“Alright! I’m a delivery boy!”

… as Phillip J. Fry so eloquently summed up the awesome ability of space travel to turn mundane careers into exciting ones.

The game, Elite: Dangerous, has done the very same.  Except for not having Grace Park in it, the game is as close as a sci-fi geek can currently come to realizing his fantasy of doing stuff in space.

From dog fighting with computer generated and actual human enemies in customized spacecraft to exploring one of billions of star systems and their planets in a realistically populated Milky Way galaxy to delivering equipment and various commodities between planets and star systems to mining asteroids for those commodities to taking part in the real time altering of economies and political control of inhabited space, the game has it all.  Except for Grace Park.

 Space-merica!

I’m having fun dividing my time between mining various minerals in the ice belts of gas giants in my Lakon Spaceways Type 6, trading precious metals and machinery in my Type 7, and putting my name (or gamertag as it is) on one of billions of yet-to-be discovered various classes of dwarf, giant, hypergiant, and neutron stars and black holes in my Diamond Back Explorer.

As with anything awesome, though, there is one minor point of non-awesomeness that can really irk me.  It goes like this:

“How much did you make off that delivery?”

“Nothing.  I got interdicted midway back and then blown to pieces and all my cargo stolen.”

“Man, that sucks!  Who did it?”

“Just some jackass.”

“Was it the dreaded pirate Neutron Beard?”

“No.”

“Lothar the Destroyer?”

“No.”

“Well who was it?”

“… Greg Roberts.”

“Greg Roberts?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

There’s always something to ruin a heroic death.  And in Elite: Dangerous, it is often CaptainPoopyPants97, TheDorkinator, or Greg Roberts.

I hope I get to blow away some social justice warriors soon.  It should thoroughly trigger them to be blasted and looted by ThePatriarch828.

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