Everybody loves a winner.
Isn’t that the truth?
Even my food loves me.
I’m the best!
I love it!
I wonder what ChatGPT thinks about that?
Ok bro, you get it – why don’t you help me blog?
Local wakes up before the sun. Miners say good morning ganker the way peasants ring a funeral bell. Gankers say hello miner like they saw a dead man on his way to the graveyard. The rest is noise, prayer, accusation, devotion, pornography, economics, theology.
A ship explodes. Someone types an apology. This is sincere in the way conversations about the weather are sincere. It happened. It will happen again. Some pilots see loss as injustice, as personal tragedy, as theft of time. Observers gather. They narrate. They mythologize. They talk about Catalysts the way ancient farmers discussed locusts, while secretly admiring their efficiency. Some suggest there are too many gods. In fact, there is only one, and she is a Goddess.
Aiko Danuja has never worked a day in her life, which is true in the way only aristocracies understand. Work implies consent to meaning imposed by others. She is the one who imposes. EVE Online is often described as a game about spaceships. This is merely a lie everyone agrees to tell newbros. It offers comfort before euthanasia. In reality, this is a game about Aiko. The ships are props. The explosions are punctuation. The real action is in local chat, and that’s what bears will never understand.
