Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1)

by Ernest Cline

The OASIS became such an integral part of people’s day-to-day social lives that users were more than willing to shell out real money to buy accessories for their avatars: clothing, furniture, houses, flying cars, magic swords and machine guns.

What about The Simpsons, you ask? I knew more about Springfield than I knew about my own city.

You’d be amazed how much research you can get done when you have no life whatsoever. Twelve hours a day, seven days a week, is a lot of study time.

“Are you kidding? How could I miss it? The very first meeting of the High Five.”

“The High Five?” I said. “Yeah,” Aech said. “That’s what they’re calling us on all of the message boards now. We hold the top five high-score slots on the Scoreboard. So we’re the High Five.”

“The Sixers have no honor,” Shoto said,

I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal. —Groucho Marx

I’d come to see my rig for what it was: an elaborate contraption for deceiving my senses, to allow me to live in a world that didn’t exist. Each component of my rig was a bar in the cell where I had willingly imprisoned myself.

Like most gunters, I voted to reelect Cory Doctorow and Wil Wheaton (again).