Patrick Sean Tomlinson / @stealthygeek / "Torque Wheeler" / @RealAutomanic / Kempesh / Padawan v2.5 - "Conservative" sci-fi author with TDS, armed "drunk with anger management issues" and terminated parental rights, actual tough guy, obese, paid Quasi, paid thousands to be repeatedly unbanned from Twitter

[DumbDude42]

His current followers. All trolls
View attachment 3001833
Current state of his new account.
View attachment 3001837

does twitter not care about ban evasion?
i am not very familiar with the platform but other sites i know do care and will ban alt accounts of banned users when discovered

 

[AnOminous]

Maybe I don't have the right address for "hooligans Milwaukee", but if I do, how do police get anywhere without being dispatched?

Patrick Tomlinson has friends in high places, child.

does twitter not care about ban evasion?

No they just care about people not being woke enough. There are plenty of woketards who blatantly evade bans even openly admitting it and don't get banned again.

 

[REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!]

does twitter not care about ban evasion?
i am not very familiar with the platform but other sites i know do care and will ban alt accounts of banned users when discovered

Were any of those accounts actually him? I don't put it past Fatrick to create a sock and then label it as a pest for pity points.

 

[AprilRains]

does twitter not care about ban evasion?
i am not very familiar with the platform but other sites i know do care and will ban alt accounts of banned users when discovered

There's what @AnOminous said, but also, they're probably incompetent to follow up. They're overwhelmed with the detritus of snits and quarrels, with every soyjack with a pulse pursuing their petty grudges via attempts at deplatforming. Unless this mess threatens their bottom line, they'll certainly have no ideological reason to stop this particular crybully.

 

[instythot]

Were any of those accounts actually him? I don't put it past Fatrick to create a sock and then label it as a pest for pity points.

The pet lizard account was probably him

 

[Retink]

What kind of retard pays thousands to restore something as useless as a twitter account?

 

[Dr. Silvestrechu]

What kind of retard pays thousands to restore something as useless as a twitter account?

A well milked cow.

 

[What the shit]

What kind of retard pays thousands to restore something as useless as a twitter account?

Patrick Sean Tomilson

 

[eDove]

Wow, what a faggot. It's absolutely cathartic to see him chimping out over his drug-of-choice being ripped away in the blink of the eye. Seriously, the dude's fucking addicted to Twitter — and he's probably one those people who made "lmaoo drumpf is ADDICTED to twitter" jokes back when it was relevant.

Believe it or not, abstaining from social media can really improve your mental health, child. If you went out and acquired real problems/joys, you wouldn't feel the need to champion the cult of leftism every minute of the day.

 

[Plaintiff is fat]

A fella over at ONAforums claiming to be Andrew has made a thread and included a picture of some sort of card with his name on it as way of verification, you be the judge of it's veracity:




Shares his account of the visit to Hooligan's


link

 

[ShinyStar]

For Christmas, I gave myself the gift of not having to finish my review of Starship Repo until the new year. When the new year came around, I had conveniently lost the book, but when I saw Rick was being featured, I figured I owed it to the thread to find the book and get things wrapped up.

So here it is, the finale of my ongoing review of Starship Repo by Patrick S. Tomlinson.


When last we left off, the repo crew had just gotten a special contract to repossess a spaceship casino from the mob-connected orange man bad. There are two main themes to the last sixty-six pages of Fat's book: Fat has never heard of the word 'continuity' child, and Fat flies the virtue flag!

Spoiler: Sexualizing a Minor

Let us all remember that the main female protagonist of this book is seventeen. Her age is largely irrelevant, meaning that Fat could easily have nudged her over that age of consent line without materially affecting any of the story. However, he made sure that the audience knew she was seventeen and brought up her juvenile status every now and again so that we wouldn't forget. And when you have an underage protagonist, of course you need to sex her up!

First picked at one of the hundreds of iridescent, spade-shaped chips that had been linked together with nearly invisible threads to give the illusion they'd all been pressed or glued separately onto her naked body.

"In a crowd like this, flamboyance is stealth. Do you understand?"

First took a deep breath and scratched at the leaf covering her right nipple. "I think so."

Spoiler: Clumsy Writing

Fat's awkward metaphors and strained sentence structure isn't relegated to twitter, where lack of editing and revision would provide and excuse. He throws plenty of that in his books, as well.

