World

Millions Of Farmers Cited For Overcrowding, Neglect of Livestock

May 25, 2010 by Observer Staff

Shawnee County, Kansas — Animal rights activists gathered today to protest against millions of farmers, citing dangerously overcrowded farms and inhumane living conditions for livestock and other animals.

“These farmers are demonstrating an incredible degree of irresponsibility.” one protester said. “Their farms are incredibly overcrowded. They’ve got animals crammed into every square inch of available space. They’re packed in like sardines. It’s inhumane.”

“That dairy building is so crammed with cattle, one cow is actually sticking his head out of a second story window,” the protester added. “That poor cow doesn’t even have room to turn around in its pen. It’s disgusting and cruel.”

“Many of these animals aren’t even traditional livestock,” another protester pointed out. “Look, isn’t that a penguin? What the heck is a penguin doing on a farm with pigs and horses?”

“That farm over there even has a couple baby elephants. I’ve seen kangaroos, gila monsters, and even a few giant pandas, which are highly endangered. Is this a farm or a zoo?”

An overcrowded dairy

While some farmers keep their livestock segregated in separate pens, other farms appear to keep all their animals mixed together, a potentially dangerous situation for the creatures.

“I see all these animals standing around together,” a protester said. “Turkeys, ducks, pigs, reindeer, cats, sheep, goats… all in the same pen. There are even some turtles in there. That doesn’t seem safe. If these animals had any room to move, they could trample each other.”

In addition to crowded conditions, protesters are concerned these animals may not be tended to properly or given the attention they need.

“Most of these farmers only visit their farms once a day, when their crops are ready to be harvested. Then they quickly feed their animals, possibly pet them once, harvest their eggs, or in the case of the penguin, ice cubes, and they’re gone until the next day. It’s neglect, pure and simple. There’s no love on these farms, no concern for the well-being of these creatures. It’s all about profit.”

“When a horse gives birth, it never even gets to care for its foal,” another protester said. “The farmer just lets his friends know there’s a baby horse available, and someone snaps it up. They call it adoption. I call it irresponsible.”

“These farmers need to put the well-being of their animals above their desire for profit.”

“This is a farm,” she added. “This isn’t a game.”

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Local

Test Subject Thinks Portal Gun Makes Her Ass Look Big

May 21, 2010 by Observer Staff

Enrichment Center, Aperture Science Laboratories — A female test subject, freshly awakened from a relaxation vault in a secret underground laboratory, has begun to wonder if the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device she is testing makes her ass look big.

The experimental device can manufacture two linked portals through which light and matter can pass, and after placing parallel portals on walls a few feet apart, the test subject, named Chell, has discovered she can peer through one portal and view her own backside, which, she thinks, looks big.

“Does my ass look big in this portal?” she wondered aloud. “Oh, it looks terrible. Terrible. This orange jumpsuit is all bunchy and bulky, I might as well be wearing a burlap sack.”

“My butt looks even bigger down there,” she said, referring to one of the versions of herself that were duplicated over and over into infinity through the portals. “I think each portal adds ten pounds.”

“These heels aren’t helping either,” she noted, referring to the metal impact-negating prostheses attached to her calves.

Chell continued to view herself through the portal, and along with her concerns regarding the appearance of her ass, she also considered the poor state of her hairdo and complexion after spending an unspecified amount of time in stasis.

“My hair looks awful,” she stated after repositioning the two portals perpendicularly in a corner and stepping close so she could view her profile.”Total bed-head. Oh, my skin, too. My pores are totally clogged. I hope one of these portals opens into a spa.”

Doug Rattmann, a previous Aperture Science test subject now living in seclusion in maintenance areas and crawlspaces of the facility, remained hidden from the concerned, slightly insecure woman.

“I don’t really want to talk to her when she’s in this kind of mood,” he whispered from the section of ductwork he was crouching in. “Anyway, her butt looks fine. Totally great. She totally pulls off that jumpsuit look.”

“Why is she so worried?” he added. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?”

Chell, a few chambers away, took one last look at her own butt before shrugging, sighing, and continuing through the facility.

“Either way,” she said, “When I’m done here, I’d better skip the cake.”

Story idea by Observer contributor Michael Fiegel.

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Local

Gotham’s Legendary Crime-Fighter Gradually Learns to Fight Crime

May 19, 2010 by Observer Staff

Arkham Asylum, Gotham City — Legendary Gotham City crime-fighter Batman, after years of vigilante service combating thugs, monsters, and super villains, gradually learned a number of basic crime-fighting moves while dealing with the Joker’s recent takeover of Arkham Asylum.

