2010-09-13, 16:45
From IGS, posted by Rosalund Shaw on 08.31:
MERDE-ENOUGH and the FABULOUS FORUM WAR
An Act of Political Satire. (No offense intended)
Alarums and sirens rang in the depth of the station, flashing lights and hazard tell-tails, the capsule-pilot elite of the Galactic Rangers were being called to battle. “ENEMIES DETECTED IN SYSTEM ALL PILOTS TO YOUR SHIPS, ALL PILOTS TO YOUR SHIPS!” The computer announcement was shrill and instant but private Merde-Enough had more important things to occupy his time than Starship combat, far more important things.
“What they cannot understand is the vital work I do in seeking superfluous cross-drawn logic glitch and minor pettifoggery on the front lines of GALNET info-warzone. How dare they call me to space to leave this struggle with enemies who can only fight and cannot match me in the field of tedium and obsessive stalking, HAH! I know weakness when I see it and though AMARR VICTOR is no more in space they will hear it on the forums as long as I can post until the endless words rule their nightmares always!”
The speaker was a grotesquely overweight Amarrian untidily ladled into his flightsuit with unhealthily blemished features, cheek and jowls draping over weak bones and slobbering lips transforming his slurp-sucking diction into an unpleasant sound reminiscent of nothing more than a vaguely humanoid slug munching on kitchen waste; here lurked a giant fedo in the vague shape of a man.
Posthumanity had its benefits for the Amarrians though, as sealed in a webwork of catheters and body tubes and geno-scrubbers labouring against the omnipresent chife; he lived as a hunching techo-spider at the centre of holo-displays focused on the many names of his omnipresent stalking attention.
“NEFERIS will drown in her own blood when I fondle her threads! HAHA! I reveal that she said something three years ago, then something else the week after that, then something again in the days following, then recently she posted something else and somebody said something about somebody else doing something that shouldn’t be spoken of unless that somebody had SOMETHING TO HIDE! SEE SEE UNIVERSE, WHO NEEDS TO BE AMBULATORY TO DEFEAT FOES!”
Air scrubbers straining to clear the atmosphere from the spittle and clouds of noxious breath at this wierd ululation, the chamber rang once again with alert sounds as the battle commander placed a priority call to the capsuleer’s chamber and crimson tell-tails focused on the distended features of the humanoid blob in his reinforced enviro-chair.
“PILOT MERDE we need ALL HANDS to alert. ENEMY is laying SIEGE to our TOWER in border system alpha-romeo-hotel. Battle commander xxxTrussxxx needs you in SPACE stat soldier, move your forum-fiddling backside!”
Cheeks filling with bloat-gas and outrage the super-sized Amarrian turned his pig-eyes on the com unit and wheezed his excuses with urgency like battle itself....
“BUT SIR I have them on the RUN. The Anarchists will self destruct all their SHIPS AND TITANS if I keep pressing the Cosmonaut and Constantinople on the issue of the NRDS PRINCIPLES AND ORGANIZATIONAL HIERARCHY that ISNT A HIERARCHY but is a HIERARCHY but might not be a HIERARCHY but has ASPECTS of HIERARCHY in the eye of the BEHOLDER if combined with fuzzy logic interpretation interrogatives adulterated with less than 50% pure lies and GALLENTE NATIONALISM quisling juice dashed with RACE TRAITOR venom!!!”
Anger from the distant speaker then:
“Listen up you overfed tapeworm! I didn’t understand a word you just said but SILAGE MANURE-IA told me you used to be a bit handy with Interceptor class ships before you got obsessed with "winning" wars on galnet and took to eating more than a planetary penal colony while slapping out endless diatribes with your chubby-fingers!”
MERDE-ENOUGH began to slide back and forth on his support cradle in consternation as the undulating folds of his grotesque body punctuated each wracking breath as his ham-shank pudding-clenching fists hammered the keyboard in desperation to the counterpoint of his CEO’s chiding.
“Just a BIT LONGER. I HAVE TO SEARCH back through 1000 pages of IGS text to demonstrate that AGENT ARTECHOKE told somebody that told somebody that something wasn’t right with something that somebody else mentioned to somebody different that somebody’s brother’s dupe knew was stored in some conversational clause that EVERYONE HAS FORGOTTEN but ME! OH yes they FEAR me, those space pilots and star warriors buzzing round their belts and gates and shooting PATHETIC lasers and missiles at each other. GUNS DON’T KILL PEOPLE, TRAPPING PEOPLE INTO RHETORICAL DEAD ENDS AND WASTING THEIR TIME KILLS PEOPLE! KILLS THEM FOR THE EMPIRE! IF ONLY I CAN DEMONSTRATE THAT ANTEATERS CANNOT FORM GANGS WE CAN’T LOSE!”
