Whimsical: If you were the dictator of SL, what would it be like ?

It's Thursday. Where is Trout?

/me taps foot impatiently.

I was supposed to be rescued by now. My goodness, if Trout doesn't fly in to rescue me soon, I'll have to buy a belly pouch. After all, I AM still married to an Evil Overlord who's a kangaroo.

Oh, bother! I'll bet he's still at the Grand Opening of that new sporting goods store, picking over the selection of fly rods.

These days its the Mrs. Dash mines.

People eating too much Sodium and all.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm..........drat it, I've been biting my tongue so hard ever since I first saw this, my doctor has told me that unless I post, I run the risk of biting right through the damned thing. I think I like having said tongue remain in its manufacturer's default configuration, so here I go............

One thing I would do is re-institute the First Land policy, but with a kicker: you cannot sell said land for, say, 6 months maximum. Incentive: hang on to your FL package for, say..a year and a day, and you may then get another 512 m/2 for either a reduced purchase price or a reduced tier fee, which is only in effect until it is sold. With each consecutive year of ownership, further discounts could also apply. This would only apply to the mainland, I hasten to add, so you private sim owners can relax and put your BFG 10Ks back into their holsters....please...?.
Another thing I would do would be to find a way to customize banline appearance. Privacy is essential, but it does not have to be at the expense of some poor blighter's view of the surrounding scenery.

Thirdly, I would try to expand the prim carving tools,incorporate an offline(or at least off-grid) outfit and avatar preview, and the means to script in true flight, combat and driving models that could incorporate joystick/steering wheel/gamepad support.

Other than that, I would make it a priority to find ways to beat lag while preserving the overall experience.

This is all I can think of at the moment. Watch this space; more might occur to me. My inner megalomaniac has gotten loose. Run while you still can, folks; run far, run fast.

P.S. I would ban tops on hula dancers, all landlords would be required to wear a Snidely Whiplash AV all day on rent day, and I would rename the Grid to Blue Meanie Land.

it helps if you give it a moment after moving, and another before rewearing... and if you don't crash out soon after =X

an actual working offline mode in which I can save my full permissions objects and create new ones

sim crossings would turn you into random mythical beasts... the popular ones will be made more rare so that people do it MORE often, and we can get better data on why it's not working right and how to fix it

first land is 1024m, and grouped in two areas, a pg continent, and a mature continent.

bouses for employee that fix major bugs, bonuses for people people that submit the most streamlined (and documented) opensource fixes. making it competitive should speed the process

dev staff will be divided as follows 75% on major+ issues, 25% on new features, open source new features that get included will recieve bonuses

*HIRE* AC to be land minister, ban her from doing projects that are not sold with the land =)

fix the rpc server

hire someone to document the code, LSL and internal, conversely pay residents for updating and improving the wiki, hire strife to oversee it.

get mods for specific forums, reopen general chat forum, and then wipe any post in it after the second page automatically (it'd clean up the others) autolock threads over X pages long

I'm sure I could come up with more

He, He, back to the camping pad production room for you
He can't save you, I have a wedding certificate signed by Elvis and a Pre Nup signed by Judge Judy
Now, where's my most interesting consort gone......................

::drops a landmark on Lindal titled 'welcome to the rebellion'::

CONSORT!? Why, you fickle hopper! That does it.

Trout, I don't need a biplane pilot to rescue me any longer. Be a dear and wear your three piece suit and your briefcase, instead.

Dammit, I'm gonna get me rescued by a LAWYER! And I'll take at least half of your Empire of Evil with me, too.

What does your Handbook have to say about THAT, O mighty (but very bouncy) Evil One?

I were dictator of SL, I would likely do away with traffic and free accounts, replacing them with a more intuitive keyword search and demo accounts (where you get to play on a demo island or on the mainland with restrictions so you can get a feel for the game before paying).
I'd also introduce a system of zoning, not forced zoning but some kind of resident tools that allow simulator inhabitants to determine what their simulator is for (houses or business) and incentives to encourage people to build homes in residential areas, and businesses in commercial areas, and to work with their neighbours to reduce lag and so-on.

Development would concentrate on viewer performance and system stability, non-crticial (ie new feature) viewers would remain in testing a lot longer to ensure all potential bugs are ironed out before release. There would probably be an even split between a viewer performance/enhancement team, a back-end stability team and a new feature team. Features would likely concentrate on things that are more useful, with big new things (like graphical features) being done less regularly.

I'd publish roadmaps detailing what future releases expect to have, and invite discussion/voting on what features are really desired by the residents (or take highly voted on issues on the JIRA where feasible).

