A few rules and tipps for using the search

1. Though most often you won’t need to, you can use a wildcard in form of entering the “%”-sign – except when using the authors search.The reason for this is we have a highly complicated system, designed by twenty-three monkeys and Denis Schranz, to enter the authors for a repaint, separate them, combine them again and then extract them for auto-suggest while separating them again.
   So somewhere in between there, the wildcard function gets lost.
2. While umlauts (ä, ö, ü) and special characters (é, ‘, “, í, etc.) won’t get you auto-suggest suggestions, it will eventually work in the search (well, except in IE, as you might imagine…). For auto-suggest, replace them the “%”-sign where applicable (i.e. not in the authors search – see i. for explanation).
3. JavaScript. You need it. Enabled. Also, it’s good for you.
4. Scenario: when seeing all those round corners, gradients, shadows et al., you yell “what the fuck, this is gonna drag my system enormously, and slow down the stupid site even more!” While we respect your freedom of imaginative thought, you’re completely wrong (and also making an ass of yourself). The search uses a whole total of one image, and that’s that tiny search magnifier icon. Other than that, only CSS3 has been used. This should improve speed noticeably when comparing it to the old search.
5. Personally, I’ve experienced that when using the search, getting the results, and then using the browser’s back button, the category selection won’t work immediately, hence the auto-suggest won’t appear. I blame that on [enter the browser of your choice here], of course. You might have to click a couple of times, or try a forced refresh.
6. As with everything concerning design and coding, this will always be a WIP. If you find any bugs other than the ones mentioned, or have improvement sugges… well no, strike that. If you find any bugs, we’d appreciate it if you’d let us know.

Now go, kiddo, go and be lazy.

No, wait, what? Damn remote! Woman, get me some new batteries!

When we left off in July of ‘07, Craig was being beaten by a group of bullies for losing his hard drive; Denis finally punched a customer, pow, right in the kisser, for mouthing off; and David took his canoeing fantasy to the next level and dropped it in the backyard swimming pool, rejoicing “just like the real thing”.

Will our heroes find out the truth about the secret files hidden by the NSA? Will they be able to fend off the constant verbal attacks by the Mexican drug cartel they used to do business with? Will John finally tell Betsy-Lue his true feelings and ask her out to go to the prom? Will Jakob finally bring himself to visit his evil twin brother in the hospital, now that he’s married to his best friend’s secret step-mother?

Now now, don’t be anxious, children, you’ll all find out. And in the meantime, don’t masturbate too much, or you won’t be able to see the ending (literally!).

And now, the conclusion…

*Disclaimer: I actually love ST:VOY. And if for nothing else, then for Jennifer Lien being extremely hot.

The only Icon of the “Baby Dash Sect” still known to exist today. As discovered 2010.

As always, it wasn’t surprising a strong following started. First one, then eight, then five again, then thirty-seven. Mr. X was a prophet, a messiah, his word was the rule, and his fist was hard and golden. Celebrations were held, virgins were sacrificed, goats were eaten (or the other way around, theologians’ opinions differ extremely on this matter today), bumper stickers for cars were created (because hey, once the guy in the car behind you reads about your whacky beliefs in tiny letters, his conversion must be imminent).
Years went by. The cult gathered again and again. Mr. X had long become an old man; his long, grey beard was almost worshipped as much as the Dash-God himself. It was a fuzzy, soft grey mess, big enough for the children to play hide and seek. On 30 April 2009, the night before the rapture judgment day salvation release, everybody gathered in front of Mr. X’s house. It was near, everybody felt it, they knew it. Everyone brought candles, lighters, MP3-players to pass the time, white gowns and folding chairs. There was a kumbaya feeling in the air. So they waited. And waited. Time passed, first midnight, then morning, then evening, then days and more days…

Mr. X was found murdered, brutally slaughtered, dismantled, and ironically enough shaven, on 09 May 2009. Their salvation hadn’t come. His judgment day came. Though he might have imagined it differently all those years.

The Baby Dash was finally, truly released on 09 January the following year, coinciding with The Fruit Stand’s third anniversary. In the spirit of Mr. X, the team raised their bottles of Jever*. Only once in a lifetime you have a sect following. Only once in a lifetime you’re Gods to those damn peasants. Most certainly, it always ends in death.

And what do you learn from this, dear children? The moral of the story? Never ever trust a damn announced release date! It will always be followed by utter disappointment.

*Craig passed out after the first sip. Again. The boy really needs to learn how to hold his liquor.

Once upon a time, there was a man, so evil, even The Evil League of Evil wasn’t evil enough to have him ceremonially inducted as a prime member. For the purpose of this fairy tale, his name, from now on, shall be Theodore Dungeonmaster III.

