Introduction
I love modded Minecraft, but sometimes the combinations you create lead to… well, results that are less “playable” and more “performance art.” My latest experiment? Cursed Walking and Rubidium. Every time I load it, the game devolves into a chaotic symphony of pixelated absurdity, specifically, the chickens explode. It’s not just a little puff of feathers, it’s a full-blown, Michael Bay-esque, poultry-based pyrotechnic display. Let me tell you the tale of how a quest for better frame rates turned into a feathered inferno.
Cursed Walking, for those unfamiliar, is a delightfully bizarre mod that tweaks Minecraft’s movement in all sorts of delightfully wrong ways. It adds wobbly, drunken physics to your character, makes you bounce uncontrollably, and generally transforms traversing the blocky landscape into a hilarious balancing act. Now, my computer isn’t exactly a high-end gaming rig. Trying to run Cursed Walking alongside other demanding mods resulted in a slideshow experience that would make even the most patient Minecrafter weep. Enter Rubidium, a fork of the popular performance-enhancing mod, Sodium. Rubidium promised to deliver smoother frame rates and a more responsive experience. Little did I know, it would deliver something far more… explosive.
This is the story of what consistently happens when I load these two mods together and the increasingly ridiculous situations it creates. It’s a testament to the unpredictable beauty of modded Minecraft and a cautionary tale about the dangers of playing god with lines of code. And yes, it involves a lot of exploding chickens.
The First Time: The Initial Shock
The first time I loaded the game with both Cursed Walking and Rubidium active, I was cautiously optimistic. The Minecraft logo appeared, the loading bar slowly crept across the screen, and… boom. Not a crash, mind you. The game loaded perfectly. I spawned in my familiar world, the wobbling physics of Cursed Walking immediately kicking in. I took a tentative step, and then I saw it.
A chicken. Innocently pecking at the ground.
I took another step closer.
And then, it detonated.
A massive explosion ripped through the serene landscape, sending blocks flying and leaving a smoking crater where the chicken once stood. I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. “Okay,” I thought, “that’s… weird.” Perhaps it was a random glitch, a one-off bug. Maybe a creeper had been lurking nearby, cleverly disguised as a chicken. I shrugged it off, attributing it to the inherent instability of modded Minecraft. I went about my business, mining some coal, crafting some tools, and trying to ignore the lingering scent of burnt feathers.
The Second Time: Confirmation of the Curse
The next time I loaded the game, I was slightly more wary. I knew something was amiss, a feeling of impending doom settling in my stomach. I spawned in the same spot, took a deep breath, and cautiously surveyed the area. Everything seemed normal. The sun was shining, the trees were swaying, and the chickens were… well, they were chickens.
I started walking, my character wobbling precariously. Another chicken came into view. And then… BOOM.
Another explosion. Another crater. Another wave of disbelief washing over me.
This wasn’t a random glitch. This was a pattern. A horrifying, poultry-based pattern.
I tried everything I could think of to fix it. I restarted the game. I restarted my computer. I reinstalled both Cursed Walking and Rubidium. I even sacrificed a digital sheep to the Minecraft gods (don’t ask). Nothing worked. Every time I loaded the game, the chickens exploded.
The Third Time (and Beyond): Escalation of Absurdity
The situation only escalated from there. The exploding chickens became more frequent, more violent, and more… strategic. They seemed to anticipate my movements, detonating themselves in my path like feathered landmines. My once-peaceful Minecraft world transformed into a minefield of explosive fowl.
The explosions started affecting other aspects of the game. The blast radius increased, obliterating entire forests and turning picturesque meadows into barren wastelands. My framerate, ironically, took a nosedive, all thanks to the Rubidium mod intended to improve performance. Sheep, cows, and pigs remained blissfully ignorant, though I suspected they knew their turn would soon come.
The explosions also began to have strange and unpredictable effects on the terrain. Sometimes, the blast would leave behind a perfectly circular crater. Other times, it would create bizarre, Escher-esque formations of floating blocks. Once, an exploding chicken created a perfect replica of the Eiffel Tower out of cobblestone. I wish I was kidding.
Then came the sentient chickens. One glorious session, every explosion resulted in a text popup. The messages always read: “We are watching.” It was like a horror movie where the antagonist reveals itself in cryptic messages only the protagonist can understand. I was now deeply concerned about the chickens’ intentions. Were they simply exploding out of spite, or were they planning something more sinister?
Embracing the Chaos (or Trying To)
At this point, I had a choice to make. I could spend countless hours trying to debug the issue, poring over crash logs and scouring forums for answers. Or, I could embrace the chaos and accept my fate as the Chicken Bomber of Minecraft.
I chose the latter.
I started documenting my explosive adventures, taking screenshots and recording videos of the most spectacular detonations. I even created a “Chicken Explosion Counter” on my wall, meticulously tracking each feathery apocalypse. I thought I was going insane, but I had never been more creative in Minecraft before.
My friends started calling me “The Chicken Whisperer” (mostly ironically). They would gather around my computer screen, eagerly anticipating the next explosion. We started placing bets on the size and shape of the resulting craters. I even built a “Chicken Cannon,” a contraption designed to launch chickens into the air and maximize their explosive potential.
I am aware that this isn’t how Minecraft is supposed to be played. But I found a new kind of beauty within the code gone awry. Minecraft isn’t about achieving a flawless gameplay experience. It’s about discovery and exploration, a goal that can be achieved through any means.
Why these two mods are interacting in this way is beyond me. Perhaps there’s a conflict in the code that causes the chickens to spontaneously combust. Maybe the Rubidium mod is amplifying some hidden, volatile property within the Cursed Walking chicken AI. Or perhaps, the chickens are simply rebelling against the constraints of their blocky existence, choosing to go out in a blaze of glory rather than live a life of meaningless pecking. Either way, the chickens remain on my Minecraft map, awaiting their next volatile moment.
Conclusion
So, every time I load Cursed Walking with Rubidium added, the chickens explode. It’s a constant, hilarious reminder of the unpredictable nature of modded Minecraft and the importance of embracing the chaos. It’s a bug, sure, but it’s also a beautiful, feathered disaster that has brought me (and my friends) countless hours of entertainment.
Has anyone else experienced similar mod combinations leading to unpredictable outcomes? Share your own Minecraft modding horror/comedy stories in the comments! I’m always looking for new and exciting ways to break my game (and potentially ignite a chicken or two). Maybe you will even help me find out what in the world is going on in my version of Minecraft! Afterall, Minecraft isn’t fun unless it’s at least a little bit unpredictable.