I'd also make Tuesdays mandatory pie days.

Trout Recreant settled into his office chair after teaching his last archeology class of the day at the University of Hanson, Infohub campus. Removing his glasses and setting them on the skull of Ancient Linden Man (Ogg Lindenicus) which was resting on his desk, he paged quickly through a dozen spam emails from Chris Norse trying to sell him Viagra and convince him to wire money to an offshore Nigerian account.

Suddenly, his heart froze and he shot forward in his chair.

“Lindal! Tegg! No, it can’t be.” Trout glanced up at the battered fedora on his shelf, a pistol and bullwhip (very high quality and purchased at a great price from Wildefire’s shops on New Desperation Isle, but that’s another story). It had been years since he had been out of the comfort of his office, but what choice did he have. Picking up the phone, he quickly dialed a few numbers.

“Lexxi, I need to borrow your boat. Call Brenda – she should have a line on weapons and ammo from some of her syndicate friends.”

Trout leaned back in his chair and pulled a bottle of bourbon from under his desk. He poured two fingers into a dirty glass, thought for a moment and then doubled it. As he sipped the drink, he looked thoughtfully out the window at the adfarms, BDSM dungeons and campbots that littered the land around the UHI campus. Tegg’s Secret hideout of Doom was all but impenetrable. Surrounded by harsh Linden waters, ban lines, security orbs. Nobody had ever gotten in, and if they had, they never got out.

Trout spoke without looking back. “Derbor”. Derbor stood in the doorway where he had silently appeared a moment earlier.

“I heard. You’re going, aren’t you?”

Trout sighed. “I have to. You know what Tegg will do to her.”

“I can get you in. I know a guy who worked on the build. He thinks there’s a way in.”

~End Chapter 1~

Wow! I ask for a writ of habeas corpus and I get a whole adventure novel, in chapters yet!

Pass the punch...I can't wait to see Chapter Two!

Ice cold spray blew over the bow of the boat as it sped towards Tegg’s island hideout, a solitary rock in the middle of the ocean marked with a huge blinking neon sign that said, “Tegg’s Super-Secret Island Hideout and Hippiepay ATMS! Fill Out Surveys for Big Cash! No Entry on Penalty of Death.”

“Are you sure Bilbo got in to cache my gear?” Trout shouted above the roar of the engine.

“What is this gear you speak of,” Lexxi shouted back as she piloted the boat ever closer to the forbidding island, “I know of Richard Gere, but why would Bilbo be cacheing him on Tegg’s island?”

Trout blinked hard, then gave up and slipped into his wetsuit. As the boat screamed past the rocks, he rolled backwards into the water and deftly avoiding the security orb mines, swam to shore and pulled himself up onto the rocks. Instantly, a voice inside his head toned, “You have trespassed on the land of Tegg Bode. You have three seconds to leave or you will be teleported to hell.” Trout looked up at the small orb hovering above a palm tree, right where Bilbo had told him it would be and quickly tossed a script reflection blanket over it. The orb triggered then disappeared, as the teleport script was reflected back by the blanket.

Keeping his eyes open for more security orbs, Trout slipped under several sensors as he worked his way to the middle of the island, where a ventilation duct was blowing warm air. Trout quickly pried the lid off the duct and lowered himself in, only to wedge himself solidly in the opening. Sighing deeply, he pried himself out and slipped off the wetsuit, vowing to not eat any more of Ann’s pies for a long while, then dropped back in through the duct, drawing the pistol Brenda’s “associates” had secured for him.

It took longer than he had anticipated, but eventually he worked his way through the ducts towards Tegg’s private offices. He listened carefully at the final grate, then slowly opened it and dropped to the floor. If his map was correct, Tegg’s offices, cleverly labeled “Mess Hall” to throw off intruders should be right through the swinging doors in front of him. He released the safety on the pistol, steeled his nerves and in one swift, cat-like move, burst through the doors.

The well lit room was lined with long tables full of Tegg’s minions, slurping soup, eating pilfered pie and shoveling sandwiches down their throats. Hundreds of heads turned towards Trout as he stood, frozen, in the doorway, pistol in one hand, mouth hanging open. The moment stretched out like an eternity before Trout found his voice.

“Hmmm. Sometimes a “mess hall” is just a mess hall.” Wheeling on his feet, Trout burst back through the door at a dead run as Tegg’s minions leapt up to give chase. As he raced down the hallway, Trout threw two grenades against the wall, where they instantly attached themselves. Seconds later, two explosions rocked the secret lair, collapsing the hallway and trapping Trout’s pursuers behind him. If they didn’t know he was here before, they certainly did now. In the distance, sirens began to wail and an electronic voice calmly ordered the troops to their battle stations.

