Idle Thoughts, The Shotgun Effect, inherited success, and The nature of Doom.

I first read in snowcrash, and later confirmed through the miracle of the internet that the effect a high powered weapon has on the brain is nearly identical to that of Cocaine. I recently found out that the same is true of a virtual shotgun. Let me set the scene for you.

I'm on the Chinese team. I was flying a helicopter until an American mobile AA Station got a lock on us. I gave the order to bail and dumped my decoys. The sidewinders hit the decoy heat signitures I'd just dropped. This gave me and my gunner enough time to escape and survive. We hit the ground outside of an American command point. It's important to remember that units respawn at command points. I have at my disposal a pump action shotgun, a pistol, and a knife. I hit the ground, detach from my chute, and immediately drop to a crouch for stability

BAM!
Chick-Chick
BAM!

One American down. I move in to a much more cluttered area, My shotgun is unparalleled in close range combat, but there's too much open field here.

BAM! Dead American Engineer.
BAM! Dead American spec ops
BAM! Dead American anti-tank gunner.

The Entirety of their defenses are down. I can see a jeep full of American reinforcements coming. My gunner arrives and takes up a position alongside me. The rest of the Chinese won't arrive for a while. They're working on capturing a nearby airstrip. I take cover behind a stack of pipes.

The American Jeep arrives, their tailgunner makes short work of my gunner. They depart their jeep, I'm not sure why, but it is their greatest mistake. BAM, dead driver, the other two are on the other side of the jeep. One comes around the corner in front of me. BAM!. I spin around and drop to my back, the salvo of MP5 rounds that would've perforated me cut a swathe of destruction through the air that had recently contained my head and torso. BAM!. That'll teach him. I notice a jeep, I'm not sure whose, approaching as I head back to my hiding spot.

I catch movement on the side of my vision, Damnit they've started respawning. BAM! where's the next one? BAM! The jeep arrives, people begin pouring out, I don't stop to see who's side they're on before I start shooting. BAM! Dead Chinese Medic, BAM! Dead American Sniper, BAM Dead American soldier, BAM, BAM! Dead Chinese drive, Dead Chinese tailgunner. Footsteps behind me. BAM! Dead Chinese Medic. Off to the right! CLICK! ... CLICK! CLICK!. Pistol. bang! bangbangbangbangbangbangbangclickclickclick. Whoever that was he's dead now. And I'm down to my knife. Shank! Dead Chinese support soldier. Shank! dead Chinese medic. Blam!

That last one was an American who wasn't out of ammo removing the burden of my skull from the rest of my body. As I count down the time until I respawn I reflect upon the fact that this wouldn't have happened if I had just had a medic to heal me and a support soldier to give me more ammo. What was it that I'm the patron saint of again?

And Now for Something Completely different.

I've heard from a lot of the liberal guilt students that success is inherited. The More I think about it the more I believe it. I've got a great example too. Brittany Spears and Paris Hilton. Spears become famous, and potentially successful, but came from a white trash background. Now look at her. She's gone right back to where she started. Then look at Paris Hilton. She had the same promiscuous spoiled brat thing Brittany did earlier, but Hilton came from wealth. While yes she isn't using her money well at all, she's maintained her status as rich elite.

The other thing about inheriting success is that it means you're doomed. Poor people are just kinda screwed. Rich people have it great. It disgusts part of me, but delights a certain, exceedingly evil, part of me.