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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate September 2002 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate September 2002 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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MAILBAG DAY! It's taken quite a while, but I've finally gathered enough email from my valued readers to make a mailbag issue. I had just about lost all hope, and NASA calculating it would take 2.3 million years for this day to come didn't help my optimism, but the long wait has paid off. Chewy, Sincerely, Chronic: Mr. Bacon: Name Withheld Name withholding writer: Baron Chewbacon, Cheap-Harassing Long Distance: Chewbacon, That's enough letters for today!
STRIKE
ENDS - BLOOD ZONE RETURNS Lilandra, planet owner of Karma, made a surprising announcement today to a group of NewsDroids. In her statement to the press, she informed the press that labor talks with the legendary company Jarrow Shipbuilders has finally successfully ended the strike that had cause the team fighting event called Blood Zone to be on hiatus for almost 3 months. The strike began when negotiations between Lilandra and Jarrow fell apart. They were negotiating a new service contract for the Blood Zone event, which is held on Karma. Lilandra wanted to have the Jarrow Shipbuilders pricing schedule reduced for the participants of this fighting event. While Jarrow wanted to increase the cost of additional armor that is installed on the fighting ships. Also Jarrow was upset with the plans that Lilandra had to improve the services offered to the fighters of the events. Among her plans included clothing being offered in the hospital area so fighters can replace those embarrassing drafty gowns, the remodeling and expanding of the bar, and a radical price slashing of refueling costs while in Karma space. Lilandra was quoted, "The players work hard for their fighting league points, they deserve the best service for their ships as well as some additional comforts while they are participating within the Blood Zone." "Prima donnas, that is what they are," a spokesdroid for Jarrow said. "My shipbuilders build the best ships in the universe but that is never good enough for the fighters, they always need to install this or that. They do not need more benefits, they should be charged more for all the extra work they cause our workers." For months the strike continued with progress towards settlement moving at a snail's pace. Finally, Savoir of Golgotha volunteered to mediate between the parties. At first both sides seemed at a stalemate, but then Savoir proved his negotiation skills worthy and a surge of progress in the proceedings causing the strike to end. A new contract was signed! The exact details of the agreement have not been revealed yet, but one point was leaked from an unknown source. Clothing may be purchased within the hospital on Karma. Blood Zone shall return on this Thursday night at 10.00pm eastern on the planet Karma. Blood Zone is a team fighting event. Duchy fighting teams are welcome.
TAXES
GET RAISED, PROVIDENCE KEEPS QUIET Garbage on Providence is becoming a big problem. Waste and trash is being produced faster than the Workthingies can recycle it. The problem originally started when garbage was simply being stored, then the Atomic Recycler came along, ripping the atoms of garbage apart and sorting it all out. Though with this new technology, Providence residents have gone from being conservative to sending everything they can to be recycled and causing the plant to back up with unsightly trash. "We're running out of room!" said a maintenance man. The Atomic Recycler has been running nearly non-stop with no time for a routine maintenance shutdown. It is expected that it will quit working soon. POUND Heavy Industries has submitted plans to me for a new Atomic Recycler that can handle much, much more waste and require less maintenance. It'll cost 12.3 gigagroats in taxes for the planet's population. Do I care? No, not really. Taxes are maximized anyway and even though the citizens won't like a 400% increase in taxes, they won't complain about it. When a resident of Providence complains about something, they'll usually end up missing vital appendages that are (or were) useful to them. Since the riots for animal rights and no animal rights on my little planet, this has been more heavily enforced. Taxes used to be something that I let them vote on, but I realized that voting was much too complex for them. Something always went wrong: too complicated, too easy and confused people or one side would challenge the results of the votes if they didn't number in their favor. So voting was eliminated and, as far as planetary finance goes, things couldn't be much more efficient. Besides, do you know how embarrassing it is when your own planet can't even vote?