Trout looked up. A sign on the wall read, “This way to Tegg’s Super Secret Inner Sanctum and Prisoner Torture Thingy.” Trout followed the arrow on the sign and tried to look nonchalant as he strolled down the hallway past the stormtroopers who were marching, lock-step towards their battle stations.

~End Chapter 2~

<Points to PreNup signed by Judge Judy>
Clause 456b part C (i) "You even say the word Lawyer and half of everything you are going to own in next 10 years becomes mine, exception "offspring not sired by myself"

<Hears Alarms ringing>
Haravikk be a good chap and dispatch another platoon of minions, and order those on duty to stop that incesantly loud stormmarching and run aimlessly instead, for goodness sake treat it like a real alarm.
Marianne! Anyone seen my child advisor? I need to run these emergency escape plans past her again.
<pulls a lever> There! Someone check that lever worked, the nuclear arcane whatsit powerplant room should now contain 300 tones of wet cement, even if I run, there'll be no blowing up my fortress of doom today. Wait till the hero or his sidekicks try to kick that door in
Fill he inner sanctum moat with diet caffiene free salt reduced vanilla cola too..........

How in the hell did I miss this thread???

I'd be an Ice Queen, have lots of cabana boys to answer to my every whim which would include:

Giving me massages and pedicures
Buying me all the cool stuff
Maintaining my vast fleet of yachts and pleasure boats

I'd also make sure that there would be Turkish Delight for all my friends, and I'd have a garden full of nice stone statues of my non-friends.

Trout peeked around the final corner and looked down the hallway. At its end were two large gilded doors, each bearing the carving of a giant kangaroo and the Australian flag. “Geesh,” he thought, “I thought we were allies!” He then eyed the detachment of troops guarding the door. Sliding his gasmask on (1L at Enkythings!), he pulled the pin on a gas grenade and tossed it into the hallway. The guards, Tegg’s most elite fighting force, eyed the grenade and decided it posed no threat, then went back to playing Greedy Greedy. Moments later, they slumped to the floor, snoring softly.

Trout approached them quickly and bound their hands behind their backs (binding gear – New Desperation Isle! Go there now and buy stuff), then put his ear to the door. Muffled voices came from within.

“You’ll never be free Lindal,” Trout recognized Tegg’s voice and accent; it made him thirsty for Foster’s, “Your friends are worthless. They only sent one man to try to free you”

Lindal’s voice sounded weak, as if she had been struggling, “One? I hope it’s Raymond. He’ll kick your ass.”

“No,” Tegg cackled, “Keep trying”

“Oryx? Malachi? No…The new guy, Sandy? How about Bradley? Annabelle – tell me it’s her. She’ll destroy this place. Jez?” Lindal’s voice dropped. “Oh no. It’s not Trout, is it? After that mess in Costa Rica with Joaz, they wouldn’t trust him to try to get me. They’re still cleaning up the jungle.”

“Bwaaaaa haaa haaa haaa haaa haaaaaaaaaa” Tegg laughed, then broke into spasms of coughing. “Damnit. I really need to cut back on the cigarettes.”

Trout frowned. The deal in Costa Rica hadn’t really been his fault. Who knew that gasoline was flammable like that? He shook his head and prepared himself for the task at hand. Pulling his gun, he glanced at the clock on the wall. He then reholstered his gun and sat on one of the bodies of the guards, pulling a sandwich out of his pocket and leaning back against the wall. Thank God and Jimmy Hoffa for union mandated breaks. Exactly 15 minutes later, he finished the coffee he had swiped from a thermos on the guard desk and returned to the door, pistol in hand.

Steadying his nerves with another shot of bourbon from his hip flask, he took two quick steps and threw his weight against the doors, which burst open. Stopping just inside to make sure it wasn’t a mess hall, Trout scanned the room quickly. An enormous kangaroo sat behind a mahogany desk, flanked by two guards. In front of the desk, tied to an overstuffed easy chair, Lindal was twisting against her bonds, struggling to see what the commotion was behind her. As the kangaroo leaned forward to hit a button on his desk, Trout quickly shot the two guards. Moments later, an irresistible force grabbed the gun from his hand and sent it flying straight up to the giant electromagnet embedded in the ceiling.

The kangaroo spoke, “So, Mr. Recreant, I presume? You’ll never get away with this. NEVER!

Trout raised an eyebrow and looked at the kangaroo down the bridge of his nose. “You know you’re a kangaroo, right? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, but I wanted to make sure that you knew, in case you think you’re a people.”