A sound as the storm-doors parted and the colossal Amarrian was revealed to external search lights belonging to a team of GALACTIC RANGER marines sent to assess the situation in FORUM CHAT ROOM GAMMA. A half dozen armoured soldiers with dangerous-looking rifles looked in horror at the sentient half-slug drooling in rapture over the comms array and galnet terminal while outside the war was raging in a dozen desperate skirmishes in space.
“Last chance MERDE, my team tell me there isn’t much hope getting your gargantuan backside into a Crusader class ship (or even a Maller) but we need somebody to run 800 cap charges to the front and my techs tell me if we vent corridors 12-15 and use the cargo ramps we have an evens chance of rolling you down to the garbage Bestower prepping engines in sublevel five. So what’s it to be?”
Horror then merged with the ill-defined features and climbed up from the shadows of the triple-chined neckbeard folds as the cluster's finest forum-warrior began to realize his reality was close to unravelling now.
“NOOOO, NOOOO, your don’t understand! I am doing the holy work of the ARCHPILCHARD here; I am keeping the sacred trust of ROD BILKO and defending the “don’t ever fight” principles of the PIE eating Prelates of Sarum PRIME! I AM SO CLOSE. STATIC TRACTION is going to self destruct and they will acknowledge ME THEIR KING. SANITRY RABBIT will change their ways and drink LARD not blood and all those PIRATES AND MINI-MEN of the DONKEY KONG will take back the hallowed ARALIS as their GOD. ALL I NEED IS TO KEEP POSTING. I AM SO CLOSE SO CLOSE. I can see it now, that ANTIQUE CARPET movement is connected to the SLACK GRABBITS who bought MILF-TICKETS from FANCY TANNED DX4 DANCE-FABULOUS alliance. YOU SEE? YOU SEE IT NOW? All I have to do is show that Sock Damphair is connected to Wally Tops via the bounce Titan railroad stolen from PIDDLYHAWK-DISS and keep pushing somebody on something about that something other than the topic and we’ll WIN, We’ll WIN We’ll WINNNNN!”
At this point the apoplectic fat-man’s wheezing voice coughed and spluttered to a gurgle as the disgusted marines wiped down their masks and checked comm. Feeds from the central command crackled coldly.
“Shoot the useless sack of meat.”
“Not sure we can penetrate the epidermal bloating SIR”
“Grenades?”
“I wouldn’t want to be on THAT clean up detail”
“Point, okay, roll him out the airlock, if we get really lucky an enemy ship might actually hit HIM.”
-finis (for now)
MERDE-ENOUGH and the FABULOUS FORUM WAR
An Act of Political Satire. (No offense intended)
Alarums and sirens rang in the depth of the station, flashing lights and hazard tell-tails, the capsule-pilot elite of the Galactic Rangers were being called to battle. “ENEMIES DETECTED IN SYSTEM ALL PILOTS TO YOUR SHIPS, ALL PILOTS TO YOUR SHIPS!” The computer announcement was shrill and instant but private Merde-Enough had more important things to occupy his time than Starship combat, far more important things.
“What they cannot understand is the vital work I do in seeking superfluous cross-drawn logic glitch and minor pettifoggery on the front lines of GALNET info-warzone. How dare they call me to space to leave this struggle with enemies who can only fight and cannot match me in the field of tedium and obsessive stalking, HAH! I know weakness when I see it and though AMARR VICTOR is no more in space they will hear it on the forums as long as I can post until the endless words rule their nightmares always!”
The speaker was a grotesquely overweight Amarrian untidily ladled into his flightsuit with unhealthily blemished features, cheek and jowls draping over weak bones and slobbering lips transforming his slurp-sucking diction into an unpleasant sound reminiscent of nothing more than a vaguely humanoid slug munching on kitchen waste; here lurked a giant fedo in the vague shape of a man.
Posthumanity had its benefits for the Amarrians though, as sealed in a webwork of catheters and body tubes and geno-scrubbers labouring against the omnipresent chife; he lived as a hunching techo-spider at the centre of holo-displays focused on the many names of his omnipresent stalking attention.
“NEFERIS will drown in her own blood when I fondle her threads! HAHA! I reveal that she said something three years ago, then something else the week after that, then something again in the days following, then recently she posted something else and somebody said something about somebody else doing something that shouldn’t be spoken of unless that somebody had SOMETHING TO HIDE! SEE SEE UNIVERSE, WHO NEEDS TO BE AMBULATORY TO DEFEAT FOES!”
Air scrubbers straining to clear the atmosphere from the spittle and clouds of noxious breath at this wierd ululation, the chamber rang once again with alert sounds as the battle commander placed a priority call to the capsuleer’s chamber and crimson tell-tails focused on the distended features of the humanoid blob in his reinforced enviro-chair.