THE
FIRST DANNITARIAN BIBLE In the beginning there was nothing. And it was good. But then God got bored and had to go spoil it all by creating the universe. The universe wasn't all that bad at first. There were subatomic particles formed into atoms, atoms formed into molecules, molecules formed into stars, stars formed into galaxies, and so on and so forth. But there was no place to sit, as stars aren't generally considered comfortable, so God decided to create planets. Planets weren't totally a bad idea, though at first they were a bit bleak. Lots of rocks, some volcanoes, that sort of thing. So God decided to create water, put it in some oceans. Then, you know, some foliage for aesthetics' sake. And so life was born. After some time, however, the plants started going a bit crazy. It was an organic version of the area behind a geek's computer desk, plants tangled into plants with more plants around them. So since God wasn't a fan of vegetables, he created herbivores to keep that sort of thing under control. Needless to say, the rabbits multiplied like rabbits, along with every other species. So God created carnivores to keep the herbivore population under control. But then, like all the groups before that, the carnivores multiplied to the point of obscenity. So God needed something that would kill, eat, or pave over everything else. So he created humanity. But then he sneezed, and it all sorta blew away, so he moved in one planet closer to the star and started again. It only took him seven days this time, now that he had a trial run. On this planet, though, God only created two people. He figured, they were going to breed like rabbits anyway, let them start off slow. So he made Adam and Eve. "Hey baby," said Adam. "I'm the last man on Earth." "So you are," replied Eve. "You wanna do it?" "Right here? But, God's watching us." "Oh he's seen worse. Come on, it'll be fun." God shook his head and said, "Oh great, what have I done this time?" Cut forward several thousand years. Humanity has grown into the millions. They're greedy, vile, obscene, and foul-smelling. And that's in the churches. The rest of the time, they're worse than the French. Except for one man. Noah was a decent guy, had a wife, a kid or two, and he just so happened to have two of every species on his property. Nobody was quite sure why this was. Some thought he was rich and eccentric. Some thought he was an animal lover. Some thought he knew this was coming. "Hey, Noah!" bellowed God. "Yeah? What is it?" replied Noah, irritated. "Look, I need you to build a really big boat, load all these animals into it, then sit in it." "And I hope you'll be paying for the dock space for this." "No no, build it here." "Why would I want to build a boat on a hill?" "Because I'm sick of it all, and I want to flood the world and start over." "Start over with me because I'm a noble man and a model human?" "No, because this is the only place with two of everything, and I'm too lazy to create it all over. Hurry up, I don't have all day." And so Noah worked and worked, and finally built his ship. He then loaded the animals onto the ship and waited. God immediately flooded the world by causing it to rain for 40 days and 40 nights. At the end of this span, the rain stopped, and Noah's ship was hit by a cannonball. "We have boats too you know," cried the captain of the other ship. "Oh well screw this," said God, "I'm retiring. The wicked can do whatever they please, I'm sick of it. I'll be in Florida if you need me." Stay tuned next week for... Part 2: The Rise of Dave
HARD
HEADED I've been in several Duchies since I got "let go" from the Chewbacon Show (http://www.ibgames.net/archives/fed/wyb0207b.html#2) and slowly progressed to planet ownership. Over that time, I was given small duties to fulfill. One common duty was to help people setup exchanges. Some caught on pretty quick, markups and stockpile was a common language for them. But others, well when you started telling them what to do with their commodities and how to read digests, it was like teaching a goat to speak Latin. It couldn't be done; even with a paintball gun. Here's a short story over mixed accounts with some of them. The majority of it is true, but I threw some other stuff in there. This was the first time I've showed anyone how to setup an exchange, and knew much less about them than I do now. "Alright, type ‘digest agri'," I told this person. He did so as I spied him. "Good," I said, "How long have you been a squire?" "Since yesterday." "And no one has helped you with this?" "Well, I was losing money so I asked for help." I shook my head in disbelief. Surely someone would at least consider consulting the manual if they didn't know what they were doing. Right? Evidently not in this case. "Okay, your stockpile is too low for your commods to go anywhere. You don't have enough stuff to sell to make decent money. On top of that, if you're losing money, I can tell your exchange is probably an unlucky roll," I said. "What's a commod?" he asked. "Commodity, something your planet produces." "Stockpiles?" "Controls surplus and how much stock you have on hand." "How do I offer jobs?" I was a bit puzzled, "Why do you want to offer jobs?" "So people can work for me." I looked over the who list and saw there weren't that many people who would want to haul anything. There wasn't even a captain in the game, just an adventurer who I assumed was looking for someone. As sigh and I said, "Okay, as a Squire, you work for your planet. People don't work for you. If you put up one or a hundred jobs right now, I doubt someone would jump off their seat and haul them all for you. Let's get this exchange up and running, shall we?" He asked a few more inane questions. At this point I'm tired of dealing with him, so I give him a quick run-down of something he wouldn't do very well: "Alrightee, type ‘set stockpile cereals 300', just short of 321 under the words stock. You need to do that to each commodity until your stockpile is 5000. Understand? Try looking over the manual, too. It'll help you out quite a bit if you hit a rough spot. Talk to Calyx about deficits, she's a wiz with them." I moved out of that duchy shortly. Sometimes you just want to strangle someone and it doesn't help that there isn't a decent command for it!
