Kickstart... Kickstart... Kickstart...

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Nam in sem at nisl facilisis sodales non in ipsum. Sed euismod mi et eros malesuada pretium. Mauris nec velit elit. Aliquam porta risus ac diam mattis tempor. Morbi commodo arc... COUGH! SNARRRRRRL!

More about Infinite Space: Most of the Chapter 3 surprises fall in the you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me?! category. In that regard, decommission Daisy and load up on battleships, destroyers, cruisers — whatever you can afford, as soon as you can afford them — and remodel them! If you haven't got deflectors, you'll need them. If you haven't got blueprints for the Level 2 Shield Module, it's your own fault for not paying attention — that's easy as pie. Hours of tedium, punctuated by a few seconds of glittering interest scattered here and there. The tedium is caused by travelling slowly from place to place until you get attacked by pirates, which you then wipe out for low sums indeed. It takes a long time to scrape together a battleship. Longer, if you overestimate your strength or fail to properly grok the battle controls, which are nowhere explained in sufficient detail.

Wottheheck, if you're old and retired, it gives you the illusion that you're doing something — something other than sitting in a chair and exercising your stylus grip, that is. It's not true, but a life spent doing more than nothing, especially if it exercises gray cells? Maybe.

Pons asinorum...

In an unrelated noose, I used to think Alabama was the most hell-bound stupidest state in the Union, but now I see that Sheriff Joe Arpaio's mean-spirited, Dickensian Bleak House goons have turned Arizona into the stupidest, jackbootin'-est gorillas-with-guns state in the Union. I can't wait to figure out what I can boycott. Does Arizona produce anything but gag reflexology? Arpaio is the guy who forces the inmates in his tent jail to buy their own food — at 20¢ a meal, and not worth a dime. Remember the pellagra plague in Alabama jails? It's fun playing Which Level of Hell, from Dante's Inferno, Joe Arpaio will get to occupy. My guess is, plague and boils, exploding eyeballs, whips in the night, earwigs on the brain, lemon juice, salt, too much oregano... whatever it takes. And what's with the FOUR STARS on his collar? Is this self-important grinch seriously comparing himself to Gen. Omar Bradley? Very small pond, Arizona. Home of the pygmy bullfrogs. Problem is, they still remember Pancho Villa down there.