The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

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The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby Podge on Fri Nov 07, 2008 1:23 am

This was part of an old segment of gamespy a fair while back. Came across these this evening and have been reading away ever since, they're epic :)


OUR NEW OFFICE PASSTIME IS MESSIN' WITH THE GUY WHO PLAYS MAJESTIC



Yeah, it's great. Frank just got involved in Majestic, that new "conspiracy" game from EA where it's like an adventure game, but it sends you instant-messages or emails or even calls your cell phone. Frank said he got into the game cuz "it's so cool -- it blurs the edge between gaming and reality." Lately we've taken it upon ourselves to blur it even more.

We owe it all to Marcus for kicking it off. He was going to take two weeks off of work to vacation in Mexico for his anniversary -- he told everyone not to tell Frank he would be gone. The day he left he sent an email to Frank explaining that he had just started playing Majestic, and he was really onto something. When he didn't show up for work the next day we all pretended we didn't know where he was. "I dunno Frank -- he's just gone and disappeared without any warning!" "Who was the last to hear from him?" "What was he up to?"

Frank just got really pale.

Then Crenshaw tipped the waiter at our local Chinese restaurant $20 bucks to lean over and whisper to Frank in the middle of lunch. "The crane strikes swiftest with one leg upright," he whispered. Then: "Don't ... order ... the Kung Pao chicken..." He looked side to side and scurried off.

When he wasn't looking, Reggie swapped his fortune cookie with one that said "Douglas Matthews dies tonight." Frank hardly touched his food.

Our quest to freak out Frank has become a game of one-upsmanship that gets more and more elaborate with each stunt. Harry went into the building across from ours with a laser pointer and beamed it through Frank's window one day, putting a bright red dot on his wall, creeping toward his head. I never saw someone hit the dirt so fast! Since then Frank's blocked his window with a bookshelf, and now sits facing the entrance to his office with his back to the wall.

Murray keeps calling Missy the receptionist whenever Frank is hanging out in the lobby. "Is Frank there?" Murray asks in a gravelly voice. "Why yes, he's right here!" she answers, loud enough for Frank to hear. Then Murray hangs up on her. "Hello...? Hello...?" she asks. Cold beads of sweat run down Frank's face whenever that happens. One time he requested the rest of the day off, right then and there.

We all pooled our money together when we heard Frank was going to be at the ballgame one night. In the middle of the seventh inning stretch the Goodyear Blimp broadcast: "WE'RE ON TO YOU, FRANK SIMPSON." For a few extra bucks we got the popcorn guy to go up to his seat and say, "Frank?" then, after looking around suspiciously, he handed Frank a free bag of popcorn and winked. Frank stared at it for an hour, not sure if he should eat it.

While that was happening, a bunch of us were out in the parking lot lifting up Frank's car and turning it around so that it faced the other direction when he got back.

Then we bought him a ticket for a Thursday afternoon train to Portland and mailed it to him in an unmarked envelope. He took off work early and we haven't seen him since. Later tonight Marcus is going to call Frank's cell phone from his vacation spot in Mexico and scream "GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE FRANK!" while his wife bangs a pot on the ground and his Mexican buddies set off a bunch of firecrackers.

Meanwhile, we're rifling through everything in Frank's office, just enough to make it look rummaged though while he was away.


WOE, I SAY, WOE UPON THEE WHO TRIFLE WITH THE DEVINE SERVER ADMINISTRATOR!

Step aside, process! My day of tribulations is far from over, but before we next speak righteous vengenace shall be mine and mine alone!
Let us begin at the beginning. I awoke refreshed from a full eight hours rest and immediately headed out to eat. I then spent twenty minutes in the drive-through of the McDonald's arguing with the reprobate on the other end of the speaker because she refused to serve me breakfast, simply because it was 3 PM.

McMuffinless and distraught, I arrived at work and stepped into my domicile, sheltered from sunlight and lit only by a single lava lamp and the warm refreshing glow of thousands of LED lights from our servers and routers. I call this place the Crucible of Enlightenment. It is here I weave my Arcane Arts of Unix Server Administration.

It is my Xanadu.

But my wrath still boiled within me, and before I could begin my daily cryptic shell scripting, I felt the need to restore the balance with a warm, refreshing game of chess on the Internet. My mind, like a steel trap, finds nourishment in the predictable and comforting patterns of the aged chess warriors of yore. I logged in and set up a game with an opponent I felt would assuredly assuage my pain of hashbrownlessness.

Soon, however, my egregious chess opponent began verbally abusing me! My blood began to boil. Darest he mock my Italian opening! Darest he cast doubt upon my flawless Evans' Gambit! ... Darest he call the black bishop his "...Little Popey Dude?"