— Act One: May —
a.k.a.
- The Spaceman Strikes Back -

It all began seven months ago. Theodore was quite the happy man. Wife, kids, white fence around the front yard, a middle-class job with a middle-class pay, a middle-class house with a middle-class garage for a middle-class car, a middle-class colon, watching middle-class porn. His life could of course have been better, let’s not kid ourselves, his wife’s third nipple distracted him, the mortgage was a beast, and his son was sitting around in front of the computer all day, playing some sort of stupid, stupid aeroplane simulations. But for now, all was okay, all was bearable.
Then one day, Theodore went to the doctor. A standard, routine inspection, nothing to worry. Dr. Leo Spaceman ([spəˈtʃɛmɨn], I tell you!) was licensed, in his mid-thirties, and totally awesome.

Dr. Spaceman: “Please say ‘aaah’.”

Theodore: “Aaah”

Dr. Spaceman:“And again, ‘aaah’.”

Theodore: “Aaaaah”

Dr. Spaceman: “Now once more please, ‘aaah’.”

Theodore: “For god’s sake, aaaaaaaah-frickin’-aaaaah”

Dr. Spaceman: “Alright, now for your severe illness…”

Theodore: “Illness? Illness? What the hell, man?!”

Dr. Spaceman: “That’s right, friend, you suffer from an astronomical small penis. It’s actually funny, it’s really that small. Makes you wanna buy a Porsche, right? Yes, sooo small! By the way, could you give me your wife’s cell number?! Awesome! Oh, and here’s your lollypop.”

He wasn’t talking about an actual lollypop.

On his way home, Theodore started thinking. Something he usually didn’t do too often, but given the circumstances he had to try applying new measures. What had his life come to? It all became so clear for him now, he saw things directly before his eyes. His wife was a cheating cougar slut; his daughter was in love with an iPhone, only days away from sexual relationship; his son was a secluded maniac, only to become a not-so-anonymous alcoholic in the future. And now this. A medically proven small penis. Biologically speaking, for his height, his penis now put him in what was called the “laughing stock” range. Now, kids, you think it would be easy street from here, with everything laid out in front of him now. Well let me tell you, as always, you’re wrong. Downhill, from worse to the most baddest worsest. Divorce, loss of job, finding himself a dark cellar to live in, you know this ages old story. Cliché? Maybe. True story nonetheless.

— Act Two: June —
a.k.a.
- Attack of the Frones -

Viral infection. Now here’s something no one has ever done before,” Theodore thought to himself. And he got oh-so creative: “Here’s something that’ll make me famous, rich, strong, good-looking and awesome again. I’m gonna hack. I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna spam some random website, put my little itty-bitty virae somewhere where they do most harm with the least effort.” Theodore was back on his feet. He didn’t think that much about his enormously small penis anymore, but rather about how to hack the shit out of the afore mentioned random site.

CSI: The Internets!

Scene of crime: The Fruit Stand, a small company, almost six decades under family control, baking pies, singing songs and worshipping the correct Gods.
Modus operandi: destroy The Fruit Stand’s administrators’ nerves, calm, coffee and nicotine supply at least once every three hours, by using a self-replicating and self-spreading virus.
Chronological order of the crime: None. Random virus attacks from 30 May 2009 until 01 August 2009, when the plug was finally pulled.
Suspect: at large

This was the official report from the investigators. ‘Nuff said.

— Act Three: November —
a.k.a.
- Revenge of the Fruits -

It took months. Months of recuperating, moths of vacation, months of calming the nerves, months of negligence, months of porn, months of simply not caring. It took two-hundred and fifty-seven men, seven bunnies, one-hundred and forty-two metric tons of Colombian coffee, seven tachyon-beams, twenty-three apes, one glass of water, it took even more nerves, seven-thousand three-hundred and sixty-one man-hours, it took chocolate, ponies, chocolate ponies, thirteen tequila shots. And two clicks. It took all that to get The Fruit Stand’s site back up and running. Smaller, slower and worse than ever.

It took one countdown to let millions and even more go crazy.

Yes, The Fruit Stand is back from the grave. No, The Fruit Stand did not release anything just now. “But, but, the countdown! Why?”, you cry, trying to control your twitching eye…

Because we love getting people’s hopes up in the morning, and smelling their dire disappointment in the afternoon.

- Fin. -

To put it all in perspective: The Fruit Stand has rid itself of its last shred of morals, betrayed its country and fans, and sold out to the mighty, mighty Flight1 Corporation. Their new Ultimate Traffic II product will use, not to a small part, Craig Ritchie’s models and our paints produced over the last months. We guess you can answer the ‘why’-question yourself – it’s quick money for us; show us somebody who says we’re not up for quick money, and we’ll show you a liar.

So to help you over this first shock, we took the liberty of presenting you with the conversation we’re going to have more than once. Saves us all some time.

Angry freeware customer (AFC): WTF?! Seriously, why?!

The Fruit Stand’s Official Executive Vice Press Secretary in spé (TFSOEVPSIS): Models and paints turn into money → turns into food and booze for us → turns into happiness for us → turns into extensive drug use for us → turns again into happiness for us → turns into more models and paints. It’s also called the Circle of Life.

