Discover more from Extra Evil
Extra Evil - Hurricane Harbor
Today’s Fortune: You'll meet a boring stranger.
Ghost cities went from “fun fact” to “global problem.”
Anti-metahuman spoilsports don’t want Fukushima water.
The debates lost their headliner.
The #1 Billboard song’s basic flamewar bait. Brace for the advanced version.
Mars is spinning faster to keep us from landing.
Events are tense, and I’m more Juvenal than Horace. So I’ll pause here to note I’m happy to be born after Mass Effect, fake sugar, instant contact with my best friend, child labor laws, half my family, gag webcomics, Manhattan Specials, airflares, wood with wheels, readers tolerant of my insanity, and penicillin. If the human game were over, I’d just replay New Vegas all day. Especially if the world looked like New Vegas.
Substack’s best feature is learning what’s on writer’s minds, without all that pesky art in the way. So here’s something I’ve fixated on for twelve years.
There’s an old Mastodon interview, about the single Curl of the Burl. Burls are essentially tree tumors, and worth money. Some lumberjacks take meth, to mow down more trees, to find burls, to mow down more trees, to buy more meth, to find more burls. An infinite loop of sawdust.
True? Hell if I know. But isn’t that everything?
I’m beyond thankful that Holt picked up How to Dodge a Cannonball. That manuscript’s the closest I’ve come to my personal heroes. The writers, not the cyborgs. I don’t have the courage to fight crime, just bad impulse control.
For example: now that the ink’s dry and the machine’s in motion, it occurs to me that a ribald Civil War comedy might irk the craziest people in the hemisphere. The pundits are whatever, but the gun clubs probably warrant a thought. Some Civil War aficionados want a rematch.
At least censorship’s an option. I absolutely welcome the chance to write a Freedom Edition for students near the Everglades’ remains. D12’s radio edit of Purple Pills is one of the funniest jabs in media history, and I think I can top it.
Help me out. I’m in the dark age between savvy and wisdom. Which makes me either too old or young to understand something. Specifically, pre-ordering digital games from Fortune 500 companies.
The basic motive—physical scarcity, which was already nonsense—is dead. Data’s unlimited. Your money isn’t. Why trade labor to pray that boardrooms love you? If they did, they’d pay you enough to afford preorders and healthcare.
I get supporting indies, or even smaller companies. You like Game, want more of Game to exist, and know Game’s makers live off C4 and hope. But Activision isn’t in danger of folding. An Overwatch 5 AI will churn out loot boxes long after mankind has departed for the stars.
The habit itself doesn’t matter. It just reminds me how easily trained we are. Grating, during primary season.
My worst-reviewed social trait? I’m light on nostalgia. “Remember when” washes past me like a stump speech, and that’s not what your dungeon master, undergrad drinking buddy, or fiance wants to hear.
I think it’s a compliment. We’re not hanging out because of your ghost. I like you now. What’s next?
P.S. - Granted, this angle on nostalgia makes loving Bomb Rush Cyberfunk seem odd. The answer’s simple: I never had Jet Grind Radio.
Have you tried petitioning the king?
Behold the worst microphone in television history.
A little Everything Abridged goes a long way.
Once I escape deadline hell, earnest work begins on that Expensive Evil installment.
The next 1-900-HOTDOG update has a musical touch.
One Sentence Reviews
Demo: Scattershot. (2.5/5)
Bomb Rush Cyberfunk (First Few Hours): Liquid joy. (4.5/5)
Popstar (Film): Somehow the best and least popular Lonely Island project. (4/5)
Popstar (Album): I am a child. (4/5)
Carlie Rae Jepsen - The Loveliest Time: I lost a wheel miles from home, and this kept me from flipping my shit. (3.5/5)
Remnant II: The classic “the first, cleaned up” second entry. (3.5/5)
Thanks for reading Extra Evil, the newsletter that hears the dead. Share it to buy headphones.