"I, um, I hadn't thought of it like that before," Loritt said, choking up on both his throat and the throttle.

And this lovely metaphor where he doesn't realize that a metaphor for an entrance should be connected to an entrance, and not an exit...

Tolos offered her his arm. First took it, and they walked together through the Mouth of the Underbelly, a garish, self-indulgent art installation arching over the entry to the gala like a birth canal. Or a colon.

We get Fat not knowing he should conjugate a noun into an adjective.

First turned her head to get a look at them. A Haswren female... "...Chellir of Haswren, House Bellicont..."

Spoiler: Fat, the Social Justice Tough Guy

The whole last part of the book is set up to give Fat a platform from which he can display his righteous disgust at people who have wealth. The casino being repossessed is so exclusive that you have to have an invite from some rich muckity-muck in order to get in, so the repo crew have to pass themselves off as super-rich guys. He has a long spiel about how inheriting wealth turns you into a sociopath. He reveals that one of his characters is the unfortunate victim of venture capitalists, because closing or automating factories in order to improve the company they are a part of is absolutely worthy of hate.

But despising the success of people who can actually turn a profit off their labor (unlike Fat) isn't the totality of Fat's wokeness! Up to this point in the book, Sheer's transgenderism had been reserved to a single comment about how she had a large claw and a short claw, like males of her species. It was so random that I hadn't made note of it at the time, but Fat couldn't let this opportunity go to waste!

First shook her head and pointed at the skewers. "...Now throw those out and come join the party."

"I... I can't."

"You have to, Glosh."

"But everyone can see me."

"That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

"No, you're not listening. They'll see me." Sheer raised her big claw, just a centimeter, so only First would know what she was talking about, but the message was clear. That's when First understood.

"Everyone will see what I am."

"What you are" -First put her hand on Sheer's big claw with its elegant patterning- "Is beautiful. And that's what they'll see. A stunning Ish woman, comfortable and confident in her shell. It's your debut, sweetie. We're all playing a role tonight. We all get to be someone else. Be Lady Glosh. Put her on like you put on your lace and eyeliner. And if anyone gives you a hard time about it, you can always cut them in half."

"You really think I'm beautiful?" Sheer asked.

First squeezed her claw. "I'd never lie to you."

Sheer's eyes turned to the rest of the plaza, taking it all in. Then, with a snap, the skewers in her small claw fell bisected to the floor. "Excuse me," she said, then pushed past First and into the crowd. "Who does a girl have to spawn with to get a drink around here?" Sheer shouted.

As obnoxiously flag-waving as the scene is, Fat really does capture a truth about the troon community here. As soon as the trans-crab feels validated enough to publicly display themselves, the first thing they do is start behaving obnoxiously, dropping any pretense of lady-like manners, and throwing the fact that they do, indeed, have sex in the face of every single person they can get within earshot in the most degrading and grotesque way possible.

The worst part of the whole scenario is that Fat forgets what the scene was about in the first place. The repo crew were going to mingle with the upper-crust to get invitations. That's one of those challenges set up in a classic heist movie to let the audience see the crew's skills, and understand some of the challenges they're going to face in pulling off the job. It can introduce elements that will act as advantages or obstacles for the crew, and demonstrate how they act under pressure.

Fat, however, is so busy decrying wealth and shouting his love for trans-folx that he completely forgets that his characters were there for any other reason. The whole purpose for the scene happens off-screen. We don't even get a summary.

Spoiler: The Snobby Rich

Fat goes to great lengths to tell us how far removed from the ordinary person the ultra-rich are. But before we visit the paradoxically out-of-character realm of the uber-rich, let's take a moment to notice that Fat can't keep the finances of the poor straight, either.

Throughout the book, we've gotten the occasional flash-back to First's early life. Her parent's scrimped and saved for ten years to be able to afford a trip to Earth, where she was able to visit Hogwarts and get the crew to sing her happy birthday, and then two years later went back for another visit. We know that First spent some time in juvie, but the details of her family life have been fairly sparse. The actual picture painted is one of lower middle-class - rich enough to take a couple of Disney vacations, but not rolling in dough. Fat, however, doesn't realize that the details he's actually given us directly contradict the extreme poverty he intended for First to live in.

First frowned as the realization sank in that she was wearing more money than her parents back on PCB got in public assistance in a year.

