Tiggum posted:

Daimo posted:

What the gently caress is wrong with you people who don't know where to stick your dicks?

mobby_6kl posted:

Sorry, I just get a bit confused when your mom's not around.

Ryoshi posted:

Everyone should go to the leper colony right now and read El Spider's post-probation meltdown, typed out as the probation reasons for several other posters until he got banned.

Soulex posted:

I am an Expeditor, and although many believe they are in charge of the flight line, I can assure you this is not so. The expeditor, the man behind the wheel, is the real king and the ruler of the flight line. Right now it is 0,Dark thirty, the flight line is quiet. Off in the distance a lone power unit happily mumbles to itself. It is that time when everything that can be done is done, yet the time for everything to startup once again is not upon us. There are no blue buses streaming across the ramp filled with crews and passengers, the cargo loaders have yet to begin their crawl across the flight line, their backs loaded down with equipment, parts, supplies and mail. The Fuel trucks are still waiting to go sloshing along with JP4 and lining up behind aircraft to begin feeding the hungry bellies of aircraft for their long flights across the oceans to far away lands.
Soon the flight line will be crawling with people, equipment, maintenance stands and expediter trucks. But for now, all is quiet, my maintenance crews are inside the hangar sitting in the break room eating their lunches, drinking coffee, playing spades or slamming bones. In the backs of their minds they all know that soon the day will start and they will have to scramble to aid the flight crews, respond to last minute maintenance problems or man stations in preparation for fueling. I alone wait at the maintenance entrance of the hangar and survey my domain. Here, at this time, this moment, this place, I am ruler. I stand with my legs slightly apart, shoulders back and head held high as I observe the dark shapes of the aircraft sitting silently upon the ramp waiting for the day to begin.
The hangar behind me is a behemoth of a building, standing eighty feet high, it is a metal, concrete and glass monster covering more that eight acres of land and capable of housing eight of the worlds largest aircraft. Inside of this building it is a small city within itself, there are roads, buildings, shops and storage facilities, capable of manufacture or supplying the parts and equipment necessary to keep the aircraft flying. So large is this building that it has its own atmosphere, able to produce clouds and even rain. When it is quiet like this, just dropping a small bolt will send echoes across the hangars mighty walls and ceilings. The sound bouncing from one hard concrete and steel structure to the next, until it finally fades away into its distance bowels.
In one hand I hold a clip board with all the missions, and the names of the crews that I have assigned to specific aircraft. On its pages there are fuel loads, and crew rosters, departure times and maintenance priorities, this is my world my domain my kingdom and these are my plans for carrying out my mission. The coffee cup in my other hand holds a brew that comes from an earn which constantly brews a black substance that at one time in the far distant past could have been recognized as coffee. However, that day has long past. Still, it is hot, and has enough caffeine to raise the dead. Let me state here for the record, I am not a big man, in my stocking feet I stand a half an inch short of five foot eight. I weigh one hundred and sixty pounds, all of which is bone muscle and sinew, one hundred percent, USAF high grade Technical Sergeant, trained, honed and tempered in the fire and ice of the flight line. While I stand in the shadows of this giant building I am but a minor presence to its greatness. The clipboard in my hand weighs heavy with responsibility. The missions are real world, the shipments to these far off lands, contain food, and medical supplies, vehicle parts, replacement vehicles and armaments to needy Army, Marines, and Air Force Airmen around the world. More importantly is the mail from loved ones, Mothers, fathers, husbands and wives, letting those men and women who defend our country know they are still loved and needed back home. My job is important, my mission is to make sure that no aircraft is delayed in its departure and that all the needs of those who so desperately wish to come home are met. So while I am king, I also know the crown that sits upon my head weighs heavily. For this reason I have worries and concerns, I understand that these aircraft are complicated, with hundreds of miles of cables, wires, and hydraulic lines. Electronic components, micro switches, computers, pressure sensors, transducers, relays, environmental systems, O2 lines, Liquid Oxygen converters, heat exchangers, air cycle machines, air diverters, dampers, hydraulic actuators, pitch trim motors. HF, UHF, VHF, Radar, Audio Directional Finders, TACAN, Inertial Navigation Systems. Auto Throttle, Auto Pilot, Horizontal Situation Indicators. Air Speed Indicators, N2 and N2 RPM indicators. Exhaust Gas Tempters indicators, Engine Pressure Indicators and a list of a hundred other things that can and will go wrong. And it is I that will have to respond to each and every one of these emergencies in a timely and orderly fashion. It is I, that will have to assign the repair crews that will resolve these problems, making sure that each and every aircraft departs on time. In a few hours I will be ordering parts, answering radios, assigning task, and directing fuel crews, repair teams, and delivering parts, test equipment and technical data to the places where they are needed. I will be answering a thousand questions, and asking as many back. There will be, Estimated Time of Completion ETIC, ASAP, Blue Flame, Red Streak, Maintenance Priority, work unit codes, Technical Orders (TO) Line Items, Ramp Loads, Fuel Loads, Rhino Jacks, Shrader valves, High Packs, Low Packs, Nut Plates, Static Eliminators. B-1 stands, B-4 Stands, Chocks, Gear pins, head sets, marshalling paddles, safety vest, wing walkers, Launch Crews, Recovery Crews, -------------- Ahhh!!!!!!!!!!.
But I am King, this is but another day, one among many, and I will prevail, I know this because I have prevailed and I will do so again. But for this time between what has happened and what will happen I can for a moment stand and survey all that is around me with a kind of tranquility and peace. It is the twilight of a new day and all is quiet. I am King.
Have you ever had to pass gas, really bad? Dumb question, everyone at one time or other has had too. It is a natural event, one of Gods little jokes. His way of letting you know, no matter how great you think you are, or how serious the situation is, you are still human. The flight line is dark and quiet I look around and there is no one close by. I am alone and safe in the assumption that no one will be present to witness my release. So, with this in mind I let one rip and it was a good one! A real thunder bumper!
There are two things wrong with this. First I am standing in front of one the worlds largest echo chambers where the smallest pin drop becomes a thunderous avalanche of sound. Second, while I checked all around to make sure that no one was present I did not check behind me. Too late---- Brrrrrrap, brrrrrap, brrrap, brrap, brap, the sounds goes bouncing of the walls of the hangar across the great expanse of this monstrous cavern. Only to return, Brap, Brrap, Brrrrap, BRRAP! I turn around and see Clarence, my number one, my second in command, the go to guy, the man who if I die will take charge and handle things. He is slightly taller than me, heavier in build and as black in color as I am white. At the moment he is in total shock, his eyes are as round as saucers and I can see the whites all around his dark almost black irises. People are beginning to come out of their offices and break rooms, they are looking around in confusion and dismay trying to determine what the loud and unusual sound was and where it came from. Then Clarence bust up laughing, he has a deep voice, rich and powerful. And his voice carries to the rafters and across the great expanse of the hangar. When he stops laughing he finally looks at the people standing around with questions written on their faces and says, “Okay people! Load up, it’s time to go to work.” Then he looks a me and says, “The King has Spoken

