kickahaota

I have just one question: Does being the President mean that I have to stop wearing my snazzy purple fursuit? 'Cuz if it does, I'm out.

I can appreciate futureproofing. But in the future, rather than buying a $900 Titan, consider a different approach to futureproofing:

• Buy a $450 video card.
• Hide the remaining $450 in a safe place that no one will touch, like a box of fat-free cookies.
• In about a year in a half, when the deficiencies in the current $450 card start to become noticeable, buy another $450 card.

That future $450 card will be a lot better than a Titan.

But I'm in a very poor position to lecture others on possibly-excessive spending.

BAH. I decided to take a chance by pausing the game and sending the screenshot. Doing so did indeed destroy the voyage. Now I will have to attempt to reproduce it.

But, so that the piscine astronaut can be remembered properly, here is the pic:

I have indeed captured a screenshot of this giant leap for fishkind. I regret that I cannot share it as yet, because I fear that switching applications to do so will somehow disrupt the fish, thus destroying the event I intend to document.

The fish just passed 55555 meters. I clapped softly.

I broke one Atari 2600 joystick once, but I'm pretty sure most of that was lingering damage from Activision Decathlon -- the anger just finished it off.

As of the moment I am sending this, a fish has reached a total height of 49719 meters. It is continuing to ascent at approximately 9.4 meters per second. Even the stars are gone. At this point I can only wonder whether it will finally reach some limit (perhaps at 99999m), or if it will continue to slip the surly bonds of earth until my iPhone's battery expires.

I have also established that an ordinary shotgun can indeed reach targets at this height. However, I cannot bring myself to end this unnatural phenomenon.

I am paralyzed and yet vaguely enthralled.

As of the time I'm writing this, I have a fish floating at an altitude of 13,589 meters. It shows no sign of slowing. I have every confidence that it will slip the surly bonds of earth and vanish forever into the inky blackness of space.

WHAT MORE COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?

I preordered the digital deluxe edition. I am officially part of the problem.

In the brief intervals that I've been able to actually play the game, I've now started two cities in the same region. One of them built a power plant, and the other attempted to buy some of the massive overcapacity from the aforementioned power plant. Unfortunately, despite the UI assuring me that a power deal is indeed in place, no power and no money actually flows. Thus the city with the power plant is essentially bankrupt, and the other city is powerless. YAY.

Suspicious me is fraught with suspicion. You don't have a twelve-hour "emergency maintenance" that brings down just the shopping features, then bring everything up with a new firmware update that's required to use the store, if all you're trying to do is implement minor stability improvements.

I would ban griefing.

Any habitual practitioner of griefing -- the intentional use of dickery to ruin another player's experience, including serial teamkilling, hacking, excessive stupidity in chat, etc. -- would be barred from use of the regular Internet. They would instead be required to use GriefNet, a new network purely for griefers. It would include griefer-only versions of Xbox Live, PSN, and all other multiplayer services. There, griefers would compete against each other. Naturally, the weaker griefers would be driven into retirement or insanity almost immediately. Over time, the remaining pool of griefers would hone their craft, and gradually eliminate each other, Highlander style. Eventually, only one Master Griefer will remain. We will hold this legendary asshat in comfortable confinement until the next war breaks out, at which point he will be unleashed against the enemy.

Naturally, all of this will be overseen by a new Cabinet-level Department of Griefing, with Wil Wheaton as its first Secretary of Grief.