Most certainly my opponent could've been no more than a small child, a precocious brat who, like a user over his account size limit, required immediate schooling. But in mine burning anger and haste, I threatened his precocious Queen and inadvertently exposed my rook, who fell victim to what he called his "horsey." I was livid with rage. I screamed audibly. I had been manhandled by a slavering prepubescent!

Burning with furious wrath, I picked up my chair and hurled it at my infernal machine. Glass shattered; sparks flew. Nearby the shelving unit perched precariously upon my desk tumbled; spilling burned CDs everywhere, it crashed into the server rack, cracking the plastic front like dried pasta. There was a flash; a rain of sparks. The entire rack crumpled upon itself like a house of cards, tossing expensive hardware carelessly into the ground. A multitude of green lights went very red, and then very very black. For the first time in years the comforting hum of mine minions slowed and ceased like the last rasping breaths of a dead man. Silence.

I had taken our entire coastal web server array offline.

Within moments my sniveling sweatshirted boss who does nothing but play Asheron's Call all day stormed into the Crucible of Enlightenment. "I've lost my net connection to the AC servers!" he cried, as would a whining child. Then he saw the devastation. "Good God what have you done!" he wailed.

I explained, as patiently as I could, that Unix servers rarely require rebooting but every year or so it's good to give them ... a hard boot. He was not amused. He pulled out his damnable organizational chart and droned contemptuously about his plan to remove all but a handful of functional employees so that he and others may play online RPGs all day. He then explained that he had slashed the server administration department to me and me alone because nobody else could decode my arcane scripting routines and backup procedures. He explained that we as a company could not sell off nearly enough EverQuest items on EBay to make up the cost of hiring additional consultants, and that if I didn't have the servers up and running within the next few hours his entire so-called "business plan" would fall apart. I wept no tears. The foolish and desperate wranglings of middle management were of little concern to me; I had lost my rook.

But then he explained that our mentally unbalanced technical support representative had recently overdosed on Vivarin, and that during the crisis I would be forced to handle the volume of support calls while he procured the required replacement hardware for me. LAMENTABLE! I was sat in front of a phone like a lowly acoustic coupler. I was horrified. Actual verbal contact with our sycophantic contemptible users? I wept inwardly and stared at the blinking extensions. I had descended into hell.

I answered call after call from the hamster-headed stepchildren of our backwards networked world.

"Help!" a lowly user begged. "Microsoft Word is unable to access my network documents!" I explained to the miscreant that she should be using VI for all her text editing needs, then hung up.

"My email is down! Microsoft Outlook can't find the server!" wept another sorry subhuman. I scoffed audibly. "Outlook? Bloatware! Use Pine. Or just type 'mail' at the % prompt, wretched villain!" Then I hung up.

Suddenly I received a call of paramount importance. I could scarcely believe my ears. "I was playing chess with some punk," whined a voice from the ether. "I took his castle dude and then everything went dead."

The audio connection between myself and my nemesis crackled quietly. The tension was tangible; I could feel it coalescing around me, tightening my very bones. My hairs stood on end. That scum. That freakish doctored tabloid photograph of a man. That worker of iniquity! WOE TO HIM! WOE TO HE WHO DAREST MOCK MINE CHESSMAKING CAPACITIES!

Restraining my bile I explained to him that I would be sending a "representative" to "help" with his "problem." I then wrote down with quavering hand his home address. Now the fool was MINE.

Forsaking a phone bank filled with blinking extensions, I crawled under my desk and slipped quietly out the back door. But not before grabbing my trusted wooden staff, The Educator, which I loving refer to as "Kill -9."

Oh yes my chess nemisis. Soon you will feel the stinging wrath of mine fury. Check, mate, match! You will be mine. Oh yes. You ... will be ... mine.
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Re: The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby bullet_sponge on Fri Nov 07, 2008 10:05 am

cruel, yet.... hilarious :lol:
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Re: The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby saggymanboobs on Sat Nov 08, 2008 8:49 pm

update on the majestic thing please!
Sarah says: I am indeed, enjoying the big willy so to speak!

Fede said: oh col, gotta tell you this, i had a dream, and you were in it as a mexican wrestler, fully tatooed and with an awesome costume :D
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Re: The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby Podge on Sun Nov 09, 2008 12:13 am

trying to find it, will postr if i do :)

but in the mean time,

MY PLAN TO CRASH MY FAVORITE MMORPG SERVER REQUIRED A LITTLE HELP FROM AN UNEXPECTED PLACE


After losing my best character's most powerful staff in my favorite online game, I knew I had to take drastic action to get it back. I discovered that if I could just crash the game database -- say, by summoning 257 dragons in a single zone -- I could force the game to restore an old backup where my character still had his stuff. I would, once again, be the most powerful evil cleric in the game. My plan was flawless.

