Anyway, we do not assume liability for things like this, even if the city is a small one like Muleshoe, Texas.
Most (all?) Legend Entertainment game manuals.
I wonder how many who bought a Legend Entertainment game bothered to read the legal disclaimer in the manual. Apart from the usual text, it contains a lawyer joke (I think this was the only bit that changed between games), clarifies that you won’t get your money back even “if the program does not have a happy ending” because they “have probably spent your money to keep our programmers in pizza anyway”, points out you “do not have the right to give copies to your friends (or enemies)”, and warns you that now that you have read it any copyright infringement “will be willful, and you can be nailed for some big bucks if we catch you.”
Here’s the context for the quote I selected:
For example, you may be playing our game when a friend passing by is distracted by some of the graphics. He walks into a floor lamp. The lamp falls over, scaring your cat. The cat streaks from the room, upsetting a heater which sets some curtains afire. Unfortunately, it is a windy day and the fire is soon out of control. Three days later Chicago is still ablaze. If we took out an insurance policy against such remote contingencies, we would have to charge $1599.99 for the game, and you would not be reading this lame copy. Anyway, we do not assume liability for things like this, even if the city is a small one like Muleshoe, Texas.
The parser error messages on a dead-sea-scroll style artifact might be wryly funny, or a transcript of someone not understanding how to play in cuneiform and rage-quitting.
The deck is an avalanche of noise and blood. Lit by roaring fires, silhouetted forms crash swords, dancing around the screaming wounded.
Calvin Coolidge once described windows as “rectangles of glass.” If so, he may have been thinking about the window which fills the western wall of this room.
The hallway ends at a gleaming metal door to the west, and continues east. Something, possibly this very sentence, tells you that it would be dangerous to travel east or west.
Somewhere nearby several of Morgan Fairchild’s cats begin crying.
This is a spare bedroom where guests would stay if they couldn’t drive home after one of the parties. The bed is big and fluffy and all the furniture is padded well. Uncle Buddy put two brass handles on the floor so guests would have something to hang onto when the room began to spin. A doorway leads north.
It’s a prop fire hydrant from “Atomic Chihuahuas From Hell.” Uncle Buddy took a lot of heat for that film when two unlikely special interest groups, the Institute for Nuclear Power and the American Chihuahua Breeders Association, joined forces in an effort to have the film banned.
A door bell glows at you, almost daring you to ring it.
The air seems expectant, waiting for the rain to begin, like a cat waiting for the ineffable moment to ambush.
I seriously never noticed before how many mentions of cats there are in The Witness, literal and figurative.