Slugs = Bananas
Seven legged Fly = Raisins
Warmed tree sap = Warmed tree sap (i.e. Warm syrup)

It is my personal wish that this will act as a bridge between our two alien cultures. If failing to do that, then possibly a source of revenue for this starving artist lovingly referred to as The Frog Prince. I hope you enjoy many long hours consuming this masterpiece of a meal.

California Cookie Breakfast has proven to be the only meal that has ever been capable of making my aunt sick from the sugar. It was a triumph and a grand moment when she set aside her plate and could eat no more. Personally I like my oatmeal cookie dough spread across the entire pan, and after it has begun to brown I sprinkle some unmixed oatmeal over the surface for aesthetic purposes.

ANIMAL TESTING MAKES BIG FAT F
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!

A few of you out there haul in your deficits daily. More of you do it from time to time. I fall in with the people who haul in deficits from time to time. I quit obsessing over it after I DD'ed while hauling (laugh it up). Whenever my Accumulated Stock Deficit rose above 0, I panicked and hauled in the commodities with negative stock.

Being a Baron and with no plans to make it to Duke, I can sit on my rump most of the time. But how is that benefiting DataSpace's economy? So I paid, well enslaved rather, one hundred of my Workthingies to research advertising campaigns that would appeal to the public and tell them "TRADE ON PROVIDENCE!" After days of failed ideas, I fired them (into the deepest reaches of space, mwahaha!) and hired a hundred more.

After several decent ideas were presented to my advisors, the advertisements were tested on monkeys and swamp rats. A few citizens of Providence heard of the animal experimentation and protested. Starsicle Animal Protection Program (SAPPs) fined Providence's administration 1.5 giga-groats per animal admitted to experimentation.

Many hunters and anti-naturalists formed the Providence Alliance Against Animals in an effort to rebel against the fine. It was immediately shutdown because it violated laws of Starsicle and since I'm too cheap to move the planet so it can continue to operate, the fine sticks and taxes on my planet will rise. This didn't make many of the citizens happy, in fact they are trying to bash my door down as I write this. Hopefully they'll…

DARTH NADER: NEXT EMPEROR, OR JUST MORE THIRD PARTY CANNON FODDER?
by Thefrogprince

Darth Nader, hopeful Imperial candidate, and father of two, has turned up the heat in his run for the Imperial throne this year. Being well trained in a mysterious, dark art by his mentor, and his uncanny understanding of 'dark sentences' has given Darth Nader what some would call an 'unfair' advantage over his competition.

Funded by a force not yet revealed for its true intentions, Darth Nader has become increasingly powerful over the last few months. Politically, he holds a favorable position in the eyes of many leaders of outlying worlds, and with that favor he has gained much power with which to control the masses.

His followers, ranging from youths to the elderly, all seem to follow his will rather unquestioningly. While attending a campaign rally earlier this year, his power over the crowd was undeniable. What was stranger though, was the striking similarities, which everyone seemed to share in the crowd. I'd begun to suspect that Darth Nader, the supposedly fair candidate, might have been trying his hand at the age-old campaign trick of cloning supportive voters. This method has proven in the past to be very effective.

If, at this rate his popularity continues to grow, little to nothing will be capable of standing in the way of his literal power-grab. It is only within the ranks of a group of outlawed dissenters that I have found much resistance to his rise to power. Based on a planet in a galaxy quite a distance from Sol Duchy, they have grouped together to form a political coalition in hopes of opposing him, alone if they must.

That alliance of rebels, composed of dignitaries, pilots, droids, traders, and even simple farmers, has proven to be the strongest, and quite possibly only thing that would hinder the Dark Lord's plans of ascension.

My personal opinion, though not favorable towards the 'Asthmatic Master,' was not totally contrasting before I met the rebels. Though, in a previous discussion he did bring up a point about my father and girlfriend that we both very much disagreed upon. I must admit that the temptation to join with him, and aid in his campaign has been quite overwhelming. But when asked to take his side, I declined and was swiftly, and quite painfully escorted off the premises.

So now we are faced with this question, will Darth Nader become the next Emperor? It is indeed possible. But as long as there are people like myself, and those who oppose him, the masses will be able to make judgements based upon his true character, and not simply what he allows us to see.

As my mentor once said, 'Hate, anger, and greed, those all lead us down shady paths...' It is with all three of those attributes that the Dark Lord controls the weak minded. It is our duty to heed the warning of my short, but wise teacher, and resist Darth Nader's political strength, and walk in well lit places.