I started posting announcements all over the taverns, and pretty soon word spread all over the server. I told everyone it was a Dragon-summoning competition, where the best looking dragon would win over 2 million platinum pieces. But people began to suspect that something was up. In the hours leading up to the contest, the streets of neighboring towns were filled with panic, looting, and debauchery.

At last the hour was at hand. I knew that I had to somehow get these guys to summon 257 dragons simultaneously before the end of the evening, when the server would back itself up and my opportunity would be lost forever. A low fog hung in the air around the ruins of the old temple where I decided to make my move. In the nearby village, a horde of playerkillers were killing everything in sight, oblivious to their reputation, screaming about the end of the world as their swords glinted in the blood-red sunlight and fires crackled across the blackened husks of what used to be player-built housing. The signs of Armageddon were all around; on the cracked and overgrown steps leading up to the temple ruins, priests shouted at the incoming sorcerers to repent, REPENT!

And on a nearby hillock a Bard sung a song with only his drums as an accompaniment:

That's great it starts with an earthquake
Birds and drakes and players slain
Lenny Bruce is not afraid;
Wizards going PK, listen to yourself say
"Gimmie buffs" it's not enough
Knights are shucking armored stuff
Preachers casting cure light wounds
Lining up the two moons, wetting in their pantaloons
Less leet, dead meat, cast flight, bright light,
Going down you level up it's allright ... right?
It's the end of the world as we know it!
It's the end of the world as we know it!
It's the end of the world as we know it...
At least online.

The song was suddenly interrupted when a mammoth scaled foot crushed the bard with a tremendous wet squish and final, agonized cry. The dragon who had done the dirty work shone bluish-green in the diffuse sunlight, smoke pouring from his nostrils. He was just one of the dozens of fell beasts who stomped amongst the broken stone pillars or circled above the hillside, knots of sorcerers from numerous guilds below chanting the high-level incantations to bring them into being. Already the framerate was chugging; magic users on lesser machines had to stare at the ground to keep from crashing.

But it wasn't enough!! By my count there were just under a hundred dragons in the ruined temple zone, already an impressive feat but by no means enough to crash the server. I yelled above the din, trying to get the magic users to invite their friends over, but they insisted that everyone they knew who could summon dragons was already there. Already the great beasts filled the sky ... and soon the sorcerers would be asking for their 2 million platinum piece reward.

I didn't even have two million platinum pieces! I was counting on the server to crash. I began to pray for a miracle at the ruined temple altar, shadows of the dragons above crisscrossing the stone surface.

That's how he found me, the old man in the tattered black robes. I estimated that the Wizard before me had been a character since the game first started, but his wrinkled, scarred face showed an age beyond his years.

"On your feet, plebian! Speak the truth, man, for I am the Divine Unix Server Administrator, and your wretched machinations have aroused both my interest and ire!" he boomed. "WHY have you requested 257 dragon handlers? Why not the binarily divisible holy number of 256? Could this be an attempt to bring some part of the database to its knees? Speak, nose morsel!"

Was he a game admin sent to bust me? Or another player who had uncovered my scheme? I didn't know, but either way, in the hour of the apocalypse, I had nothing to lose. "Yes ... I'm going to crash this server. Crash it dead! Bring it down like Sodom and Gomorrah, topple it like the walls of Jericho, so that it'll restore my backed-up character from a week ago."

The gnarled man nodded, stroking his chin. "I thought as much," he typed back. "For over a year I've been trying to do the same thing. I've nested 257 backpacks into one another. I've flooded a chat channel with over 1000 screaming bots. I've created characters with 6000-letter-long names. Yet the server has withstood my nefarious orchestrations. But you, little man? You must know something I don't. I will see your little plan to fruition."

He turned his back to me and raised his arms toward a hillside. I frantically typed questions after question to him, only to be ignored. What I didn't understand until moments later was that he was private messaging his guild.

Suddenly, through a veil of shimming white light, a line of wizardly figures slowly emerged until their silhouettes stretched across the horizon. They carried staffs and wore pointed hats. As one, they raised their arms and began summoning. There were easily 200 of them.

"...who!?" I typed.

At last the Divine Server administrator answered. "The Koreans," he said. "The most powerful single body of MMOG players in the world. They can mobilize thousands of cybercafe surfers in the time it takes to send a single cell phone text message. And now, they will summon your dragons. Fall to your knees and grovel, goatish vassal, for you stand between the cheese-filled toes of GIANTS!"

One by one the dragons appeared in the skies above, until their swirling bulk blotted out the sun. And then they kept coming, appearing in flashes of yellow and purple magic, white sparks raining from the sky like hail.