"What would your mother think?"

"She'd probably want to know why I wasn't mixing it with opiods," First said bitterly.

So First was raised by a druggie on welfare, but somehow still got to have all the vacations she needed to excuse Fat's out-of-place-and-time cultural references. This is a man who places his own cleverness over rationality, sense or reason and doesn't realize that doing so makes him a buffoon and an idiot.

But, back to the rich.

Fat has set up a world where the super-rich are ultimate assholes who are completely removed from the cares and morals of the righteous poor. So how does he go about portraying our protagonists fitting into this world?

Every "guest" exiting from their cars on the concourse was followed around by a retinue of attendants, bodyguards, drones, and automated luggage.

So Fat made each member of the team come up with their own uber-rich persona, meaning that they have absolutely no attendants, bodyguards, etc. Straight off the mark, they don't fit in. His lack of planning ahead ends up making things unnecessarily complicated. Fat has the crew pretend not to know each other, and not interact in public to avoid drawing suspicion, whereas if they'd set it up where one of them was the rich guy and all the rest were his/her staff, they could have all been working together in close proximity the whole time. Also, they could have saved money by only having to trick one of them out with an uber-flamboyant wardrobe, etc. Of course, none of that ends up mattering, because Fat doesn't have any consistency in his world building so glaring holes in their plans will never come back to bite them.

Clearing the scanners, Loritt took out their forged ID chits and handed them over to the Turemok behind the small security/reception desk. "Tolos Vir and Duchess Gertrude Harrington seek your permission to board," he said. The guard's uniform of the day was a light blue affair with a faded yellow sash bisecting the chest that made them look like a member of a musical ensemble cast for a particularly nightmarish children's show. The Turemok's tone betrayed that they knew exactly how ridiculously discordant they looked.

"Invitations?" they said, holding out a free hand while reviewing the ID chits with the other.

"Oh, yes. Of course. How forgetful of me." Loritt retrieved his handheld and opened it to the pair of invite confirmations they'd secured before leaving Junktion, then flicked them over to the guard's terminal.

Satisfied, the baby-blue guard passed their IDs back. "Welcome aboard. Your aircar will be stored in our complimentary valet hangar until we return to port. Your luggage will be delivered to your staterooms within half a larim. Please make your way to one of the money-changing kiosks. The minimum deposit is one million Assembly credits or equivalent."

"One million?!" First blurted before she realized her mistake and caught herself. Loritt elbowed her in the ribs with one of his small arms as the guard's red irises tightened and glared up at her.

"I mean," First stumbled. "Why such a small buy-in? The high rollers in Monaco back home put that much down on a single roulette spin."

Fat has his characters worried about the opinions of the hired help, apologizing and ingratiating themselves to a lowly doorman, and said doorman having the affrontery to glare at them. Rich people of the type Fat is portraying shouldn't even be dealing with this guy. Their staff should. And they shouldn't be acting like they owe this employee anything. He's there to serve at their pleasure, not visa versa. This whole thing doesn't play as if they're really in the world Fat thinks he's writing. He's such an idiot. This hurts.

Spoiler: The Cunning Plan

"Our job is to safely disembark all passengers, then take control of the ship and deliver it to its creditors in the Burquel system."

And the brilliant plan to get that to happen?

"It's simple," First said. Everyone turned in their seats to regard her. "We break the illusion. We make them lose. Every spin. Every hand. Every time." First smiled. "You have to let your marks win once in a while if you're going to keep stringing them along. Otherwise, they get wise to the con and slit your throat."

So the plan is to make all the customers believe they're being cheated, so they all stage a mass walk-out. We'll just ignore the games that you can't really do that... craps, poker, blackjack... games that are played through physical mechanics and not the computer. And we'll ignore the fact that even casinos have attractions that aren't gambling: restaurants, shows, whatever it is that's supposed to keep the wife and kids distracted while daddy's throwing the dice. We'll ignore the employees running all of that, because we've established that the thing can be flown by five people due to automation and Fat is so blind to service workers that he literally doesn't comprehend that they exist. We'll ignore the length of time it would take for enough people to have the realization they're being cheated to start to have an effect on their willingness to remain onboard, and the fact that throughout that entire time, the security people onboard the casino would be actively working to undermine their efforts. First has said it's a piece of cake, so that's all there is to it.