Despite his years of experience battling numerous insane villains and their hordes of goons and ruffians, Batman, Gotham’s mysterious masked avenger, discovered there is still much to learn about unarmed attacks and evasive maneuvers, such as how to perform unarmed attacks and evasive maneuvers.

“This works great,” Batman growled, throwing one attacking Arkham goon into another. “Throwing one goon into another goon and stunning them both is a great way to deal with crowds of enemies. Why haven’t I tried at some earlier point in my long career of fighting crowds of enemies?”

“Takes a little getting the hang of, though,” he added, attempting another throw and failing. “I’ll have to work on that.”

After foiling the Joker’s latest plan to kill the mayor, Batman was escorting the notorious villain back to the asylum he’d escaped from earlier. Suddenly, after long minutes of foreshadowing, taunting, and other hints of his impending escape, the Joker escaped, taking over the asylum and sending his thugs after Batman, who then began to learn a series of combat moves to deal with the threat.

“Just in time, too,” growled Batman, hanging upside-down from one of Arkham’s many interior stone gargoyles. “I was just dangling here, inverted, wondering how to take down these thugs below me, when I suddenly learned how to do an inverted takedown.”

When facing a murderous escaped lunatic named Victor Zsasz, Batman found himself looking for a way to stealthily take down the criminal. It was at that moment he tried a glide kick, which involves sailing through the air with his cape extended and landing feet-first on his target, for the first time in his career.

“Another useful move,” Batman said. “Glad I suddenly learned that. Makes wearing a cape for all these years totally worth it.”

As he continued taking down enemies, he felt himself becoming more experienced in fighting, and hoped that experience would lead him to further breakthroughs in the art of combat. Spotting a criminal approaching the corner he was concealed behind, Batman waited patiently.

“I just hope I learn some way to take down an enemy from around a corner,” he growled quietly.

“It sure would come in handy right about now.”

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World

Exploration, Puzzle-Solving Teaches Kids Non-Violence, Alarmed Parents Say

May 12, 2010 by Observer Staff

Washington, D.C. — As word spreads of the adventures of quirky, charming, non-violent adventurers using puzzle-solving and exploration to cope with their problems, parents are growing more and more concerned that today’s children are learning that non-violence is an option.

“Look at our cities today,” one horrified parent said during a protest at the nation’s capitol. “Full of gun-toting thugs, monsters, zombies, aliens, and super-villains. Meanwhile, my teenage son was going on and on about some charming little bird-man he heard about, who lived in a peaceful realm where he ate blueberries and collected over-sized pencils and apples.”

“I checked out this blueberry-filled garden he was telling me about,” she continued. “It was serene, peaceful, with gentle piano music playing in the background. Piano music? How is my child going to learn to lock and load or run and gun, listening to anything other than pulse-pounding, teeth-rattling electronica?”

She went on to express her fears that the lessons in non-violence from these quirky, gentle adventurers will leave children vulnerable in a harsh, unforgiving world full of explosions and monsters.

“He’s going to be woefully unprepared for the realities of our violent world,” she said, as a burning helicopter slammed into a building behind her and several cars hurtled by, spitting gunfire. “A crowd of gangsters will ambush him in an alley, or zombie hordes will swarm all over him, and all he’ll know how to do is make a tower out of giant dice and wedges of cheese.”

“It’s fine for adults to occasionally put down their machine guns and flamethrowers and do a little puzzle-solving,” said Tom Jackson, a lawyer for the activist group Violence Alliance, which promotes teaching children to solve their problems with hand grenades and laser weapons. “But kids are so impressionable. They may think that solving puzzles or exploring quirky, artistic landscapes is fun and worthwhile. It’s disgusting. These environments are just puzzle-simulators. They’re teaching our children it’s better to think than to shoot.”

Another concerned parent spoke of his son, who had heard about a robot named Josef living in the city of Machinarium.

Is this robot teaching our children not to kill?

“I guess this robot carefully and cleverly disguised himself as security bot in order to bypass a checkpoint,” the parent explained, “by putting a traffic cone on his head and topping it off with a light-bulb. That’s a terrible lesson for our children, when simply shooting the security bot with a sniper rifle or taking him out with a pulse grenade would have done the trick in far less time.”

The child, meanwhile, wants to visit Machinarium someday to solve puzzles of his own.

“Not gonna happen,” said the boy’s father. “No son of mine is going to wind up wearing a traffic cone on his head on some delightfully quirky and charming environment. I’m enrolling him in Bullworth Academy in New England, and then he’s enlisting in the Space Marines.”

“You think a traffic cone is gonna impress the Cacodemons and Hellknights? Huh?” he yelled at his son, who was quietly tying a length of string to a magnet in an effort to fish a metallic object out of a puddle.