ALSATIAN GOES GAMBLING

Vacation time has arrived at my doghouse, but with a shortage of groats and Hazed breathing down my neck to dig up some planets for review, I decided that a short stop for some table gaming was about the best I could do this month. It's been a while since I visited Advert's. I was anxious to throw down my kibble on the tables and see if they would come up as Porterhouse steaks.

As my eyes adjusted to the flashing lights of the Lunar Casino, I noticed a new signpost directing people into the seedy bar known and announcing the addition of a new Players Club. "Sign up now for free gifts!" I read on the sign. I'd heard rumors that Mario had suffered major setbacks since Bella had closed down his drug labs, and wasn't surprised to find he'd taken over the casino operations in order to finance his seedy lifestyle. The Players Club must be an attempt to draw in some of Fed's excess groatage.

I entered the bar and found Mario; still picking his teeth with his pocketknife and grimacing in his best attempt at a customer oriented, people pleasing, I Am Not A Crook smile. It was a gruesome sight.

Mario presented me with my Players Card. It looked almost exactly like an old military ID card with the picture scratched out, and on the back someone had scribbled, "I shouldn't have played the organ!" Mario applied my paw print over the former photo and instructed me to present the card to the croupier whenever I played in order to rack up points towards free gifts. As a special introductory offer he gave me a complimentary t-shirt (mine came with three arm holes, two neck holes, and big enough to fit Bella twice), a coupon redeemable for one used lantern from the Chandler's shop, a luncheon voucher from someone named Cynthia, a new mouse for my navigation computers that looked suspiciously like a long dead and shriveled marsrat, and a pamphlet explaining the prizes available as you accumulate points. I ate the luncheon voucher and saved the mouse for later.

I read the brochure as I strolled to the gaming tables. At ten Player Points I would be eligible for a free off-world delicacy buffet at Earth's snack bar (and a date with Godot). Fifty player points could be redeemed for a genuine fitted-to-size poly coat (collectable at the office block on earth). 250 would get me my own lifetime supply of Whoosh, and for only 1000 Player Points I could win a free trip to the Sun – twice!

Handing my Players Card to the croupier droid, I took a moment to brush up on my gaming skills. Careful examination of the roulette wheel showed that I could gamble up to 100 jobs on one spin. I only had one job, and if I were lucky I would wager it up to something more suited to my canine expertise.

>gamble red 1 planet reviewer

You lay down the chips representing your stake and the croupier droid spins the wheel... Your attention is distracted for a moment, and then you look back to the table. You have lost, but you are left with a feeling that you should have paid closer attention to the action...

EVEN MORE FUN
by Horatio

Just when you think you've found something so great it can't be improved on, an improvement is made! Amazing! I had thought that commuting was as dangerous and nerve-wracking as possible, but nature has improved upon it! It has given us COMMUTING IN THE RAIN!

That sounds like the title of a musical, doesn't it? Maybe the sequel to "Singing?" Maybe not a good idea, though... there'd be too much profanity for a mass audience if we went for realism.

I digress.

In the driver's manual we were all theoretically supposed to read before getting our licenses, it said that speed limits really only applied at their written level in good conditions. It should have clarified that a little better by adding, "Which means if it's wet out, slow down."

Now, people on the turnpike don't pay attention to the speed limit when it's dry out. Why start now? This morning, the roads were soaked. It had been raining all night. It was still raining this morning. The commuters, while in a hurry, were leaving respectable distances between cars and travelling at safe speeds.

Right, and I was overflown by a squadron of pigs migrating south.

No, everybody was going as fast as possible without disrupting space-time, and leaving distances between cars a tricycle couldn't fit in. And to improve road safety, many were talking on the phone while playing with the radio. Oh, yay! We're all going to be involved in a 6,000-vehicle pile-up, but at least we'll have good music and conversation! Sure, the road is wet and oily. But if cars weren't meant to bang into each other now and again, why have those nifty bumpers? The only people showing brains out there were the truck drivers. Not because they were behaving much better than the car drivers, but rather because they elected to tackle the turnpike with a vehicle weighing more than four regular cars. When it comes to a dispute over whose space on the highway it is, that's a pretty good equalizer, provided you're not near Miami. Then all bets are off, because heavy firepower comes into play.