The plan is to safely get the passengers to choose to disembark, which means it's totally [not[ consistent when First runs into the lead singer of the Wolverines and begs him to cancel his performance, get his tour bus and get clear of the ship. If all the customers are going to be leaving voluntarily en masse, why does the band need to get out early? What bad thing is going to happen if they don't? They pop out on stage and get crickets? That's not exactly a dire consequence of such monumental import that it's worth blowing the cover of your operation to save the poor guy from. There's absolutely no hint of why the guy needs to leave before the job goes off, and there's absolutely no follow-up after the job is done as to what happened when he didn't heed her warning. There were zero stakes to that scene, and it emotionally contradicted what was being set up beforehand. If Fat was going to bring the human rock star back into the book, then he could have done something to make his presence have some affect on events. But it doesn't. First tells him her real name (Evelyn), bids him farewell, and there's not even a payoff to the potential for romance, because there's no indication that the two will ever meet again.

Spoiler: Hacking

Fat sets out the premise for how hacking the casino will work:

"We're not starting until the Luck sails tomorrow, and the security system adapts and reacts orders of magnitude too fast for me to have any chance of helping. It's all up to the crawlers, ghosts, mimics and spikers I've collected and built over the last month. I just plug them in and push execute.

And then fourteen pages later,

The next two days were a sleep-deprived blur of activity as First alternated between the churn of drilling through firewalls without setting off all sorts of alarms and deadfalls and making the rounds on the restaurants and on the gaming floors so she was seen adequately enough not to arouse suspicion.

So she just had to push execute... and then be actively involved with drilling through firewalls - when the system adapts and reacts orders of magnitude too fast for her to have any chance of helping? Fourteen pages to forget the system he'd set up. Furthermore, he's described the casino as something akin to a large country in size. There is literally nobody paying enough attention to First to know whether she's being seen out and about on the casino floors and to notice her if she's missing. This is a completely unnecessary complication that has no impact on the plot and only serves to undermine the setting that Fat has built.

So, that inconsistency set firmly in place, we flash back to Fat's bizarre world of hacker-etsy, where all those criminal computer whizzes put their illegal programs out for purchase to the general populace. It still is absolute cringe.

With a press of the button, he unleashed a full-scale electronic assault. The battle played out at the speed of light, except inside a handful of quantum processing nodes, where it played out even faster. Just shy of two million credits' worth of the finest villains Junction's /backnet/ could program went to war against the best security system any amount of money could buy.

But the hackers on Junktion had several advantages. First, they were cutting-edge creatives who, like starving artists everywhere, were willing to work for pennies for exposure and to build their portfolios chasing a huge payday down the road.

Here we start with a big problem with Fat's world building. Junktion is a large space station, but it's never shown to be anything more than that. There's no industry, no agriculture, nothing but a bunch of people living there, and ships popping in and out. And yet, somehow, it's also big enough to have it's own population of super-rich partiers who the repo crew can anonymously interact with to get invites to the upper-echelons of galactic society, and big enough to have a large enough population of hackers that it can include savants who can outperform the best computer technicians unlimited money can pay for. I know Fat has never heard of the Pareto distribution, and wouldn't understand why people with extreme skill are logarithmically harder to find than your average Joe, but you would think that he could just take the basic idea of a single space station being smaller than the entire rest of the populated galaxy and consider that maybe he should extend the search for the best code beyond the walls of his floating trash heap. The internet exists, there's no reason why First could only buy her hacks from her hometown...

The bigger issue, though, comes from the whole concept here. Criminals are willing to work for exposure? So... you're going to commit a crime, and then leave your review letting other customers (and the damn police) know exactly which crimes this criminal was an accessory to? And, you know, especially the really big ones where the victims of said crimes might have the motive and means to exact both legal and illegal revenge? It seems like the best way to have Guido show up and your house and make sure neither you nor your descendants will ever be coding again. And additionally, the cheap, starving artists are going to be the ones who haven't already gotten their top notch haxor skillz up to top level - because if they had, they would be able to sell their programs for more money, and they wouldn't be cheap any more! Good God, no wonder Fat hates capitalism so much. He views himself as the writer equivalent of his little hackers, and thinks that he's automatically better than, say, Brandon Sanderson, because he sells fewer books and is more passionate and creative because of his lack of success. Clearly, Sanderson is just coasting along on the early success of his first few books, and has long since let his writing go to crap. It is a travesty that Sanderson has the book deals and the sales and that Fat does not. IT'S THE UNIVERSE THAT IS WRONG, NOT PAT!