“See? See what they’re teaching him?” the father said, dragging his son away by the arm. “After a couple tours on Phobos, he’s gonna learn that non-violence is not the answer.”

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Local

No Sign Of Caucasian Assassin At Party, Chilean Guards Report

May 10, 2010 by Observer Staff

Delgado Vineyards, Chile — Three members of an all-Chilean bodyguard detail tasked with protecting Don Fernando Delgado and his son, Manuel, have reported seeing no sign of a deadly Caucasian assassin who may be attempting to infiltrate their ranks.

The guards patrolling a party at Don Delgado’s vineyard remained vigilant and alert, on the off-chance a highly trained killer should attempt an assassination of the drug kingpin and his son. Scanning the party guests and holding their shotguns at the ready, they remained wary but reported seeing no signs of an interloper thus far.

Chilean-born bodyguard Carlos Javier Acevado, age 32, wiped sweat from his dark-skinned face as he considered the situation. “We’re haven’t seen anything suspicious yet,” Acevado said in Spanish. “Well, except for a neatly folded black suit on the ground and a puddle of blood by the cliffs.”

“Initially, that seemed suspicious,” he continued, “but after a couple minutes I decided it was nothing to worry about. Anybody could have dropped a suit and some blood. It doesn’t mean there’s an assassin at the party.”

“I found a briefcase with a sniper rifle in it near the front gate, “Guillermo Miguel Salazar, also a native of Chile, explained. “It seemed odd, but not terribly alarming. If anything really suspicious happens, though, we’ll be ready.”

A third member of the guard detail refused give his name or to offer a statement. Instead, the bald, pale-skinned Chilean with a bar-code tattooed across the back of his head scowled silently, slowly edging behind the other two guards, with one hand held conspicuously behind his back.

“We’re well-trained,” said Acevado. “I don’t think we could be easily infiltrated. We’ve all known each other for years.” He waved at Salazar and the glaring, white-skinned guard, who was now crouching silently behind them, his eyes darting around the courtyard.

“We know what all guards wear: camo vest, short-sleeved shirt, and hat. As long as someone is wearing those items of clothing, we know they’re one of us. It’s a simple, fool-proof identification system.”

“Sorry, that’s all I can tell you,” Acevado continued. “I have to go. I think I heard a coin bouncing around somewhere over there, so I need to go stare at it for a few moments.”

“A dropped coin could be the sign of something sinister,” he added. “As a guard, you can’t be too careful.”

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Local

Control Point Seriously Needs Capturing, Soldier Points Out To Guys

May 6, 2010 by Observer Staff

Badlands, South Dakota — In the midst of a hotly contested battle to capture a control point, a soldier for the Builders League United (BLU) announced to several guys that they needed to capture the control point. Seriously.

“Come on guys,” the soldier said to his teammates, in a bored voice that downplayed the brilliance of his tactical awareness of the situation. “Seriously. We gotta take that point.”

“Guys,” he added. “Seriously.”

The soldier’s bold statement of purpose came after several minutes of violent conflict raging around a control point on a tall, rocky spire, which the members of rival group Reliable Excavation Demolition (RED) had captured earlier that day. Realizing that RED currently had control of the point, the soldier instinctively determined that BLU should, and indeed must, regain control of that point. Seriously.

Putting this complex series of revelations into words was next in the soldier’s series of brilliant tactical moves.

“Guys,” the soldier reiterated, elaborating further on his already complex strategy. “Come on. Let’s get that point.”

Other members of BLU received word of the plan, having had no idea up until that moment that the control point they’d been fighting on and around for long minutes required capture.

Guys. Seriously.

“No shit,” said a BLU Demoman, clearly impressed with the tactical thinking on display.

“Really?” offered a Heavy who was currently standing on the very control point, fighting for his life. “Thanks, I had no idea.”

This isn’t the first time this same soldier has demonstrated leadership and tactical planning in combat situations. He has hatched a number of equally brilliant plans in his career, all of which he has selflessly and repeatedly offered to his teammates.

While struggling to steal secret intelligence documents from RED’s base several weeks ago, he quickly determined that a medic on the BLU team would be needed for success, and stated “We really need a medic” nearly a dozen times in the span of five minutes.

On another occasion, while his team was attempting to push a cart with a bomb strapped to it into enemy territory, the soldier determined that the best way to push the cart was by pushing the cart, which he expressed to his team by telling them, “Push the cart.”

As the battle for the control point continued, the soldier noticed that despite repeatedly outlining his plan to retake the point, the point was not being retaken. Undaunted, he continued to helpfully guide his teammates toward their goal.