TOP TEN
FANTASY FED STORE ITEMS For the discriminating Fedder who isn't satisfied with a Fed t-shirt, coffee mug or mousepad (available from http://www.cafeshops.com/snark), perhaps this Top Ten list of Items for the Federation Store would be more to their liking:
A recent visitor to Fed DataSpace clearly wasn't sure what kind of world he was in... Your comm unit relays a message
from Sinstead, "I greet you all... with a knife. The
cold steel shall send chills down your spine, as the
blade is pressed against the back of your neck. In the
shadows I lurk, in the shadows I hide. Darkness
surrounding... your life is my toy." "Why do I have the sudden urge
to hear Aretha Franklin?", asks Danny. Your comm unit relays a message
from Freya, "Go on,DAnny, do the Aretha part" Bella says, "offer him the
legendary Asparagus Spear of Destiny..." Your comm unit relays a message
from Vlad, "in a hawaiian shirt, no doubt;)" Nightdroid exclaims,
""You can't hurt me, I'm wearing magic
arghhh!" Your comm unit relays a message
from Vlad, "this is gold!...I should just come here
for my comic strip ideas!"
THE
FIRST DANNITARIAN BIBLE When we last left our universe, God had failed to kill almost everyone and retired to Florida. The world fell into disorder. "Help!" shouted the people. "We're falling into disorder!" God, unfortunately, didn't care. If he didn't like disorder, he wouldn't have tried to flood the world. But the people were persistent, and God had an idea. "I have an idea!" said God from his poolside lounge chair. "I'll appoint a replacement. My nephew, Dave." "Who in the name of You is Dave?" cried the people in reply. "Like I said, my nephew. I think he's living in Vallejo, California." "Don't you have, like, a son or something?" pled the people. "Well yeah, but I don't really like you people, hate to waste a son on you. You can still worship him if you'd like, but Dave's in charge." And so, Dave rose to the highest post in the land. He ascended to the throne of Heaven, looked down on his Earth, and said, "Whoa." He was from California, after all. He knew how to use the extent of his power, and he understood that he was, basically, a form of punishment. But he was a Californian. Dave kept things running basically the same for a long time. Sure it was a little sunnier and the percentage of blonde girls went up noticeably, but not much else was different. This displeased God. "Dave! You're not doing anything!" bellowed God. "Well...yeah, I know. What am I supposed to be doing?" replied Dave. "Something! Interact with your people. And not in a good way, have fun with it." "Do I have to?" And so, with that, God suggested to Dave that there be some sort of Savior. And not a nice, peaceful Savior. Stay tuned next week for... Part 3: The Rise of the Savior, or You Knew I Was Getting My Own Part
The visionary known as Godot was part of a long standing tradition in Fed which has, over the years, fallen into disuse and been forgotten by most current citizens of Dataspace. Even the archives don't often mention the days before Godot stood motionless and silent, always waiting for what now just seems to be a vague mystery perhaps owing roots to some long-forgotten playwright. However, because I started life as an Earth mobile in the days when all explorers mapped and traveled with descriptions on full, I do remember. I was actually there the day Godot started his sojourn; we were sharing some leftover crusts of pizza in a booth near the south windows of Earth's snack bar and watching the commuter trains and ferries deposit workers and shoppers. The marketplace had just received a new shipment of black cat pelts and groundhog skins, so trade was brisk that day. You don't remember the commuter transportation? It's still there, but access had to be diverted when the penitentiary was built. Far too many adventurers looking for the shuttle station ended up banging their tin cups on bars of the jail cells. Anyway, it was customary in those days to approach Godot for sage advice and wisdom. On occasion he would actually deliver ("Don't forget to reinsure") and then sometimes his reply was so vague it sounded wise even if it made no sense at all ("Life is deaf, knock hard"). He prided himself on being the Oracle of Fed – no question too obscure or difficult for his sharp mind and quick wit. But on this fateful day, Godot was approached by a groat-hungry trader salivating for quick profits and easy promotion in a Fed where handouts were few and far between. He was in a hurry, even parting before Godot could discover the answer to his question – leaving the guru to stare for years and years out the south window of the snack bar in contemplation of this enigma:
