Stellar fusion, human dickery, and entropy: the three most abundant processes in the universe. And as soon as we build enough solar panels, that will be the exact sequence of the rest of existence. Massively Multiplayer Online (MMO) games allow people to screw each other over on more levels than an Escherian orgy. It'll be impossible to get more dick movies into video games until someone fits sexbots with high score tables.
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So players will enter ASS on the high score table twice over.
But while assholes try to ruin video games for everyone else, awesome people do the opposite. Which is why I want to give you a free issue of RETRO magazine. I have a column in it, and so does Seanbaby, and these are two reasons to read it in ascending order. Go here, choose a digital option, and enter promo code crackedfreedigital to receive a free issue.
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Now, let's look at more gamers who reversed the polarity of electronic entertainment.
World of Warcraft is now larger than many countries, and has a larger sports industry than many more. Because real countries aren't led by arcane superwizards able to conjure infernal fire from their palms (apart from North Korea). eSports have gone from oxymoron to multimillion dollar industry. Videogame livestreams can embarrass regular sports commentary, because the commentator is also the player, and every single person watching has been in the same situation. Though it can also be more heavy breathing between "ums" than a shy virgin trying to Rocky his way past premature ejaculation. "Swifty" is the former, despite sounding like the latter, and his channel has over one hundred thousand subscribers.
We got this cyberfuture instead of Neuromancer.
But if you've got more than one person watching you online, at least one of them definitely hates you. There's a certain species of scum floating with just enough energy to ruin anything they're in, but not enough to ooze off and find something they like. These are people who'd piss themselves just to distract from the itching of their bedsores. One of them called the police, claiming that someone was threatening people with a knife at Swifty's address. If only he'd mentioned they were the Twin Blades of Azzinoth there wouldn't have been a problem.
World of Warcraft
"Sorry, we don't have jurisdiction in the Outland. Try the Shadow Lord of the Naga department."
The police arrived during the livestream, which had to be cancelled when Swifty was asked to come down to the station to fill out forms. To help prosecute the goddamn felony, the criminal asshole phoned in to get a man off camera to do things he couldn't see, which would make things worse for the caller. He used the internet to create the exact opposite of a camgirl. I know everyone's upset with the NSA these days, but if they stepped in to reveal these assholes that would be some good PR.
"We are proud to serve the American people by sticking it to that jerk, DraperCock420."
Worse, this was the second time the police had arrived. And that was only after every delivery restaurant in 30 miles refused to deliver to that address anymore, which has to be the most meta resource denial strategy ever attempted.
They say that man is the most dangerous game, but that was before man invented video games, which are more fun, and made most men about as physically challenging to hunt as cushions. One group of hunters instead pursued their prey into this virtual world, leveling up their big game hunting to truly Titanic proportions by setting their sights on the largest starships in the largest video game universe in existence.
Assets by CCP, original ship size comparison image compiled by Davik Rendar
The big one is the Titan. The circled speck is your starting ship.
The Sniggerdly corporation kills Titans for the same reason people climb mountains: because they're there. But this mountain can fire massive murder-blasts; and if Mohammed won't come to it, it has gigantic jump engines to shoot across the universe in order to find out what his problem is. These people hunt volcanoes with warp engines for fun, and it is glorious. This is TRON and Running Man in space. I want you to remember that concept exists every time Hollywood releases bullshit about the galaxy's dumbest astro-scientists losing a game of hide-and-xeno.
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"A murderous alien on the loose? I'd better go off on my own and use the Peripheral Vision Remover!"
One Titan hunt took almost two years. The chance detection of a jump drive field revealed the parked prey. Players found the pilot's name, traced it to that player's alternate characters, then stalked them for 20 months to find out when the big ship was coming out to play. They mounted a global watch with players on different continents and covering all time zones, and when the Ragnarok arose, they were ready: they hunted it, and they destroyed it. These gamers outperformed the Viking gods. Towards the end, they even slowed down their space murder just so that everyone on their team could score a hit to get their name on the killmail, crediting the attackers. That's so much teamwork they're awarding participation trophies for interstellar detonations.
Because you don't tell people, "I don't think you're good enough at exploding things."
Even the ex-pilot of the expired Ragnarok (real world value: three thousand dollars) was impressed, briefly chatting with the destroyers before warping away to high-security space and logging off, probably to avoid losing another thousand dollars to monitor punch-rage.
So they hunted him down and killed him, too.
In EVE, a pilot survives the death of their vessel in a small pod, allowing them to run off and get another ship without losing expensive implants installed in their character. But a Sniggerdly player followed our ex-Ragnarokee. In higher security space, the only way to take him out was a suicide strike, and that's exactly what the hunter did, destroying themselves in an explosion of dickery to wreck another hundred-bucks-worth of implants, which was just the yellow snow icing on the cake.
Though, if one hunter suicides at the end of every real hunt, it would soon fix the problem.
Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
We only show them as arses. For obvious reasons.
Some people complain about getting free updates to their video games. They're the most ridiculously entitled beings outside the Prince Baron Duke's slapping people in the face for giving him blowjobs, which is probably something you can pay for in a Hamburg sex club ... and it's still less self-destructive than these assholes.
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"Alas, for now I shall never sire an heir, and that peasant got a free sausage."
Markus "Notch" Persson created a finer world than God himself, because on average more people enjoy their time in Minecraft. In 2010, the whole thing was brought down by a distributed denial of service (DDoS) attack: thousands of computers hammering a server demanding to be let in, making sure that nobody can get in. It was launched by few players, screaming that they wanted more free updates. The free updates Notch had already publicly scheduled, updates he was already working on, were released on time two weeks later despite the interruption. All the assholes had done was ruin everyone's day by screaming for more free things they were getting anyway.
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Artist's impression. Not the baby, the rattle: something that does nothing, but makes noise and alerts people to a pampered existence. The baby might mature into someone useful.
This wasn't inconveniencing a major corporation, this was viciously attacking a one-man band, but without justifiably improving the world like viciously attacking a real one-man band. (Sucking at more instruments simultaneously doesn't make it better.) These are people who decide they're not getting enough at the buffet and piss on it to annoy everyone else. The difference is that when people do that online, they then climb onto the salad bar to make a speech about their righteous crusade against the restaurant's criminal lack of ammonia.
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"I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU! NOW, BRING ME MORE ASPARAGUS!"
Technology is a personality amplifier. One person and a computer started a multimillion dollar sensation and endless years of fun. If the best someone else can do with thousands more computers is stop people enjoying that for a few hours, they've got less to offer the future of the human race than an ant's penis.