AFC: Still, WTF! I feel betrayed. I’ve been so extremely loyal to you over the last years. I’ve taken everything you made without even giving you the hassle of flooding you with Thank-You-Notes-That-Smell-Like-Fresh-Babies-With-A-Scent-Of-Red-Roses!

TFSOEVPSIS: Believe me, that we know! We’re so sorry.

AFC: So just to state the obvious once more: you sick SOBs sold out and betrayed us. US! Everything you ever stood for is gone, vanished; I don’t know what to believe in anymore.

TFSOEVPSIS: Yes. Exactly.

AFC: …

TFSOEVPSIS: It’s nothing we’re quite proud of … something we’re quite proud of … good for us, because finally, during our semi-monthly dinner parties, Craig won’t feel embarrassed and sorry for himself anymore for being the only one wearing a top hat and a monocle. New protocol demands that everyone attending now wears it. And mustaches. Never forget mustaches!

AFC: So what happens now? No more free stuff for us? And I have to stress this: no more free stuff for us????!!!!!!!!

TFSOEVPSIS: Multiple exclamation marks are a sure sign of a diseased mind.

AFC: I would say I’m sorry, but … didn’t you hear me?! Will we keep getting our free stuff???!!?!

TFSOEVPSIS: We’ll see about that. Depends on if we’re really getting a 51% cut of UT2’s revenue.

AFC: Oh fuck you!

TFSOEVPSIS: And a good day to you, good sir.

AFC: Whow, hold on there just a minute, buster!

TFSOEVPSIS: I said good day!

We’d like to conclude this wonderful broadcast on a very serious note: we gett da munni and da bling, biatchez! If you think anything else is relevant in this matter, you obviously take certain aspects in your life, say this hobby, too seriously.
As a famous Scotsman playing a Brit once said: “What’s the problem? Too good to collect a stranger’s urine?” Exactly. Think about that!

Fructus Gazette

Although we know about the violent delicacy of this topic, according to our whistleblower the model in question can evidently be found on our Bombardier Dash8-300 page.

Heads up! We’ve just created GOD! It’s an almighty, omnipotent, grey-bearded, some would say devine machine, watching over all of us – you, me, him, everybody! Except for him. That’s right, GOD doesn’t like him!
It can be found here and there, most likely when you least need it at all, but most of all, in you! … Well, not really. But the PR guys said that would just sound better. And would be totally awesome. They’re gonna be gone by tomorrow. Oh by the way, this is GOD v2 (The Better One™) – version 1 was internal only anyway.

So for any of you sinners who still don’t understand what the hell this is all about, let me draw you a picture. Literally.

The Saab 100 Fruit

Suffice to say, GOD’s power comes not from its size (hell, it could easily fit into one of those new Boeing 777Fs everyone keeps babbling on about – and which are available from our store for a limited time only!), or it’s name, Saab 100, but from its heart and soul. Which is electric wiring, mostly, to be honest. Also some bolts. And paint. Yep, that’s it. There’s your 42.

“Oooooooonce … moooooooore … we oooopen the doooooor…”

Stop your fracking singing, Craig!

Céline Dion may be the unwelcome leading product when it comes to spreading the Canadian feeling, but this bird sure makes a better sound. While sharing similar looks (except for the blades – the Dash uses six on each side, while Dion only carries three with her at all times, in order to defend herself from attacking stalkers), Céline Marie Claudette surely can’t claim she has XML flaps. Or animated gears. Or elevators. And most of all, Céline doesn’t even have LODs (which would make her so much more bearable from the distance).

The Fruit Stand presents the Bombardier Dash8-400 (a.k.a. The Answer to Everything that’s Wrong in this World).

The Bombardier Dash8-400 Fruit

Check avsim.com and flightsim.com for the Bombardier Dash8-400 along with repaints by Boris Le Veve, John Massey, Federico Permutti, Heiko Schmidt, Denis Schranz, Arnaud Solvay, Jakob Tischler and Steve Tran. Meanwhile a clue about Céline’s whereabouts might be found here.

Ever wondered if that sexy girl at a party has a little sister? One with less botox and less silicon? Well, we’ve got the answer to your question: Sweden’s Christmas Babe of the Year, the Saab 340 a.k.a. Lil’ Egberta.

The Saab 340 Fruit

Greta Bustysson’s little sister comes with a body measurement of 2665 really sexy polys, another very fine set of animated landing gear, six even more seductive LODs, extremely mellifluously drooping elevators and – if treated as properly as Greta – maybe even XML controlled flaps. Yet for those not satisfied with just one new lady we have prepared a detailed manual (including high-res images!) to show you how to make two babes out of one – for free.

Head over to avsim.com and flightsim.com to get yet another one of Craig Ritchie’s fancy lady, along with clothes made by Federico Permutti, Boris Le Veve, Steve Tran, Heiko Schmidt and Jakob Tischler.