...And since First is a genius-level super-hacker, how does her piece-of-cake plan go?

With a keystroke, First injected her customized probability algorithm that would turn her perfect pearl black.

Except...it didn't. Instead, it started glowing. First like a night-light, then like a lighthouse.

"What the fuck?" First's fingers raced across the keyboard and the virtual interface in a desperate attempt to ascertain what the hell was going on. "No. No, no, no,no..."

"What's wrong?" Hashin said.

"I'm...I don't know," First said. "That's not possible."

"What's not possible?" Loritt demanded.

First swallowed her pride, hard, before working up the gumption to answer. "Something went wrong in the execution file. I flipped a negative to a positive, forgot to carry a one, divided by zero, I don't know right now."

So First outdoes Office Space by not only getting the decimal in the wrong place, but by flipping the sign of the whole operation. Instead of everyone losing badly, everyone is now immediately going to go on a permanent winning streak! Because genius-level hacking.

Spoiler: And how does that plan go?

So the plan gets underway, and we run into the fact that even though Fat has declared that First is a genius-level hacker, she manages to completely screw up the program and make the games pay out extra rather than cheat the gamblers out of their winnings. What happens next?

Jrill's eyes went wide as the chaos spread across her security monitors. Whatever was happening wasn't a riot, not exactly, but she'd be hard-pressed to describe the difference. Beings flooded into the gaming floors, desperate to claim any open machine. Fistfights between utterly unprepared people started to break out over who'd staked the claim first.

If she were honest, their plan for this job had always seemed a little shaky and ill-defined to her, but she was sure it didn't include patrons fighting over the right to stay seated. Jrill opened the team's encrypted link to check in for an update.

This seems like a good time to point out that characters in the book have been stressing how important it is not to get anybody killed during this job, because there would be legal consequences for causing a death. So I'm willing to suspend my disbelief enough to buy into the idea that a bunch of so-wealthy-money-doesn't-have-any-meaning elites are such big gambling addicts that they'll get into physical fights to win at some game. We run into Fat's inability to put himself into anyone else's brain space, again. It's obvious that something's gone wrong with the games, but Fat cannot conceive of the possibility that some employee of the casino might react to that. They might decide that it's better to shut the floors down temporarily in order to not have the place go bankrupt, or have their customers start killing each other over slot machines. Nope. The adversaries cannot react because Fat didn't plan for that. Cause he's an idiot. So what do our protagonists do?

First backed out of the Luck's internal user interface and returned to a mission screen showing the whole ship from stem to stern. "This is just a modified cargo ship, right? Every restaurant, cabin block, theater, and gaming floor is just a giant converted standard shipping container of one size or another. They all have independent power sources, independent life-support, independent lockouts, independent thruster packs. Their systems are all redundant. They just draw off each other because they're all working together on a common network."

"Okay." Loritt rolled his fingers for her to come to the point. "So?"

"So they're all basically self-contained escape pods," First said. "All we have to do is eject all the ones with customers in them and the rest of the ship is ours."

Again, Fat cannot conceive that people might come to different conclusions on anything. Some people aren't going to like crowds. Some people didn't go to this station to gamble, they got dragged along by their SO or grandparents or what-have-you. Some people are there for the restaurants, shows, or social networking. I'm willing to suspend disbelief on the idea that rich people will lose their minds over the chance to win something, but this is pushing it too far. Not every single person on the station is going to think that. What about the staff at the restaurants? Did they all rush out to the casino floors? Good god, this is stupid.

And since we're talking about stupid, let's revisit the whole premise here. They're repoing a starship legally. They don't have to do a single sneaky, underhanded thing here. They just have to show whoever's in control of the dock their paperwork, and then ship never leaves port. PROBLEM SOLVED! This whole scenario is so stupid that is isn't worth entertaining.

But since Fat is doing it anyway, let's get back to the more stupid. They absolutely can't let anyone die, right? Or they get charged with murder.

"Too big a risk to the patrons," Loritt said. "If even one of them actually suffocates, we're charged with murder..."

