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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Lan parties, nerd gatherings, bigarse computer bashes where sad, pathetic, lifeless individuals gather to kick the crap out of eachother at Deathmatch and share pr0n (Pornography in 1337 sp33k.... don't ask). A hundred and fifty people... probably more... gathered in a hall, where power and network were provided, some using their own computers, built, upgraded, maintained and, in some cases, modded by themselves in their spare time. For the most part, the participants were kiddies. 15 year old homophobic virgins who spend most of their time shouting abuse at eachother due to small things, like someone being slightly better or luckier than them or, in rare cases, actually cheating. Their mentality less than that of a five year old, the insults consist of some variation of the word "Fag", with expletives added for spice. But today, somewhere in this hall, someone was about to snap

 

Power had been a problem from the start. A hundred and fifty machines require quite a bit of juice to run properly and distribution had to be perfect, otherwise things would go to hell. The most common issue is always clumsy fools somehow tripping over powercables, pulling the board they're connect to out of the mains, thus killing the power to a segment of the gathering. Then, of course, some untrained individual managed to bring down the entire network just plugging a cable into a switch. These gatherings had a tendency to attract a special brand of retard. But on the odd occasion, there would be bigger problems, caused by improper setup of the networking equipment or just simple overload from too many people downloading too much stuff from other people, who were in turn downloading from others, who were... and thus the circle continued. This translated to quite a bit of network traffic, of which the network can handle only so much.

 

His computer was his biggest problem. A machine that carried a terrible curse, one that requires 2 hours worth of attention to get working if the thing was ever shifted more than 2 feet from it's original location. This time around, he wanted to game. No leeching, due to lack of hard drive space, no socialising with likeminded losers, he just wanted to get down to the nitty gritty of picking up a rocket launcher and reducing his enemies to small piles of goo. This time, the gods were smiling upon him and the machine worked, first time. Good, he thought, time for fragging. Finding a server was his next problem. There were servers about, but not for any game he was currently in possession of. He could try inciting a game of his choice, but that would require effort. Instead, he would obtain a copy of whatever game from someone else.

 

He turned to one of the players of this particular game, Battlegrounds 2942, and asked,

 

"Where can I obtain a copy of this game, Good sir?"

 

This question was repeated three times before he realised the person had his headphones on too loud, so could actually hear him. He lifted one of the ear pieces and asked again.

 

"Oh, sorry dude, go ask Robbo2K. He's got one shared." The gamer returned to his game, only to find he'd been killed during the exchange.

 

The resulting string of obscenity cannot be repeated here

 

So he located Robbo2K, who was busy trying to set up speakers and asked for the game. A CD was thrust in his hand and he was shooed away. Robbo2K returned to his speaker setup.

 

Putting the CD in the driver, he clicked install and let the installer run it's course. The progress bar got to 86%, then his computer died. As did the computers of all around him. Someone had tripped over the powercable. Screams, cries, curses and insults ensued as the administrator, a large man in a black overcoat, who went by the handle "Cango", found the offending cable and plugged it back in. Power restored, the installation was restarted. This time, it was successful.

 

The next step was to find the patches for the game. Several were required. Updates for the game were needed, as no game is ever released perfect. Then the mod that was being played was needed. Finally, a No-CD patch was also needed, to overcome copy protection built into the game. An hour later, the game was ready to be played.

 

About this time, the network went down. The cause was unknown, the screams deafening and the admin furiously working to isolate the problem before he had a riot of nerds on his hands. The pressure already building, he went for a walk.

 

Nerds, like every other little social circle in existence, have their own form of "Big Ego" contests. Other people compare powerful cars, stuff in their backyards or cost of clothes. Nerds have two things. PC power and case rice. The term case rice was derived from rice on cars, but as most people here weren't old enough to drive, they modded their PCs, adding casefans, cold cathodes and other things just to make the thing look unique. He was no among them, having neither the time nor the cash to indulge in such pursuits. Some of the mods he saw while wandering around were quite impressive. He was amazed how much powersucking equipment could run off one powersupply. The insides of every case were visible, due to either windows in the sides of cases or a lack of case covers. Some cases needed separate powersupplies just to power everything stuffed inside. He shook his head and returned to his computer. The network had been restored. He proceeded to locate, download and install all required patches, cracks and mods. Another hour and a half gone and he still hadn't played anything.

 

He fired up the game. The setup program popped up. A hundred and thirty two separate options that he had to alter from default, just because he had an amazing array of parts from differing eras, companies and countries around the world, all working haphazardly together to provide him with computer. This required a lot of effort on his part to maintain, but he was happy with the result. Once this was done, he fired up the game and tried to join the server. Success, but it was now empty. While he was getting the game, everyone had gone off to play something else.

 

Then the final straw. Some fool running through the narrow aisles between tables tripped over someone's bag. He was carrying a jug of cola. His body hit our protagonist, his jug hit the monitor and the contents of the jug splashed all over the computer. As there was no cover on the computer at the time, the internal components were drenched.

 

He froze. He then shook his head. He calmly removed the power cords from his computer, reached into his bag and pulled out a machete that just happened to be there.

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This is so right...

 

You have such a penetrating eye, reducing social scenes to their barest (and often most unpleasant) essentials, and then describing them succinctly.

 

I could just SEE the scene. The only thing I missed was the smell of spilled soda on the sticky floor, as nerds tend to be powered by caffeine, sleep being considered such a poor substitute.

 

This was a FUN read. :)

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hehehe. sounds like my friend and I right about now. It's 3:35am and we're in a law office, trying to fix 5 computers. I've been contracted for work this evening for my friends company. It's good pay and good company, not to mention that it's compy's and they're usually my friend. Until I got this one that I'm working on. 5 hours later, I finally get what needs to be done done, only to shut it down to reboot and it doesn't restart. Fun. So, I shout, not too loudly mind you, to my friend that's working on just the other side of the partition from me, that the stupid thing won't start. Her answer? "Kick it." heheh. I did. And it works. So now here I am, taking a break and reading some wonderful works. But as Lorena starts to curse, I wonder is she left her machete at home, or if the head lawyer is going to come back to find his desk in shreds ;)

 

Thanks for providing some great writing for a much needed distraction Aardvark. Cheers ;)

 

*flutters her wings and goes off to fix more computers...if only her brain would remember how to turn a computer on.....*

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