Go Home Drone, You’re Drunk

I guess this drone had a little too much to drink:

LOS ANGELES — The Navy says an aerial target drone malfunctioned and struck a guided missile cruiser during training off Southern California, causing two minor injuries.

Lt. Lenaya Rotklein of the U.S. 3rd Fleet said the accident on the USS Chancellorsville happened Saturday afternoon while the ship was testing its combat weapons system off Point Mugu.

Also, it seems kind of concerning that a naval vessel was unable to prevent a target drone from hitting it. That seem to indicate a vulnerability in the ship’s defense capabilities.

First World Problems

There are problems that are unique to the first world. For example, a woman wrote Slate to complain about the fact that her husband busted his ass, made a fortune, and was able to retire before he turned 40:

Dear Prudence,
My husband achieved professional success and wealth early in life. His work involved long hours and lots of stress, and by his 30s he decided that he wanted out. His accumulated wealth could easily support our lifestyle indefinitely, so he retired about 18 months ago, shortly after the birth of our first child. He has not found anything to do in that time! We have an excellent nanny 40 hours a week, and outside those hours my husband is an extremely involved father. We split the domestic duties roughly 50–50, as before, but now I am the only one working and he says he shouldn’t be “penalized” by having extra domestic responsibilities. So he spends the week dicking around (gym, squash, books, movies, etc.). It’s making me crazy with resentment, especially when I come home from a hard day at work. He tells me I should just quit if I don’t like it, and that I shouldn’t worry about being dependent because he’s set up a trust fund for me and our son. But I also think it sets a bad example for our son to see a father who doesn’t have some productive purpose in life. My husband disagrees and says he will be “an excellent corrective to the productionist propaganda schools inflict on kids to make them the unquestioning worker bees the economy demands.” He says he doesn’t care if our son grows up to work hard and that work is a lamentable necessity and it is only “false consciousness” to think otherwise. I’m tired of this devolving into a sociological debate! How can we resolve this?

—Do Something

Having a spouse who struck it big and retired early is a problem many of us would be willing to shoulder the burden of. Seriously, if the biggest complaint you can make is that your husband is so rich that he was able to retire in his 30s then life isn’t that bad. Also, as a response to the woman I would simply note that it appears he’s done quite a damned bit already.

An Engineering Mindset

You know you’re an engineer when you read the following article about the USS George Washington being deployed to the Philippines and your eyes jump to the listed carrier statistics:

infinity-carrier

Really? It has unlimited range? I didn’t realize our carriers could folding space and fucking time. I’m skeptical that a mere aircraft carrier could store enough energy to travel the distance from Earth to Pluto. Either the BBC acquired some very optimistic statistics from the manufacturer or the person who wrote the article has no idea what the word unlimited means.

Valuable Information for Voters

If you’re heading to the polls today you should really read this guide. It contains valuable information regarding politicians:

Piecing together the latest groundbreaking research being conducted by commenters at conspiracy websites, we’ve been able to isolate a number of prominent individuals who possess reptilian-compatible bloodlines.

We need to stop the interdimensional lizard people from outer space’s reign of terror on this planet. For too long they’ve… done lizard people things and that’s not good for us. Learn how to identify them so that you can avoid voting for them.

Skirting Responsibility

I really don’t know what I can say about this story that would add to the hilarity:

A bridegroom has been jailed for 12 months after staging a bomb hoax on his wedding day to try to prevent his bride discovering he had failed to complete the paperwork required for them to marry.

He’s fortunate to be in that cage. I’m fairly certain if he didn’t have layers of concrete and armed guards between him and his (most likely former) fiancé she would kill him.

Bloomberg’s War Against the Homeless

It appears as though Michael Bloomberg has finally won his war against the homeless:

NEW YORK—Drenched in drying blood and limping slightly, New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg triumphantly stated this morning that the city’s longstanding homeless problem had finally been solved. “Homelessness is over—it’s not a problem anymore,” a winded Bloomberg said to a City Hall press conference while gripping the lectern tightly to prevent his hands from shaking. “I fixed the problem. Problem solved.” When asked by reporters if permanent housing had been provided for the city’s 50,000 homeless, Bloomberg assured them the new lodgings were quite permanent.

Sometimes I can’t tell if the Onion is satire or truth.

Government Shutdown Part IX

I have been living in the absence of government for so long that I can barely remember what law and order looks like. Life has been made much easier by the rail gun and killbot I acquired. Having a killbot in my party has worked wonders. The few gang members that have approached have either fled in terror or were gunned down in seconds. I’ve had no more encounters with killbots. Checking the log files on my killbot my suspicious were proven correct: most of the killbots headed west. Only a few stringers were sent in other directions to scout. From my understanding it appears as though several teams of killbots have been unleashed in the Twin Cities area. Teams unleashed on the extremities are most likely herding people into the center, where the killbots will eventually converge to finish their purge. Once the purge is completed the area will be free for corporate takeover.

