I'll start it off with some from the space station 13 (a spacemans game) log, SS13 runs on the BYOND engine, which can best be described as... quirky.
code:
"Okay, so I have some bohrum, some char, and a pile of...awfuls? What"
-a miner
code:
I think this bug reporter is just inept but I'm going to poke the surgery tools anyway because the entire codebase is sure prone of inane butterfly effect bullshit and touching some hat code could conceivably cause the stapler to stop working if it's a Thursday and the user has been drinking milk.
next maybe I should look for bugs on the inside of a gun barrel
code:
WHY DO GRILLES HAVE WINDOW-CREATION CODE?! WHO DID THIS?! IM GONNA SHANK YOU
code:
Did you know mass-producing ore accumulators and then sticking thousands of material items in the middle so you can have some kind of bizarre gravity toilet going on will gently caress the server to death? Neither did I, because WHO loving DOES THAT
excuse me while i go gnaw my own legs off and beat myself to death with them
code:
I may have "upgraded" the manufacturer auto-loader function to victorian level technology considering it liked to grab the user's limbs and load them all into itself. Which wasn't nice.
code: MONKEYS SHOULD NOT SCREAM LIKE MEN
code:
Why does the changelog think it's the year 202? Anyone else concerned by this?
code: Monkeys were invisible when fried again,
because sometimes byond icon operations just give you blank icons
for reasons not known to man nor beast.
code:It would probably help if the rarity picker code made any loving sense
code:i sure like how compiling anything makes my laptop smell like fire
code:"Doc...documentation???" he said in shock, his eyebrows popping up right off his face,
through the ceiling, and off into the distant cosmos.
code:
no sir i think you'll find I'M coder
code:I hope this will make erebite underpants (or whatever)
not explode a hundred thousand times in a row.
code:urrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhh
code:Fairly sure I must have been high when I made these changes.
code:I cannot win.
I guess I can take solace in the fact that one day,
everyone who chats in #goonstation will be dead.
code:OH YEAH LETS TRY OUT 1000x1000 MAPS. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?!?!
code:So this was a bad idea. But now we know. 1000x1000 maps aren't a good idea.
They are bad. real bad.
code:This might or might not fix issues that do or do not exist
code:Assassination objectives were broken to always return successful because
the target's mind wasn't a robot. You read that right.
Their brain was not a robot.
code:
Every morning when I arise from my terrible, apocalyptic nightmare-wracked slumber of unutterable evil, it is the thought of AngriestIBM's absolute and total misery that compels me to rise. It is the thousand-yard stare, a stare born of abject horror and visceral experiences not withstood by any other in this epoch, that I crave.
I open up my refridgerator, a wretched device hewn from the bones of starved and beaten orphans, the interior chilled by the trapped, miserable soul of an angel who's blood I have withdrawn entirely and replaced with rotting horse discharge to make a mockery of the very creation of God himself. From the refridgerator I pull a simple unlabelled bottle sloshing with a vile black liquid.
It is the trapped tears of AngriestIBM, tears of sheer misery and depression. I remove the cap, and take a moment to sample the heady, musky scent of a broken man's grief. I put the bottle to my cracked lips and drink, the wails of abject torment audible in my ears as the salty, bittersweet tears flow past my rancid fangs and into my throat, refreshing me to the cause of breaking his world further.
Later that night, he is at his computer. He looks upon my code and despairs. At that moment, I slither through the gap between dimensions into his room and observe him as he looks upon the twisted, horrendous wreckage I have introduced into the code. I slide up to him and in his ear I whisper in a voice colder and sharper than all the very quills of Shub-Niggurath herself.
"i'm coder"
He hangs his head. "watt-volts", I continue.
He begins to weep.
I smile, and raise my bottle to his face.
The harvest begins anew.
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