Man! What a week! So much NEWS!
Impeachment proceedings, two old WWII aircraft carriers were found, the unveiling of “Pierre Delecto”, the first all-female spacewalk, and apparently Californians will soon be able to legally eat their roadkill:
“Senate Bill 395 was among a handful of other bills Gov. Gavin Newsom signed into law last week and opens the door for a killed-turned-grilled kind of dinner. The bill, brought forth by Sen. Bob Archuleta, authorizes the state’s Fish and Game Commission to develop a pilot program which, through the help of an online portal, would issue free permits to anyone who wants to take the animal they killed on the road home to eat. To get permits, residents would have to record in the portal ” the location, type, and description of the animal salvaged, the date and time of salvage, the basic characteristics of the incident and a description of the vehicle involved… and the destination where the carcass will be transported,” the legislation says.That will apply to deer, elk, pronghorn antelopes and wild pigs.”
Was anyone really… asking… for that?
Anyway, moving on.
I’ve been playing the 1991 MS-DOS version of Mig-29 in my browser, and it took me a full hour to figure out how to takeoff, even with the directions of some Gamefaq-era website called LemonAmiga.com:
Nice, right? I wonder how old that site is.
I did finally figure it out and manage a clean takeoff.
When MiG-29 first came out, I was only eight years old, and the thrill of flying my own jet was almost more than my exuberant little heart could handle.
So, why am I playing such an admittedly old game now?
Because, at the time, graphics such as this were very new… hell, this was motherfucking-cutting-edge-shit, and I was goddamned INTO it.
Except, you know, I was eight. And, well, because I couldn’t figure out how to land… I, uh, ended every mission by crashing into the ground.
BUT! When I was in the air, I was an absolute terror: an eight year old monster given wings; addicted, body and soul, to the delights of dog-fighting and the resultant explosions of benign AI foes.
When all the enemies were dead, I’d shoot down my own allies, and when I ran out of ammo, I rammed into them myself. Because, you know, each kill counted towards a better score! My Dad witnessed another unsavory lapse of morals, as depicted in a comic I did a few years ago:
If you’ve ever read (or watched) Ender’s Game, written by Orson Scott Card, you’ll probably spot the same theme playing out near the end of the book. Young children, lacking much in the way of a moral compass, can be vicious, utterly effective, and frighteningly thorough.
Or, from another perspective… they’re simply pragmatic.
Speaking of unsavory acts, on the 26th, in Tacoma, WA there’s a “Battle of the Burgers” competition being held. A few months ago, Google maps randomly indicated to me that I “seem to have an interest in burgers”, and it’s become increasingly ballsy ever since.
Anyway, it IS an intriguing prospect, and I DO like burgers.
I guess that settles it. Google Maps wins yet again.