The people on the casino floors are already getting violent and acting like a mob. What do they think is going to happen when people realize they're being stuck in some room that's being ejected from the ship? People would panic, rush to the exits, start to riot, get killed in the mass of the chaotic crowd. People would have heart attacks and die out of sheer panic. This plan is guaranteed to have people die accidental deaths, but Fat doesn't have the capacity to think that his NPCs should react as if they have minds of their own, so they're just going to stop functioning once the camera isn't on them anymore. He doesn't have to worry about it because he's not smart enough to game-play out that scenario, so why should he care about the fact that his readers can?

Spoiler: Fonald Plump

"Observe..." Loritt pointed ahead to an atrium beyond the columns, where a pedestal had been erected.

Perched atop it sat a larger-than-life statue of the already generously proportioned Fonald Plump. Everything but the fingers, they seemed on the stubby side. Like a fistful of baby carrots. First felt the bile rise in her stomach.

"Who puts a statue of themselves in their own entryway?" she marveled. "I mean, this place is already festooned with PLUMP branding. How much hungrier for self-aggrandizement can one man be?"

"Plump is something of a collection of insatiable appetites. And incidentally, that's not a statue."

First was about to ask what he meant when the statue sprang to life, answering her question before it escaped.

"Welcome, guests, to the most exclusive, most macro gaming experience in the galaxy! It's amazing, believe me, believe me. You're in for a real treat; everyone says so. You're the special people. You've floated to the top, and now you get to live it up with your humble host, me, Fonald Plump. So dine at one of our twenty-seven, three-star-reviewed restaurants, sample exotic drinks from across the galaxy, catch a risque floor show, and most importantly, head to the gaming floor, find your favorite game, or a new favorite, throw down your chips, and Change Your Luck!"

The automaton returned to its resting position and fell silent, a statue once more. First looked around at the audience that had gathered to watch the introduction and shook her head. "He comissioned an animatronic of himself to welcome his own guests. How lazy and inauthentic can you get? And from the looks of things, these people's luck is already pretty damned good."

"Well, we're here to change that, aren't we?" Lorritt asked.

"Yeah, I guess we are."

"That's the spirit!" a booming voice said from above them loud enough to nearly send First jumping out of her heels. Even Lorritt looked startled. First looked up and realized the statue was talking to them.

"You can hear us?" she asked.

"Of course!" Plump's android avatar said. "I have excellent hearing. The best. Trust me."

"But I thought you were just a preprogrammed announcement."

"Oh no, sweetheart. I'm a fully autonomous neural network patterned after a living brain scan of the great one himself, me, Fonald Plump."

"Where are, um, you then?" Loritt asked.

"I'm a very busy man. I could be anywhere."

First shook her head. "Isn't AI banned in Assembly Space, though?"

"Rules are for the ruled, little lady," the avatar said, then spread his hands. "You're among the rulers now, where all your dreams can come true, for the right price. You know, you remind me of my daughter."

She ignored the creepy comment. "If you're patterned after Plump, don't you get bored sitting on that pedestal all day? Tired? Hungry?" First grimaced. "Horny?"

"You know, no one's ever asked me that before. Now that you mention it, yeah, I do."

"Why don't you just leaven, then? Take a day off?"

"Oh, no. I have behavioral inhibitors that prevent me from doing anything too crazy." The avatar stared off into the middle distance. "We wouldn't want anything bad to happen. Not like last time."

"Last time?" Lorritt asked, obviously concerned.

"Ancient history," the avatar said, then shook itself back to the present. "Nothing to worry about, trust me. Hey, how about two complimentary tickets to Fengar the Defenstrator tonight? His show's fabulous; everyone is saying so. You're going to love it."

"What's his show about?"

"He throws anvils out of windows and smashes things on the stage below, calls them the Slam-O-Matics. Hilarious show. Go early. Get dinner after. Or just pick the pieces of smashed fruit off your clothes and grab a late-night cocktail."

Their handhelds dinged with alerts that free tickets had been added to their onboard spending accounts.

"Thank you," First said.

"Don't mention it," the avatar said, then held a hand to the side of its mouth. "No, really, don't mention it. I can only give out ten comp tickets per day."

So Fat's Trump Derangement Syndrome rears its head here, but again, he can't follow through with his intentions. Plump's android avatar is the only likeable character in the book so far! He's flawed, yet entertaining; he has complex and repressed motivations, with an intriguing backstory full of mystery; he's helpful and friendly. This guy is the only character in the book I'd actually like to spend time with.