“PILOT MERDE we need ALL HANDS to alert. ENEMY is laying SIEGE to our TOWER in border system alpha-romeo-hotel. Battle commander xxxTrussxxx needs you in SPACE stat soldier, move your forum-fiddling backside!”
Cheeks filling with bloat-gas and outrage the super-sized Amarrian turned his pig-eyes on the com unit and wheezed his excuses with urgency like battle itself....
“BUT SIR I have them on the RUN. The Anarchists will self destruct all their SHIPS AND TITANS if I keep pressing the Cosmonaut and Constantinople on the issue of the NRDS PRINCIPLES AND ORGANIZATIONAL HIERARCHY that ISNT A HIERARCHY but is a HIERARCHY but might not be a HIERARCHY but has ASPECTS of HIERARCHY in the eye of the BEHOLDER if combined with fuzzy logic interpretation interrogatives adulterated with less than 50% pure lies and GALLENTE NATIONALISM quisling juice dashed with RACE TRAITOR venom!!!”
Anger from the distant speaker then:
“Listen up you overfed tapeworm! I didn’t understand a word you just said but SILAGE MANURE-IA told me you used to be a bit handy with Interceptor class ships before you got obsessed with "winning" wars on galnet and took to eating more than a planetary penal colony while slapping out endless diatribes with your chubby-fingers!”
MERDE-ENOUGH began to slide back and forth on his support cradle in consternation as the undulating folds of his grotesque body punctuated each wracking breath as his ham-shank pudding-clenching fists hammered the keyboard in desperation to the counterpoint of his CEO’s chiding.
“Just a BIT LONGER. I HAVE TO SEARCH back through 1000 pages of IGS text to demonstrate that AGENT ARTECHOKE told somebody that told somebody that something wasn’t right with something that somebody else mentioned to somebody different that somebody’s brother’s dupe knew was stored in some conversational clause that EVERYONE HAS FORGOTTEN but ME! OH yes they FEAR me, those space pilots and star warriors buzzing round their belts and gates and shooting PATHETIC lasers and missiles at each other. GUNS DON’T KILL PEOPLE, TRAPPING PEOPLE INTO RHETORICAL DEAD ENDS AND WASTING THEIR TIME KILLS PEOPLE! KILLS THEM FOR THE EMPIRE! IF ONLY I CAN DEMONSTRATE THAT ANTEATERS CANNOT FORM GANGS WE CAN’T LOSE!”
A sound as the storm-doors parted and the colossal Amarrian was revealed to external search lights belonging to a team of GALACTIC RANGER marines sent to assess the situation in FORUM CHAT ROOM GAMMA. A half dozen armoured soldiers with dangerous-looking rifles looked in horror at the sentient half-slug drooling in rapture over the comms array and galnet terminal while outside the war was raging in a dozen desperate skirmishes in space.
“Last chance MERDE, my team tell me there isn’t much hope getting your gargantuan backside into a Crusader class ship (or even a Maller) but we need somebody to run 800 cap charges to the front and my techs tell me if we vent corridors 12-15 and use the cargo ramps we have an evens chance of rolling you down to the garbage Bestower prepping engines in sublevel five. So what’s it to be?”
Horror then merged with the ill-defined features and climbed up from the shadows of the triple-chined neckbeard folds as the cluster's finest forum-warrior began to realize his reality was close to unravelling now.
“NOOOO, NOOOO, your don’t understand! I am doing the holy work of the ARCHPILCHARD here; I am keeping the sacred trust of ROD BILKO and defending the “don’t ever fight” principles of the PIE eating Prelates of Sarum PRIME! I AM SO CLOSE. STATIC TRACTION is going to self destruct and they will acknowledge ME THEIR KING. SANITRY RABBIT will change their ways and drink LARD not blood and all those PIRATES AND MINI-MEN of the DONKEY KONG will take back the hallowed ARALIS as their GOD. ALL I NEED IS TO KEEP POSTING. I AM SO CLOSE SO CLOSE. I can see it now, that ANTIQUE CARPET movement is connected to the SLACK GRABBITS who bought MILF-TICKETS from FANCY TANNED DX4 DANCE-FABULOUS alliance. YOU SEE? YOU SEE IT NOW? All I have to do is show that Sock Damphair is connected to Wally Tops via the bounce Titan railroad stolen from PIDDLYHAWK-DISS and keep pushing somebody on something about that something other than the topic and we’ll WIN, We’ll WIN We’ll WINNNNN!”
At this point the apoplectic fat-man’s wheezing voice coughed and spluttered to a gurgle as the disgusted marines wiped down their masks and checked comm. Feeds from the central command crackled coldly.
“Shoot the useless sack of meat.”
“Not sure we can penetrate the epidermal bloating SIR”
“Grenades?”
“I wouldn’t want to be on THAT clean up detail”
“Point, okay, roll him out the airlock, if we get really lucky an enemy ship might actually hit HIM.”
-finis (for now)