My journey took me to the Twins Stadium, which is situations on the main bike trail into the Warehouse District. What I saw there made my blood freeze. The stadium has been turned into a real-life Thunderdome. Competitors are thrown into the arena and only the survivor is allowed to leave. Gangs roam Minneapolis looking for people to kidnap and toss into the arena. Thanks to my killbot none of them have tried to make me part of their reindeer games. The only collection van I saw went up in smoke as my killbot sent a rail gun slug through it. Who knew that rail gun slugs came in incendiary form?

The streets in the warehouse district are an orgy of death. Bodies are littered everywhere. The stench is almost unbearable. One of the biggest threats comes not from gangs but from crumbling infrastructures. Everywhere you go there are downed power lines, stop lights, and street lights. Buildings have begun to crumble, making travel in the proximity of the tall warehouses dangerous. The killbot stays close to me, likely attempting to take the brunt of any falling debris. I made my way east, down Washington Avenue. There doesn’t appear to be any safe side streets to travel so I’m keeping with the main arteries to increase my speed, and give my killbot plenty of room to spot and eliminate potential threats. As I made my way to the Hennepin Hilton I could see that the Hennepin Avenue and Central Avenue bridges collapsed. No doubt this occurred after safety inspections were stopped by the shuttered government. We learned our lesson about the need for government oversight of bridges when the 35W bridge did a belly flop into the Mississippi. In the distance I could see that the Stone Arch bridge was still standing, which may be important if I have to make an escape across the river.

As I traveled up 4th Avenue I expected to see less chaos. The police would have barricaded the area and defended everybody who made it to their little island of law and order, right? Not so much. My worst fear was realized as I approached the Hennepin County Government Center. The Hennepin Country Sheriff looked like a bombed out building from World War II. Smoking shells of police cruisers blocked off 4th Avenue at 4th Street. Bodies of police officers and gang members littered the proximity of the barricade. It seemed that the badges had prevented the officers from becoming raging lunatics but the number of civilians was too great for them.

I took fire as I pushed based the barricade. Really bad snipers had taken up roosts in the Government Center Parking Garage. They must have had ammunition to spare because they were trying the strategy of missing fast enough to kill. As bullets ricocheted around me, the killbot identified the really bad snipers’ positions and unleashed a hail of machine gun fire. Shortly afterward the sniper fire ceased. If there were any survivors they decided to run and hide.

No longer distracted by gun fire I took note of the surrounding area. The Government Plaza was riddled with impaled bodies. For a moment I thought Vlad the Impaler had risen from the dead and taken residence in the Government Center. Many of the impaled were members of Minneapolis and Hennepin County’s finest. Signs were strung around the plaza that read “Die pigs!”, “Fuck the police!”, and other derogatory remarks aimed at our public servants. The virtuous were swarmed by the vile. I considered entering the police station but decided the threat of unknown assailants was too great. The Hennepin Hilton, likewise, posed too great a threat to enter. On the outside it appeared to be mostly intact but on the inside things were likely bad. Without the government to keep the prisoners in line they likely revolted, killed all the police, and escaped into Minneapolis. A few probably stayed inside the prison, claiming it as their kingdom in this land of the damned. I could see fire being exchanged from the upper floors of a couple of skyscrapers. Now that the NFA was no longer being enforce the gangs have acquired rocket launchers. Rockets fly between the tower and exploded glass, metal, and bodies outward.

Continuing forward was a bad idea. I doubted the killbot could stand up to rocket fire and without it I would likely perish as well. To the west was the Twins Stadium, a horror I had no interest in seeing again. East would take me to the Metrodome, which was likely running more gladiatorial-style fights. South appeared to be the only direct that wouldn’t bring immediate death. I could cross the Stone Arch bridge and face whatever horrors have befallen Nordeast Minneapolis.

Government Shutdown Part VIII

I apologize for not getting updating my journal earlier. One casualty of the government shutdown I hadn’t expected was the wireless spectrum. Without the FCC to protect our wireless spectrum every jackass with the ability to emit wireless signals has been jamming FCC licensed users. Even HAM radio is unusable without the oversight traditionally offered by the government. I was fortunate to find a place with a physical Ethernet connection so I could update all of you outside of the United States on our current crisis.

My last journal entry ended when I found a place to race in an abandoned home near Cedar Lake. The night passed uneventfully, except for the sounds of screaming that are ever present in this lawless world. It appears that the gangs in this area have been wiped out by the killbots. The killbots seem to work on an exterminate and leave pattern. They enter an area, kill everybody in that area, and move onto the next area. From what I can tell the majority of killbots are moving west. If I had hunkered down instead of escape I would have eventually been killed when the killbots swept my area.