Tegg exploded, “Of course I know I’m a kangaroo, you fool.” He leapt from behind his desk and strode to a large aquarium behind him and stared deeply into it as he reminisced. “Ever since I was bitten by that radioactive kangaroo on a school field trip to East Sydney, I’ve been like this. (blah, blah, blah, standard bad-guy dialogue).

As he spoke, Trout sidled over to Lindal and held a finger to his lips, then, pulling his boy scout knife from his pocket, cut her free (too bad Tegg bought from a discount BDSM retailer, unlike the ones you will find at you-know-where). He silently pulled her to her feet and leaned over Tegg’s desk, scanning the buttons on the control panels as tegg droned on about how Spiderman got all the glory and Kangaroo boy just got laughed at.

~End Chapter 3~

I just choked on my Linguine...........

I see my reputation precedes me...

*giggle* thanks for the nod.

Luckily though I did spend well on her collar
.yank
.post
.cage
.goreanbrittneyspears remixdance

And yes I _now_ realise I am in the cage with her "where's my child advisor............"
But still I have the girl and the cage is secured by more than any freebie crowbar script will break. And yes my cars and porn coaster collection is booby trapped by nanotechnology to change to "Jesus Saves" if they ever depart this sim, so don't think of taking them instead.

“Does he know he’s a kangaroo?” Trout whispered.

“I think he must,” Lindal whispered back as she rubbed her wrists to restore circulation.

“Ah haa!” Trout found what he was looking for and punched the button labeled “Secret Escape Pod. For Emergencies Only.” Tegg spun around as the wall behind the desk slid open revealing a massive secret hangar behind it.

“What are you doing!” he screamed. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled a gun, which was promptly ripped from his hands and flung upwards to the ceiling, where it came to rest next to Trout’s gun. “Damn!” He then pulled out a machete which, seconds latr was stuck to his gun. A pair of brass knuckles, a length of iron pipe, a motorcycle chain and a toaster all followed suit.

Trout and Lindal leaned against the desk, watching am ever-increasingly panicked Tegg whip weapons out of his pouch, only to be torn from his hands and stuck to the armory that was building on the ceiling. Finally, Tegg pulled a pair of boxing gloves out and affixed them to his paws.

Trout and Lindal ran for the door to the hangar, Tegg bouncing in hot pursuit. As they crossed the threshold, they felt a strange pulling sensation, and a hot prickle across their skin. Glancing back, they saw Tegg sink into the ground behind them and then pop back up, boxing gloves firmly planted under his tail.

They stopped to watch as he danced around, having a hard time reaching the gloves with his short kangaroo arms.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “sim crossing”.

“It’s ok,” Lindal said, “It happens to all of us.”

The chase resumed and Trout, pulling Lindal by her hand dashed into the open hangar. In its center sat a tiny red biplane.

“Start”, he hollered as he dove into the cockpit and punched the Sears Automatic Door Opener clipped to the top wing. “Jump on” He yelled as Lindal, needing no further urging leapt onto the wing. As the doors trundled open and the engine sputtered to life, Tegg dove forward and caught ahold of the rudder. The tiny plane dragged across the floor of the hangar and took flight, dragging Tegg into the air behind it. Trout looked over his shoulder and turned forward, hitting the door opener again.

“What are you doing!” screamed Lindal from the wing. “We aren’t out yet!”

“Just hang on and duck!”

As the doors slammed shut, Trout whipped the biplane sideways, knocking off the landing gear and scraping paint from the top wing. The plane jerked and leapt as he regained control and righted it. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked back again. Where Tegg had been grasping the rudder, two short kangaroo arms, paws still buried in boxing gloves and still gripping the rudder, dangled in the breeze.

Trout banked the plane towards the mainland as Tegg’s Economy Super Secret Hideout of Doom Exploded in the distance for no discernible reason.

“So Trout,” Lindal looked back at him from her perch on the wing. “How are we going to land this plane without the landing gear?”

Trout pulled on his biggest, most padded hair and gritted his teeth, squinting into the setting Linden sun. “The same way we always land, Lindal. The same way we always land.”


~Fini~

I think I would make a gun that turns av's furry. That or embezzle L$'s, buy an estate on the Riviera with my ill gotten loot and then retiring to a life of topiary sculpting & rare book collecting.

A lot of things LL doesn't do because they wouldn't be able to do it well. Problems like camping bots and ad farms will eat as much time as you throw at them and it will still be half-assed.

I'm going to close this thread, it's off topic for the forum.