Soon the individual dragons became indistinct, as the dragon models -- spawning in so quickly -- were drawn on top of one another. Above the ruined temple the blackened sky was filled with indiscriminate blobs of multicolored wings and tails and teeth, flapping and swinging in every direction.

Then, when one of the chaotic evil dragons attacked one of the lawful good dragons, the stuttering server suddenly lurched them all into active combat mode, and fire exploded in all directions. By now, even the most powerful of computers couldn't render them all; every few seconds a frame would appear on one's computer monitor, a hellish conflagration of scales and explosions, claws and teeth locked together like a satanic M.C. Escher portrait.

The noise was inhuman, by now a continuous bellowing roar, as if a million Ford Pintos suddenly backed into each other in a stadium filled with mousetraps.

And above this monstrous din, I asked the Divine Server Administrator why a wizard as powerful as himself wanted to end the world.

"Over a year ago, a group of filthy twinkers under the tutelage of a pithy Windows Administrator managed to player-kill me 36 times in 24 hours. I lost everything."

"Over a year ago?" I asked, as a few feet away two dragons came crashing to the ground and began fighting claw-to-claw with their smoldering wings torn to ribbons. "But the backups are done weekly."

"FOOLISH MORTAL!" he boomed. "So distraught was I on losing my lewt that I visited the server farm of this game in person. The grotesque reprobates who run this sham of a service refused to restore my character, but while I was there I surreptitiously snapped the write-protect tab off of their backup tapes."

My mind whirled. I didn't know what to type. The Administrator seemed to revel in my confusion.

"That's right, little man! Those fewls THOUGHT they were backing up their database every week, but it hasn't been backed up since January 12th, 2003! AND NOW BY MINE OWN HANDS I SHALL ROLL BACK TIME AND REGAIN MY LOST LEWT!!"

He began to chant a spell that would summon the 257th dragon. "Noo!" I typed, and I frantically equipped my sword to try to attack him. But my framerate crawled; I staggered toward him, sword outstretched ... slowly ... slowly ... But then his spell was done.

No dragon appeared, but the mass of dragons above us suddenly froze, and an eerie silence descended.

"Had they written this in Linux," scoffed the Administrator, "It wouldn't have crashed."

The next two minutes would live on in legend. None of the players could see it, but the 257th dragon overwrote the shop inventory part of the database, meaning he appeared in the storeroom of a bakery in the town below. The beast struggled amidst a pile of dough and flour, but the game read the data all wrong, so from the AI shopkeeper's perspective his inventory now included 47 stickybuns, 119 deceased trolls, and two towns. He sold the latter to a player who thought he was buying a piece of cake, and for this reason moments later players were teleporting into the player's inventory. On hearing the voices in his head, he frantically tried to drop the town, which created a gaping hole in the game map where the town used to be. This hole led into a part of the database that tracked monster spawning behavior, where several players innocently walked, causing a horde of locusts and lich lords to assault the capital. 65536 lich lords, actually -- far more than the server could create. Fire rained from the sky as a solid wall of undeath poured through the town gates like water. The townspeople, those who weren't petrified at the sight, fled in all directions, screaming that the end had come. All but one, a bold high-level cleric, who bravely stood on a platform in the town square and cast "turn undead." Unbeknownst to him, the majority of the over 65,000 liches had been spawned into the heightmap data file, so by exorcising them the cleric turned the seas to blood, the land to lava, and sent several towns 1000 feet below sea level. Their inhabitants drowned instantly and (thanks to an overwritten value that now set the game's map size to 16x16 feet) they respawned into the magic spell effects tables. This briefly turned everyone who still lived into pretty butterflies before the server finally crashed entirely.

Twenty anxious minutes passed while I tried to log back in, desperate to see the results of the horror once the servers were restored.

My character woke up in a green swaying field of grass near one of the starting towns. I checked my inventory -- one rusted short sword, a melon, and a gnarled stick I had carved myself. Nearby, a rat saw me and it attacked. He bit me, and half of my hit points went away. I frantically attacked it with my stick, missing, missing, and finally hitting. It took seven blows to kill the beast, by which time I was almost dead.

I sunk into my chair. Darkly I remembered that I had just started playing the game in January of last year. "No," I whispered in hideous disbelief. "No ..."

My character fell to his knees, looked up to the cruel heavens, and waved his ordinary wooden staff in the air as he shook his fist. "I'm a newbie! I'M A NEWBIE! NNNOOOOOOO!!!"
:)
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Re: The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby bullet_sponge on Sun Nov 09, 2008 4:09 pm

brilliant!
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Re: The Daily Victim (tl;dr warning)

Postby MittinsKittens on Fri Nov 21, 2008 7:52 pm

Roffle, These are great, Any chance of links to the topics?
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