“Guys,” he said again. “Guys, seriously.”

“Come on.”

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Opinion

Keep Government Hands Off Our Swarms of Personal Attack Bees

May 4, 2010 by Observer Staff

By Andrew Ryan, founder of Rapture

Is man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? To the fruits of his labors? To the stinging swarms of his army of personal attack bees?

No, says the man in Washington, they belong to the poor, who have no deadly clouds of insects to call their own. No, says the Vatican, only God can choose who will die from thousands of incredibly painful bee-stings. No, says the man in Moscow, every person should have an equal number of personal attack bees as every other person.

The government would dictate that you cannot sell dangerous super powers like electric bolts, scorching fireballs, and immobilizing ice blasts out of vending machines for a few dollars. The government would have you believe it is wrong to implant sea slugs into the bellies of little girls to turn them into ghastly, giggling vampires. The government would tell you, no, you cannot possess swarms of killer bees and direct them to kill people you do not like.

I came to Rapture to build the impossible, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the right to possess swarms of incredibly deadly personal attack bees would not be constrained by those who feel that swarms of incredibly deadly personal attack bees are too dangerous for anyone to own! And with the sweat of your brow, and the barbs of your insects, Rapture can become your city, as well.

The parasite expects the doctor to heal their bee-stings for free. The parasite expects the bee owners to lend them some spare bees out of charity. On the surface, the bee-keeper manages the hive, trading the strength of his hands and the soothing balm of his calamine lotion for bees of his own. But the parasites say ‘No! What was yours is ours! We are the state! We are God! We want a bunch of your deadly bees!’

A bee. (Inset: another bee.)

How little they differ from the pervert who prowls the streets, looking for a victim he can ravish for his grotesque amusement. Also: bees.

It is only when we struggle in our own interest that the chain pulls society in the right direction. The chain is too powerful and too mysterious for any government to guide. Any man who tells you different either has his hand in your pocket, or a pistol to your neck, or a bee pointed at you.

On the surface, the government will try to control your swarms of attack bees. In Rapture, who you sting with your bees is your choice.

Remember, a man chooses. A vicious swarm of personal attack bees obeys.

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Local

Adventurer Finds Killing Mole Rats Makes Him A Better Lockpick

May 3, 2010 by Observer Staff

D.C. Wastelands — A former vault-dweller known only as the Lone Wanderer was both pleased and perplexed to discover that killing mutated mole rats with a baseball bat has somehow made him better at picking locks.

“It’s like, locks just suddenly made a lot more sense to me,” The Lone Wanderer said, standing over the bloody corpses of several mole rats. “Somehow, beating a bunch of mutated animals to death with a baseball bat gave me insight into the inner workings of the locking mechanisms of doors and safes.”

“You’d think that using a bat to bludgeon vicious animals would make me stronger, or a better fighter or something,” he continued. “Maybe something related to the physical act of slamming a blunt weapon into a large, rampaging animal.”

He paused, taking a sip of water from a filthy toilet. “Instead, I’m suddenly finding it easier to pick locks with hairpins. I crushed some skulls with a stick of wood and then just had this sudden jolt of knowledge about how locks work.”

This is not the first time the adventurer has noticed that his actions and activities lead to enhancements of unrelated abilities.

“A couple days ago, I was out collecting bottles of Nuka-Cola Quantum for some lady who asked for them, and when I finished, I suddenly had a slightly better sense of how to repair my weapons and armor, and became a bit more adept at sneaking around undetected.”

As for why he’s finding his skills increasing from performing activities unrelated to those skills, the former vault-dweller doesn’t know, and isn’t sure he wants to know.

“It’s definitely weird, but a lot of things around here are weird,” he said. “The locks themselves are kinda weird. They all look like doorknobs, even the ones built into ammo boxes. I can’t explain that, either. I won’t even try.”

“I just hope the afternoon I plan to spend killing feral ghouls with a laser gun in the metro tunnels makes me better at bartering with merchants,” he added. “With all the locks I’m picking lately, I’ve got a lot more loot to sell.”

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Local

Engineer Sure Wishes He Could See His Spine-Mounted Health Meter

April 29, 2010 by Observer Staff

USG Ishimura, Aegis 7– An engineer battling hordes of mutated Necromorphs aboard the planetary mining ship Ishimura sure wishes he could see the health meter built onto the back of his spacesuit.

“Who designed this stupid spacesuit?” asked Isaac Clarke, a systems engineer, while whirling around and craning his neck in an effort to view his own back. “They built the health meter on the spine? Really? On the spine? Who is this supposed to be useful for, someone standing behind me?”

