Look at Mr. Fatcat over here eating out while we’re on the verge of a recession.

It’s an unfortunate fact of life, you’ll find sycophants no matter where you go.

Having all the existing connections probably doesn’t hurt either. If your daddy already knows the people who will make your budding enterprise a success, you have a lot lower chance of missing that dart toss. Not zero, but it’s like getting to take three big steps over the line.

If you like Lunacid, give King’s Field: The Ancient City on PS2 a look, it’s by FromSoft, and you’re definitely a lot less mobile in that game, but the styles are very similar.

I think it’s worth noting that Lenna’s inception is procedurally generated, for better or worse.

I think most of the reviews panned it for having a very generic and cliche-ridden plot, but I agree with you, that game is fucking great, the hordes and horde tech are awesome, and I’m sad Bend can’t make another one.

Lol you think anyone gives 100% effort to their job? Not even the CEO cares that much.

Yeah but employers want to be the only party who can have their cake and eat it by giving one person the work of three people and calling them ‘cross-trained.’

Me over here with 40mbps taking days to download games.

Nature’s candy in my hand,

Or a can

or a pie.

Among the bushes.

To say nothing of how dangerous it is for pedestrians, especially children. Some of these vehicles have less forward visibility than, not even kidding, a fucking Abrams tank:

Anytime people start talking about supply and demand, I can’t help but think of the lines from The Grapes of Wrath:

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains…

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

Amazing how in eight decades and some change, that sentiment has not budged an inch. The only real difference is, in addition to the food wasted and the dumpsters locked to keep out the homeless, they’re dumping shit like Funko Pops in the millions. All this plastic tat that’s literally killing the planet, that nobody in their right mind would want in a million years if the sickness of capitalism didn’t tell them it was precious.