Avshalom posted:

at first it's a good day for doctor sexman, phd. he hires eight books from the library without even bothering to check goodreads and only seven of them are so historically inaccurate that he can't enjoy the hilarious satire about society and politics in the golden age of colonial america. an actual expert comes into the everest thread, finally bringing some sense and objective fact into that wasteland of petty malice. he sees some excellent loss edits, very ingenious and hard to recognise unless you're an expert on the comedic cybersphere (and doctor sexman is better informed than most, not that he's bragging). the houston hotfranks beat the mississippi bayou bandits thanks to the excellent coaching of jankerton brill, esquire, just as he predicted on the forums two days ago. finally he'll get some goddamn respect from the trolls and worthless individuals that plague him every waking second of his life. during class he makes a droll observation about donald drumpf that causes a ripple of polite appreciation among the stamp collectors and full-time guerilla yarnbombers that are his people, the intellectual elite. but then things turn sour. an urban youth on the bus has his music up so loud that the artless doof-doof-doof interferes with sexman's quiet self-reflection. his coffee date pronounces it "expresso" and doesn't even know what adolf hitler's mother was named so he tells her that maybe instead of beauty school she should think about going to high school and leaves the cafe in tears. everywhere he looks is wanton sluttery. a plain girl at the library in a singlet, shoulders bared for all to see when there are people trying to learn. couples kissing in the park, right next to the kindergarten. a gay pride rally blocks his lunchtime stroll and someone has spraypainted a vulgar word on the steps where he likes to sit and phonepost about football statistics. when he arrives back in the office he goes straight to his favourite curated comedy archive the something awful thread "post your favourite something awful quotes" and finds that yet again they're posting something unfunny. no matter how many times he tells them things are unfunny they just keep finding it funny. it's not funny! it's unfunny! there's nothing funny about women being whores. they want to gently caress jfk, they want to gently caress ariel sharon, they want to gently caress centaurs, they want to gently caress each other, they want to gently caress the queen (probably), all these women just slinging their vaginas all over the shop and saying outrageous things like "kill all males" even though killing half the world's population would have a devastating impact on the economy and still the clever hegel girl won't give him her number no matter how many times he tells her he's an educated man. his fury boils over and he erupts in salty flames. when forensics arrives on the scene they find nothing left of the nutty professor but a small pile of ashes and a pool of watery bourbon-coloured ejaculate