If only our driving inspectors could see us now. They'd be so thankful. Why? Simple: because they rode with us while we still had no confidence, weren't in a hurry, and were willing to do whatever they said. On the turnpike, we call these people "guardrails."

Of course, in any conditions, there's always the one moving roadblock car, doing 30 miles an hour on the turnpike, clogging up the works like some kind of automotive cholesterol and backing traffic up so far radio telescopes are picking up a Ford Galaxy instead of the Milky Way.

If anything, tempers get hotter and fuses get shorter when the weather is bad. There are little old ladies driving by, cursing you and everybody remotely related to you because you failed to swerve into the median because she wanted over. That turn signal doesn't mean to let them merge when it's safe. It means MOVE OVER RIGHT NOW.

At least it doesn't rain in space. Our commutes in Fed are the same, no matter what's going on down on a planet's surface. Weather means nothing to us, until we try to land. I think that's a good thing. A very good thing. It keeps us happy and placated, because we don't have to slow down for something as minor as a wet and oily road.

I guess, in the end, I really have to actually thank my commute. Sure, it's been frustrating and long and occasionally scary, but it has given me plenty to write about.

Plus, I haven't died yet...

WTs GET FATHER'S DAY OFF
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!

My Workthingies are usually found sitting around, playing games, simulations, listening to their MP3 players, or watching TV. This is probably because I run a leisure planet and they live too leisurely or probably because I don't make them work too often.

To repay me for tolerating their laziness, they are usually quick to get to work when I ask them to on the occasion and sometimes hundreds of them will lay their lives down on the line without a second thought. When Workthingies die, baby Workthingies lose their mothers and fathers.

I happen to be in a little bit of a building frenzy to construct my time machine so I can modify a nuclear reactor on my planet and go back in time if I make an error that can soon turn lethal. Today being Father's Day, I figured it would be kind to give them all the day off and not to build. I usually wouldn't give any regard to them (after all, I have to pay 10 megs a day for 10 men and women to each have a newborn workthingy), however I highly value my own father and thought it would be a "noble" thing to do.

Okay, enough with that, time for me to put my game face back on. Remember, planetary business is a never-ending game (or am I watching too many IBM commercials?); I'm just taking a timeout from which I may not recover. Sunday these guys will get a day off, but Monday it is back to the grindstone!

DARTH NADER STRIKES AGAIN!
by Thefrogprince

In a final and desperate attempt to sway the forces of power in the universe, Darth Nader, the once thought 'honorable' imperial candidate has apparently reached a new low in campaign tactics.

Many of you may recall the Muna, the native and seemingly dominant species of Kryotha III, from an earlier article published by the Chronicle. Unfortunately for them and the known worlds, Darth Nader's flagship, the Darth Star launched a surprisingly unique and terrifying attack on the tiny planet they call home.

By employing the power of the Darth Star's 'rotation equalizer,' the dark lord has managed to render the planet virtually motionless in space. The consequences of such a predicament are still yet to be fully recognized.

The Muna are a delicate species who, as far as we know, spend their entire lives harvesting the crops of Kryotha III. Under normal circumstances the Muna only work for six hours, upon the end of the day the atmosphere free planet completes half a rotation, leaving the once busy Muna frozen on it's dark side.

The devastating effects of the Darth Star's ray are already being felt throughout the known worlds. As all PO's should know by now, Muna have become very efficient and valuable workthings. It is for that reason that Darth Nader struck at the Muna home world so violently.

Without its rotation, Kryotha III shows a permanent face to the sun, which is matched by a cold side on which the once fervent workers are perpetually frozen. Whether the overworked Muna can survive much longer under these conditions is unknown.

How has this affected the empire? Countless Muna who were 'forcefully' employed as work things by our friendly Planet Owners have banded together and unanimously decided to strike until the empire takes action to free their distressed brethren. As if their demands for temperature control domes and sanitary rations weren't enough.

It is our dependence on these belligerent creatures that has given Darth Nader such a powerful tool in the race for the imperial throne. On threat of never returning Kryotha III to its natural state, Darth Nader has demanded that every sensible citizen cast his or her vote in his direction.

It is with this article that I officially implore all those in power to act now. We must seize or destroy the Darth Star immediately, and focus all of our efforts on freeing Kryotha III from the dark master's icy (and at the same time unbearably hot) grip.

