For serious, yo.
Me and the rest of the lads and ladies pressed into service on the USSS John E. Badass, Rocket Deployment Division, spent most of the war drunk off of rocket alcohol and pretending to look like we knew what we were doing whenever the lieutenant was around. This worked great for the first six month in space, because we were the only dudes able to relax, but stunk when we were attacked outside Io by the kingdom of the Yahoos. As the head carrier in the fleet, casualties were heavy, the marines were predictably useless, and for twenty terrible hours I kept left clicking and praying that the targeting computer knew what it was doing.
Somehow, this dedication to clicking, and the deaths of most of the higher command staff, ended up getting me a promotion to Lieutenant (I stole the former Lt.’s jacket and cap after his untimely demise during the assault, and no one felt like arguing), and I spent the rest of the war in my cabin, so my guys wouldn’t have to worry about me catching them with their shirts untucked and asleep on watch or anything. Promoting runcible spoon fights between the midshipmen was a monthly high-light.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
I get the argument about the future being now and that even though I don't have a jet pack yet, I do have a seriously smart computer in my pocket that I more often than not use to talk with Brendan about inane shit, but I want the chrome and alien sex future to arrive.
I want to swap stories about sniping toasters or Gorilla-weevils on Titan. Great post.
Post a Comment