Avshalom posted:

at first it's a good day for doctor sexman, phd. he hires eight books from the library without even bothering to check goodreads and only seven of them are so historically inaccurate that he can't enjoy the hilarious satire about society and politics in the golden age of colonial america. an actual expert comes into the everest thread, finally bringing some sense and objective fact into that wasteland of petty malice. he sees some excellent loss edits, very ingenious and hard to recognise unless you're an expert on the comedic cybersphere (and doctor sexman is better informed than most, not that he's bragging). the houston hotfranks beat the mississippi bayou bandits thanks to the excellent coaching of jankerton brill, esquire, just as he predicted on the forums two days ago. finally he'll get some goddamn respect from the trolls and worthless individuals that plague him every waking second of his life. during class he makes a droll observation about donald drumpf that causes a ripple of polite appreciation among the stamp collectors and full-time guerilla yarnbombers that are his people, the intellectual elite. but then things turn sour. an urban youth on the bus has his music up so loud that the artless doof-doof-doof interferes with sexman's quiet self-reflection. his coffee date pronounces it "expresso" and doesn't even know what adolf hitler's mother was named so he tells her that maybe instead of beauty school she should think about going to high school and leaves the cafe in tears. everywhere he looks is wanton sluttery. a plain girl at the library in a singlet, shoulders bared for all to see when there are people trying to learn. couples kissing in the park, right next to the kindergarten. a gay pride rally blocks his lunchtime stroll and someone has spraypainted a vulgar word on the steps where he likes to sit and phonepost about football statistics. when he arrives back in the office he goes straight to his favourite curated comedy archive the something awful thread "post your favourite something awful quotes" and finds that yet again they're posting something unfunny. no matter how many times he tells them things are unfunny they just keep finding it funny. it's not funny! it's unfunny! there's nothing funny about women being whores. they want to gently caress jfk, they want to gently caress ariel sharon, they want to gently caress centaurs, they want to gently caress each other, they want to gently caress the queen (probably), all these women just slinging their vaginas all over the shop and saying outrageous things like "kill all males" even though killing half the world's population would have a devastating impact on the economy and still the clever hegel girl won't give him her number no matter how many times he tells her he's an educated man. his fury boils over and he erupts in salty flames. when forensics arrives on the scene they find nothing left of the nutty professor but a small pile of ashes and a pool of watery bourbon-coloured ejaculate

Dr. Gitmo Moneyson posted:

look, my dick's not small. believe me, it's plenty large. and my girth, well, let's just say it's not free late-night. the other guy's dick, let me say it might be ok, but my friends tell me, a lot of people tell me, it might have the hiv.

Lottery of Babylon posted:

The Goonhammer
APRIL 19, 2016 JAN IRVAM LEAVE A COMMENT

I’ve just logged in from the marathon entosis operation last night, and checking DOTLAN I see that Deklein is in flames. I am particularly delighted to see that the RFY-Q8 constellation (the Testagram) is under Darkness. control, which was Horde’s primary mission. Our boys done well. It will be a night to remember. Also, as I logged in I see a large amount of red in O1Y as per usual. I haven’t yet taken time to decide what I will do in game this afternoon or what exactly is going on in our space, but just seeing all the red has brought me to where I’d like to comment on the Goons’ campaign against Horde.

First, to all the Goons out there, I just wanted to let you know that this campaign is yet another bad idea from your inept Space Hitler. Let’s take a look at this from a couple of angles. First, it’s a part of your alliance’s plan to deny fun to your enemies. However, it’s not fun for you either. Second, let’s look at the psychological impact. A long time ago a Bombers Bar FC made a comment to me about that group’s constant forays into Provibloc. He said, “it’s like kicking babies in the teeth – when you win, you don’t feel like you accomplished anything worthwhile, and on the rare occasion when you lose, it just makes you feel pathetic.” All this campaign is doing is showing you that your alliance can beat Horde. And when you don’t beat Horde, it shows how pathetic you are. Third, let’s look at op success and failure. Let’s say it works and Horde drops from being a 7,000 pilot alliance to a 5,000 pilot alliance. What exactly have you won? You still have a huge alliance that isn’t really central to MBC operations beyond being a gaggle of noobs hanging out as a buffer and providing swarms of entosis Slashers when needed. Let’s say though that it doesn’t work, and our numbers don’t decrease. You are wasting time fighting Horde while TEST and NC. and PL and Darkness. etc. ruin you.