Clarke was stationed aboard the USG Kellion, which was dispatched to the Ishimura to repair their malfunctioning communications array. After the Kellion crashed into the massive planetary mining ship, Clarke quickly found himself alone and surrounded by the twisted, reanimated corpses of the former crew of the Ishimura. Armed only with mining tools and fighting for his life, Clarke sure would like to know the status of his health and how close he is to dying.

“As an engineer, I don’t believe in form over function,” he said. “I guess the designer of the suit didn’t want to clutter my visor screen with data, or something. But building the heath meter on the back of my suit, where I can’t see it, while space-saving and aesthetically pleasing, isn’t exactly useful for me, the guy wearing the suit and wondering how close to death he is.”

“Is it blue? Is it red? I have no idea. I’m definitely on a need-to-know basis with how close I am to my own death, but unless I find a mirror or maybe someone to follow me around, walking behind and slightly to the side of me, constantly pointing out how badly injured I am in a loud voice, it’s gonna continue to be a flippin’ mystery.”

“Hey, random necromorph!” Clarke yelled sarcastically to the darkened, labyrinthine corridors of the ship. “If you’re creeping up behind me, before you rend me to bloody ribbons with your claws, maybe you could let me know my health status. Since I have no idea what it is. That’d be great. If you could do that.”

“Thanks,” he added.

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World

Jobwatch: Marauding Demons Face An Uncertain Future

April 28, 2010 by Observer Staff

Ferelden, Thedas — During a violent, murderous raid on a small farming community in Ferelden, a demonic member of the invading Darkspawn army took a break from dismembering villagers to reflect on his future job prospects.

“Right now, things are great, job-wise,” the demonic Hurlock warrior said, feasting on the steaming entrails of a slaughtered peasant child. “There are plenty of humans, dwarves, and elves to kill. The job market for marauding demons is strong. I just worry about what comes next, after we’ve killed them all.”

“I see two possibilities for us,” the Hurlock said. “A heroic band of Grey Wardens will slay us, freeing the land from our murderous reign of terror. Or, the Darkspawn will triumph, wiping out all the other races in the world. Honestly, it’s the second scenario that really worries me.”

“I feel like we’re wholly unprepared for victory,” he continued, thoughtfully licking the blood of a freshly killed peasant woman off his blackened claws. “Once the war is over, there will be a whole new series of challenges for the Darkspawn. Repairing the infrastructure, for instance. Rebuilding castles. Fixing roads and bridges. Creating a working economy. What do marauding demons with a thirst for living flesh know about any of that?”

“I can devour human children,” he added, “But I don’t know the first thing about building schools for our little Genlocks.”

The Hurlock is not the only one worried about future job prospects. Whether they come from the shadowy abyss of a blood-red netherworld, through an interdimensional portal inadvertently opened by foolhardy scientists, or are simply the living constructs of evil wizards, employment prospects for murderous creatures has always seemed healthy. Many marauders, however, are now questioning just how strong that job market really is in the long term.

“Find the Ring, kill everyone else,” said one Tarkrip Skirmisher stationed on the North Downs of Middle-Earth. “That’s pretty much all the boss tells me. There’s no mention of what happens afterward, when the Ring is found and everyone is dead. What will I do for work then? Open a pottery shop? Become a tailor? My hands were made for strangling the life out of halflings, not stitching up torn pantaloons. It’ll be straight to the unemployment line for me.”

The Hurlock demon echos the Orc’s worries. “I was killing these farmers earlier today,” he said. “I tore out their innards, sucked marrow from their bones, and so forth. When I was done, I looked at their farm and thought, wow, this looks kind of complicated. He’s got an irrigation system here I couldn’t even begin to figure out, and I don’t know the first thing about how and when to harvest crops. Burning crops, I got a handle on that, but not harvesting them.”

“Even if I get promoted to Hurlock Emissary, what spells could I learn? Death Magic? Drain Life? Those are great for killing innocents. Not so great for holding down a job once all the innocents are dead. We’re going to need plumbers and craftsmen and accountants to function as a society. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff.”

He displayed his resume, which was etched into a ragged strip of human skin. Under skills, it just read KILLING, MURDERING, DEATH-BRINGING, BONE-CRUSHING, SOUL-RENDING, LIGHT FILING.”

“I made up the last one,” the Hurlock admitted. “Everyone lies on their resume a little. But to be perfectly honest, I don’t know the first thing about filing. I don’t even know what a file is. Is it something you kill?”

He thoughtfully chewed through the tender neck of a struggling, middle-aged blacksmith. “Look,” he said between bites. “I’m worried for my future. I just want to stay relevant.”

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