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Bob Made a Farmer


And on the 8th day, Bob looked down on his
planned paradise and said, “I need content.” So Bob made a farmer. Bob said, “I need somebody willing to get
up before downtime, do PI, mine all day in the Enormous Belt, do PI again, microwave
some hotpockets, then jump clone and stay out past midnight entosising some bullshit
system out in Omist.” So Bob made a farmer. Bob said, “I need somebody willing to sit
up all night coaching a newbro in a Venture in highsec. And watch him die. Then dry his
eyes and say, ‘Maybe next year.’ I need somebody who can light a cyno on a
‘ceptor alt, fit out an Orca with perfect mining boosts, who can make heavy water out
of white glaze, blue ice and dark glitter. And who, during peace time or war time, will
finish a forty hour mining week by Tuesday noon, then, complaining about the price of
Netflix, put in another seventy-two hours.” So Bob made a farmer. Bob had to have somebody willing to risk the
Wormholers to get the Spud in ahead of the CTA, and yet stop in mid-asteroid belt and
race for his super to help when he sees a TEST gang show up on intel ten jumps out.
So Bob made a farmer. It had to be somebody who’d mine ochre first
and mercoxit next and not cut corners. Somebody to mine, whine, sell, yell, scam and scram
and kill rats, make alts and skill inject, all while bitching about the cost of plex
and then finish off a hard week’s work by fitting out a new titan and then lose it to
SNUFFED OUT on a gate. “Somebody who’d bale a Coalition together
with the soft strong bonds of krabbing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply,
with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend HIS life ‘playing Fortnite.'” So Bob made a farmer.

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