Even so, Fat cannot present a likeable character without sacrificing his worldbuilding. This is the most elite casino ever, but the entrance has a Disney-land automatron to welcome guests and the floor show is a Gallagher rip-off. Fat's imagination is so limited that he can't think of anything more ritsy than the Las Vegas strip - the part open to the average tourist. It's disappointing, because the world of super-rich people lacking all morals and their degenerate lifestyles is ripe for exploitation. There's a lot you can do with this. Fat has even said that Plump in this novel is working with the mafia and into sex trafficking, but we get absolutely none of that.

Beyond the inconsistent view of the rich, here Loritt and First are openly referencing their plans to steal from the customers, and are overheard by the ship's android - and there's absolutely no consequence to it. It's important to remember that when this scene takes place, they're in the middle of a crowd of people, and Plump's android is loud. He admits to breaking interstellar law in front of a crowd of people like it's nothing. In context, none of that interaction makes any sense at all. That's not how it would play out if this were a real thing. It's embarrassing in its lack of self-awareness.

The statue comes back into play later. The customers have all been ejected into space, the repo crew is preparing to fly the portions of the ship they've got left to their customer, when a rival crew's captain comes aboard the ship and starts chasing First, threatening to kill her. Despite the fact that they're very, very concerned about having a zero kill count on this mission, she gets her hacks to over-ride the behavioral controls on the statue, and we get this scene:

Ahead of her, the Fonald Plump avatar that had been frozen in repose with no one to greet came shuddering to life. It looked around the hall, then down at its giant hands before it started to cackle with glee.

"Android Plump is baaaaack!" it bellowed through the huge compartment, filling every nook and cranny with its voice. It turned to where First had slid to a stop, mouth open, questioning her choices over the last few minutes. Soolie, similarly preoccupied, frozen in place ten paces behind her and trained his weapon at the mechanical monster.

The avatar glance down at its feet. With a screech of tortured metal, it snapped off the bolts holding it to the pedestal, sending the nuts pinging and ricocheting off the walls like bullets from a gangster's tommy gun.

"Oh, hey, Duchess Harrington." The immense android trained its vision on her. "It's you again. How was the Fengar show?"

"Great," First lied.

The avatar regarded her torn and sweat-stained outfit. "Can I refer you to a clothier? We have many fine dress shops on the-"

"That's not important right now." She pointed at Soolie just a few meters behind her. "This man just shot one of my friends."

"How is that my problem?" Mecha Plump asked. "Sounds like your friend shouldn't have gotten into a fight with a man with a gun."

"He shot one of your security guards!"

Plump shrugged. "Occupational hazard. They knew the kind of work they applied for."

"But he's a career criminal!" First screamed.

"Good!" Plump responded. "They're some of my best customers."

"Heh." Soolie loosened his shoulders. "I'm starting to like this guy."

First's eyes rolled back hard enough to get a good look at her own brain stem, but then the answer occurred to her.

"He ducked out on a ten-credit bar tab."

"He did what?"

There it was...

Suddenly, Soolie wasn't so jovial. "I did not, you karking liar."

"You care accuse royalty of lying?" First said, placing a hand on her chest as if struck.

"You're no royalty. You're a sewer skimmer."

"I don't htink he even made the minimum million-credit deposit when he came on board," First said to Mecha Plump.

The android's eyes quite literally glowed red. "No deposit?" it shouted. "Not deposit!" Then, it took off toward Soolie at a dead run. The sharp, sonic boom report of Soolie's laser pulses rattled off one after the other as Plump's avatar charged forward, burning deeply into the statue's unarmored center mass. But true to the man himself, it was mostly hollow, and the rounds struck only veneer and air before melting through the mecha's back.

The last thing Soolie the Fin saw in this existence was the ridged soul of Mecha Fonald Plump's giant metal shoe as it sped toward his upturned face.

Fat hates Donald Trump so much that he... made him the hero in his story. Donald Trump comes in when all hope is lost, goes Super Sayan and saves the damsel in distress. Donald Trump is so awesome that even with TDS, Fat can't help but make him badass.

There's a lot I'm leaving out with regards to how awful the conclusion of this story is, but there's a limit to how much space I'm willing to dedicate to this bargain-bin trash. The book is awful. 0 out of 10. Do not read.