FLAMING
GRIZZLE DUNG STARTS FIRE It wasn't, isn't and will never be funny. Whoever did this is a sick person/thing. Much damage to my landing pad was done when someone set a bag of Grizzle dung aflame next to someone's ship. Before the ship's owner stumbled upon it, a fueling-bot did. Fueling-bots on Providence are humungous machines and a walking wonder. They weigh about 700 tons, slowly walk on huge legs, and their footsteps are often mistaken for thunder and earthquakes. The fueling-bot was returning to the warehouse district to refuel itself at the depot when it stepped on the bag and engine fuel residue ignited. The flames shot up the side of the bot and up to the main valve. Boom! and fire and flaming fuel and parts flew everywhere. People panicked, nearby buildings were set on fire, and in the middle of all this, the main frame of the fueling-bot (legs, computer, drive motors, etc.) continued to slowly walk, less heavily of course, as the flames slowly melted it away. A planetary emergency response team went into action. A roar of ship engines filled the landing area as everyone looked up to see a bright, red ship with flashing red lights that covered the area with a thick, white foam. It smelled terrible, tasted terrible and it just made everything and everyone look terrible. Fueling-bots are expensive and my insurance company won't cover them since I tried to use them to crush beer cans and one fell over onto a warehouse. Whoever did this will get what's coming to them!
THE
FIRST DANNITARIAN BIBLE When we last left our heroes, God had appointed Dave as the new Lord, and he just sat there doing nothing. This displeased the people, as they believed the Holy Nephew had abandoned them. As the great 20th century philosopher Thomas Chong so eloquently theorized, "Dave's not here, man." God suggested to Dave that He find a Savior, someone to stir things up. Auditions were held. All the great mystics and holy leaders were processed, and none fit the main qualification for the Savior of the People: He had to be wildly annoying. That's right, God and Dave were still looking to punish the people. All the mystics preached peace and love and tolerance, which was no good at all. They needed someone to push them all to the brink of insanity with his constant whining and insulting. That's when they heard the prayers. "Dear God, or Dave, or whoever. Please strike Danny down where he stands. Not even in his sleep, that's too good for him. Something painful," pled the people. "Perfect! He's the one!" was Dave's response. And so they descended from Heaven to Chez Diesel, and approached Danny. They explained the situation in detail and asked him in official holy fashion to be the Great One. "I'm already great, I don't need more work. Go away," was Danny's reply. So Dave thought and he thought, how can he force Danny to be the Savior? Then it hit him. He needed a force nearly as evil as Danny to make him. As an added bonus, the additional force would irritate the people even more. "Cen! Force Danny to create a church." "No. His ego doesn't need to get bigger." "He already said he doesn't want to." "So?" "If you start bothering him about it, think how much he'll be annoyed." "I'll do it!" And with that, the Prophet was created. The Prophet pestered Danny for six days to no avail. No matter what the Prophet tried, Danny would not become Savior. The Prophet, still being generally apathetic even after receiving his title, decided on the seventh day to rest. "Hey, Prophet, what's with the no bugging me about the church?" asked Danny, mildly concerned. "I give up. I'm going to find someone more important to start the church, you're worthless," said the Prophet, sensing weakness. "No you don't. There isn't anyone more important. I'm the biggest thing since the Beatles," Danny boasted. "You're bigger than all four Beatles put together, I'll give you that. And if you keep eating it'll only get worse." "So what if I do want to start a church?" "Too late, we don't want your church." "Too bad, you're getting it anyway." "Ha ha. Sucker." "Blast!" And thus the Savior was born. Shortly after, several First Dannitarian churches were constructed, a basic set of holy rules was set out and placed in the First Dannitarian Church of Greyhaven. The name of Dave was used in vain on a daily basis, and the Unwashed Masses of the universe lived miserably ever after. Or at least until something happens to warrant "Part 4: You Thought It Was Over, Didn't You?" The End... or so you hope.
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