Don’t believe the hype, Goonswarm. You’ve been taught that harvesting tears is the zenith of the game. You’ll get shown streams of this or that noob quitting Eve and getting frustrated, but you won’t be shown the thousands more who you are egging on to be your next generation of enemies. You’d best be served by fighting those who always have and always will hate you rather than make enemies out of the majority of new players joining the game who are fighting against you out of a sportsman’s competition rather than the seething hatred that you have earned for yourself from the likes of TEST and others.

Don’t look at a video of one noob crying and giggle to yourself that you are winning. You are wasting your time and effort pursuing a goal that will not accomplish anything for you strategically. Horde will remain. Horde will be large. 5,000, 7,000, or 10,000 doesn’t really matter. Horde is doing its job planting itself in Fade and will continue to do so, no matter if we shrink a bit, stay the same size, or grow. Mittens talks about how new players don’t understand hell war, but I will have you know that new players are going to be more willing to find out what it’s like than older players looking for the most efficient way to make ISK AFK. When you look at what you are doing, look at real numbers.



So how’s camping O1Y working out for you? You’ve long loved Mittens because he is such a scoundrel and conman. Only now, you are his mark. You are the ones being conned, spending your days in O1Y while your space is taken away. I will end this paragraph with the same sentence I started the previous one with. Don’t believe the hype, Goonswarm.

I’ll end this post with some notes to my fellow hordelings. Mittens is trying to hang on as long as he can by trumping up rhetoric concerning a successful campaign against an Eve newbie group. The community’s reaction has been to comment that Goons are trying to prove they can beat Horde, which is nothing impressive. The Goons are also trying to preach to Horde that we are being abused by our seniors and being used as meat shields. Well, there is no abuse about it. We are the meat shields. That is our baseline mission. It is a mission to be proud of.

When I was in the Army, the most glorified image to be found was not the highly trained special ops soldier or the super genius intelligence collector, but the infantryman of the line. We all knew that the territory is just not under control unless there are boots on the ground, and that the infantryman was the back that bears the load. That’s what you are. In addition to being the buffer, to being the distraction, we do get a great number of opportunities to accomplish a lot more than anyone ever expected we would. There is no shame in being the rock bottom in the war machine, but rather it is the position of greatest honor. Take comfort in that.

After saying that, though, I do realize that Eve is a game of great proportions. There is a learning curve, real consequential loss, and there are ruthless enemies. Some of you may have come into Horde without clear expectations and are finding that the gameplay is not what you’d like. Now I think most of you are actually impressed with the scope of this game and this war and are excited to pay the price of victory. But for those who aren’t, don’t quit Eve. There are other places to go and things to do.

However, if you do go somewhere else, I encourage you not to run to highsec and get involved with any random corp that you run across. Some are good, but most are bad. I also encourage you not to take shelter in just any given alliance out there. Frustrations will grow high. Despite being told by all these guys that you don’t need skill points, you will be surrounded by people who have them, and you’ll constantly be tempted to do things the same way they do. You won’t be able to. It will be discouraging.

Frankly, the best place for a newbie in Eve is in a newbie group. I’d recommend the Brave Collective as an option. I think I can say this without irking Horde leadership because from what I have seen, the overwhelming majority of our players are excited by the challenges we are facing. But for that rare person who is thinking of quitting Eve or joining a veteran alliance, Brave is a better option. Horde has inherited the lighter side of our personality from them. We’ve taken Brave memes like “stay classy” and “fun per hour” and condensed them into “don’t be a dick.” They don’t exactly have the strong meritocracy and content creator leader idea that we’ve inherited from our PL buddies, and they aren’t generally as well run as we are, being more bureaucratic. However, when it comes to training noobs they have it pretty well down pat, and they do go out and have a lot of fun. A lot of our leaders and members started out in Brave, and while I think we’d all say that we have put together the best newbie group in the game, Brave is a good option for those who can’t figure out how to make it work in Horde.

Obviously, DON’T join KarmaFleet. We just took over their main staging. They are in retreat with the rest of the Imperium and are lead by the same ridiculous leadership that took the bait and are punching at Horde while their empire crumbles. They are basically a lowsec corp at this point. Great things are not in their future.

But anyway, I think I’ve spent a lot of time on those to those who don’t have the stomach for life in Horde, when such types are exceedingly rare. I’d meant for this post to be a message to Goons and to the average Horde member who is pumped up to fight but may be confused by propaganda about our friends and leaders abusing us and all. Nothing could be further from the truth. We are the bait and the buffer, a very important role that everyone respects, and quite obviously we’ve done A LOT more than just being the bait and buffer. So I’ll just end with one more sentence, again to the Goons. Grow up and get a war plan that works, such as getting new leadership.