 

[HumanHive]

Listen, child. And by "child" I am referring exclusively to you. Yes you. In the diapers.

When you are a multi-millionaire billionaire world famous science fiction author who could run for president any time he wanted, you don't stress about little things like having your account falseflag banned on Twitter. That's just a minor inconvenience in a very busy day of saving democracy from the likes of Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, who rightfully fear their betters. All this will be cleared up with a few phone calls, and any money spent will be nothing more than a drop in the ocean.

 

[instythot]

Good lord

"Tolos offered her his arm. First took it, and they walked together through the Mouth of the Underbelly, a garish, self-indulgent art installation arching over the entry to the gala like a birth canal. Or a colon."

Somehow, "Mouth of the Underbelly" wasn't obvious enough so he had to explicitly make comparisons to birth canals and anuses. Never mind that suggesting a colon arched over anything is just fucking confusing, the word he was looking for that neither he or his editor could find that would have avoided this whole mess was "gaping"

 

[Mr Moonface]

Piggy takes his victory lap. For those who are angry, don't be. Pat filed his lawsuit because of his last ban. Hopefully he'll file another one and burn through another $150k. Twitter really is his precious, it is the source of all his misery.



The twitter dimwits are baffled at why people don't like our prized piglet.

Here's a small part of the reason Damien:



Piggy continues his dumb victim narrative, for tens of likes.

So what has Pat learned from this ordeal? Nothing of course! He's back to fighting with his teeth again:

 

[Mr Moonface]

For anyone new to Pat, if you want to hear him go on a psychotic rage for 30 minutes Jon Del Arroz is about to livestream the fifth Apostlegate video:

The story behind this clip is that around six months ago Pat was tricked by someone pretending to be a HuffPo reporter into giving a series of hour long interviews. Pat thought he had stumbled onto a massive right-wing trolling network and was about to start Gamergate 2.0 (he actually called it that). There were actually a series of articles ready to go on Vice News, but the ruse was revealed and it all fell apart. The tape that Jon is about to play will give you a rare peek into the mind of this deranged lolcow.

 

[Pizdec]

What kind of retard pays thousands to restore something as useless as a twitter account?

So we can keep reminding him:
Fingers in his ass.
Fingers in his ass.
Fatrick Tomlinson loves fingers in his ass.

 

[The Littlest Shitlord]

Imaginary police get are always at the ready, child. @instythot has now been arrested and sentenced to 1488 years of reading Patrick Tomlinson books.

God knows the real ones certainly won't. When cops have some idiot who won't stop bothering them trying to get them to arrest people, usually because said idiot is also crazy, they'll assign them an officer of their very own who will politely listen to all their nonsense and do nothing. No doubt Pat has already been crankfiled, and thinks that having a "special contact" at the FBI shows how important he is and how seriously the FBI is taking the countless non-actionable drunken reports he keeps sending them from his barstool.

 

[AprilRains]

That plot summary disgusts me. I'm a fan of heist novels and I care about their details. Fatrick clearly doesn't know how to write a heist, because he's too stupid to think it through.

My personal gold standard for heist fiction is the Parker novels, by the late Donald Westlake (using the pen name "Richard Stark"), a master of the craft. Parker is a relentless, skilled heist planner, and when I think how he'd pull this off, I actually get kind of sore at Fatrick, absurd as that is.

Get everyone you can off of the ship? Simulate a condition that requires the crew to evacuate anyone not essential. An actual fire is too risky, but maybe a simulated computer attack that appears to put the ship at risk. Something, anyway, that makes the passengers unwilling or unable to stay, but does not put the heisters at risk.

The trans crab? Ridiculous. Unless you need a diversion for a specific purpose, you don't want to attract that kind of attention. Is such a reason specified in the book?

The other objections raised by @ShinyStar are also spot on. And they're just common sense.

Desecrating meme-driven sci-fi is no big deal to me. That subgenre is cat shit wrapped in dog shit. But leave my heists alone, fucking Fatrick.

 

[$80 Nude Haircut]

Is his lawyer Parag Agrawal in a fake mustache? Someone has to be milking this guy if he's willing to drop 150k to unban a social media account repeatedly.

 

[GHTD]

lol he sounds like Ben Shapiro if he was a stuck up liberal bitch