I awakened at sunrise to continue my journey into Minneapolis. Breakfast consisted of a few nonperishable items that I scrounged from the home. It wasn’t delicious but it extended the food supply I was already carrying. Believing the killbots had moved on I decided to return to the derailed train. My goal was to disassemble the two destroyed killbots in the hopes of finding some kind of exploitable weakness. Fortune shined upon me. While both of the killbots were disabled, one still had a functioning computer I was able to jack into (take that “survivalists” who never recommend placing a laptop into a bug out bag). After analyzing the software I was able to determine that the defense contracts wrote the code in a hurry. There were a lot of sloppy mistakes and several unreadable Perl (but I repeat myself) scripts running several important functions. Most importantly I was able to find the code that identified killbots to one another. Inside the killbot was a small transmitter that served as an IFF (identification friendly or foe for those of you who don’t operate in fields of operation). I was able to salvage the IFF and wire it to one of my spare flashlight batteries. With this IFF in pocket I should identify as a friendly to any roaming killbots. Sadly, the IFF in the other killbot was damaged in the exchange of fire so I had no viable backup. However, I did obtain something of greatly value from the second killbot, a portable rail gun. In their hurry to get the killbots online before the government started operating again, the defense contractors mounted weapons made for humans on their killing machines. All one needs to do is hit the release mechanism. The killbot also had a good quantity of ammo for the rail gun so I was in business.

Carrying a .308 and a rail gun would prove impossible so I tied my reliable companion to the rack on my bike. There was no way of knowing how reliable the hastily made rail gun would be so I didn’t want to best my life on it. On the other hand, the .308 was worthless against killbots so I wanted the firepower the rail gun gave me.

Carrying my bike over train wreckage I continued by journey north. After clearing the field of wreckage I was able to continue biking down the trail. As expected, without the government to keep the trail in tiptop condition, the ride was rough. Within minutes I extended to the meadow. The meadow gave me good line of sight of the surrounding area. To the east I could see the Minneapolis skyline. Like everything else the grand skyscrapers of the city were ablaze. I began to doubt that any government survived in the city but had no other plan of action so I continued my journey. Even though the highways were in such disrepair they hadn’t collapsed yet. Not having to traverse collapsed highways sped my journey up considerably.

As I passed under 94 my heart stopped at the sight of another killbot. Unslinging the rail gun as I hit the dirt I was astonished that the thing hadn’t opened fire by the time I was up on my knee and aiming the rail gun at the walking monstrosity. It was looking right at me so I knew I saw me. It appeared as though the IFF I salvaged out of the fallen killbot worked. Getting ballsy, I walked up to the killbot. It made no effort to attack me. Deciding to leave well enough alone I got back on my bike and began heading towards Target Field. That’s when the fucking killbot started following me. When I moved it moved, when I stopped it stopped. Remembering that these things work in teams I assumed that the previously independent killbot was trying to join up with me. The ramifications of this were dire. What if failure to communicate with it lead to it killing my ass? It would almost certainly gun down anybody else who crossed my path. I had to disable it before continuing. It didn’t try to stop me from plugging my laptop into its computer. That’s when the idea dawned on me, why disable the killbot when I could reprogram it? Having a companion would make my life easier. The killbot obviously possessed skills I lacked, which is always important when building a party in an RPG. My intelligence trait was far in excess of its but its strength, perception, and speed were in excess of mine. Together we may be able to survive the lawless United States.

I lead the killbot off of the beaten path. Part of me wanted to disable it while I reprogrammed it to avoid it automatically firing on any person passing through. On the other hand, I wanted the thing online in case any gang members decided to roll through. Too damn bad for anybody else coming down the trail. It took me the rest of the day and most of the night to reprogram the killbot. Inside the code I found a function called escortMode. As it turns out, the killbot could be commanded to protect a designated target. I decided to designate myself as the designated protected person. To complete the designation the killbot needed to scan me. Several minutes passed as it scanned my outline, infrared profile, face, hair color, eye color, skin color, and fingerprints. How far would its protection go? Would it fire on a killbot that was trying to kill me? I had no way of knowing but the IFF in my pocket would almost certainly prevent any killbots from attacking me.

By the time I finished everything up it was pitch black out. All of the smoke from the burning buildings obscured the moon and stars. I imagine it is how the sky always looked before the EPA stepped in and regulated the amount of pollutants that could be emitted into the atmosphere. I found a small cubby-hole to rest in. With the killbot watching over me and the IFF in my pocket I wasn’t too concerned about any roving gang members or other killbots icing me in my sleep.

I awoke again at sunrise. The killbot was still standing there scanning the area for any potential threats. After a breakfast consisting of dehydrated ham I finished up a little programming on the killbot. Killbots have Wi-Fi cards in them. I assume they use them to scan for Wi-Fi signals, which is usually a good indication that humans are around. With a little work I was able to use it to connect to my phone. Even with the unregulated mess that was the wireless spectrum, I was able to get a connection to the killbot’s Wi-Fi interface so long as I was within a few feat. Opening an SSH connection (the default user name and password were both “root”, I changed them quickly) I was able to rely commands to the killbot.

With my new metal companion I continued moving into Minneapolis.