COULD BE
by Horatio

The title of my article this week refers to a question and musing we all voice from time to time. The circumstances are almost always different, but it's usually the same question. And the thing that makes it stand out is that it's equally applicable to both Fed and our real lives. But since I'm paid to talk about Fed, we'll leave the second half in the capable hands of our therapists.

So many things happen between people in Fed, and some of it really is amazing. Fed runs the emotional spectrum almost all the time, thanks to its social nature. So we often find ourselves asking, or admitting, that something just could be.

Like that person we've been seeing for a couple weeks. Things seem to be going very well. They're nice, and they like to listen as much as talk. They didn't even mind when we drank too much and threw up on Diesel, which resulted in a baseball bat to the head. Are we in love?

Could be.

Uhoh, somebody else just showed up. Maybe that person we like already has a significant other, one who seems to like heavy blunt objects and swinging them at tender portions of our anatomy. This looks like it's going to be very painful.

Could be.

That's the amazing thing about Fed. Everything, from love to severe bodily injury involving jello, is possible. In my years (many years) in Fed, I've seen relationships grow out of Fed and into real-world marriages. I've also seen marriages stomped to smithereens by goings-on in Fed. It's a risk we all theoretically take. But when you look at how much really is possible, and how much we all get from our friends we've made, isn't it more than worth it?

Could be.

On a personal note, I just want to thank you, my readers. It's one thing to try to entertain people...it's quite another to actually do so. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.

ON VACATION
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!

I'm out of here, in a big way, on a big jet, that costs big bucks, and I'm on a small budget to get to where I'm going. This is not a resignation; this is a declaration for vacation! I'm heading off to Kosovo and Austria for the next two weeks to see the world, try the beer, meet the women, and visit the Hooters restaurant in Vienna, Austria.

Why go there? Some of you may know my dad works there and according to him, a trip there will "learn you some respect for what you have". An alternative reason for me going is: they have Playstation 2 consoles for under $100. I think I'll also be recruited to help my dad move from Mitrovicia (recently named the most dangerous city in Europe) to Pristina, the capital city in Kosovo.

Before I leave, I will enlist an elite group of people to hold Fed together while I'm gone. Snowstar will serve meals and keep my exchange running smoothly, Srgasman will keep Snowstar in line, and Highwinder can fill my deficits.

My workthingies have been put in suspended animation until I return. I know very well that they will lounge around in my office, feast from my refrigerator, and drink all of my Tang. Thank Ming for this wonderful technology allowing me to do this.

I'll be back on the ninth and start writing for the fourteenth's chronicle. Until then, I have left a stack of articles for Hazed to post in my absence.

The only danger I'm really worried about on this trip is what is called "CODE BLACK". I'm not sure exactly what will happen to cause this, however I'm told to leave the country immediately if it happens. In that case, I'll be taking my teleporter along with me. I may even use it to shimmer back home and sleep in my own bed at night.

See everyone in about two weeks!

HEAVILY PACKED WAREHOUSES LEAD TO PLANET DAMAGE
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!

Last weekend I hauled in goods for my last two Baron builds – about 65megs worth of stuff. It took nearly the whole day to haul it all in with the other things I was doing around the house, but I managed it.

First problems came when I had 40,000 tons of monopoles stored. The strong pull of the magnets played havoc on the metal walls of the warehouse, causing them to buckle and cave in, and forced workwomen (the fathers had the day off) to spring into action and replace them with fiberglass walls. Soon I got a call from the IT department and was shocked to hear that data from the Exchange Information Center, Air Traffic Control, and the Naval Intelligence Database was disappearing off the storage utilities. I soon learned the monopoles were also to blame for this.

The next problems arose when we stored 10,000 tons of gold. Crime tripled in twenty minutes and policewomen and specialists from the 38th Female Security Force were called out to guard the stockpile.

The 50,000 tons of crystals seemed to attract quite a bit of attention as well. Some of the policewomen on scene were so mesmerized by them, they dove into them and were rushed to the hospital with nasty cuts and bruises.

After around the two hundred-thousandth ton of goods to be stored, the ware began to rumble and move like a gelatinous blob. Workwomen called out that it was about to bust at the seams. They needed something strong, non-metallic and cheap to prevent Providence being flooded with the stored goods. Duct tape! The universal repair product was applied to all needed areas of the warehouse and the day was saved!

The Workthingies were called to work at midnight in the Central time zone to build facilities and to relieve the structural integrity of the warehouse. The majority of the monopoles were removed and IT began to load backup data onto the servers. The danger was over.