You may as well split the buckers if you are making it yourself. Get as much on there as possible. Not a tremolo fan then? I love that sound, if you can play it right that is, otherwise it just sounds like your trying to find the tune the whole time.
Although my ulitimate goal is hand craft me a full accoustic. I played a wide bodied, hand made spanish import when I was shopping around for my last guitar and it sounded amazing. So deep and resonant without any loss off the top strings. That mellow sound. If I had 2 grand to spare I would have brought it there and then . . . .
Although my ulitimate goal is hand craft me a full accoustic. I played a wide bodied, hand made spanish import when I was shopping around for my last guitar and it sounded amazing. So deep and resonant without any loss off the top strings. That mellow sound. If I had 2 grand to spare I would have brought it there and then . . . .
Practice my friend. LFS will reward you for dedication.
Also, have a look at some of the setup guides that are around. It will really help you in your understanding of the car and the way it moves on the track. Also you will be able to start adjusting certain things that could just make all the difference.
Just keep plugging away mate. It will come to you.
Also, get online. The AI can't tell you where you are going wrong or help you with your setup. Most other racers will be more than happy to help you out a bit.
Also, have a look at some of the setup guides that are around. It will really help you in your understanding of the car and the way it moves on the track. Also you will be able to start adjusting certain things that could just make all the difference.
Just keep plugging away mate. It will come to you.
Also, get online. The AI can't tell you where you are going wrong or help you with your setup. Most other racers will be more than happy to help you out a bit.
I shall be doing the same once I get the space, time and money.
Got some lovely Mahogany which I don't need to plank so should be able to get the entire body cut from it. Did think about jointing up but I really want to avoid it if at all posible. I know good laminates are just as good but If I'm gunna do it I wanna do it right. . . .
Good project. Look foward to seeing the end result.
Got some lovely Mahogany which I don't need to plank so should be able to get the entire body cut from it. Did think about jointing up but I really want to avoid it if at all posible. I know good laminates are just as good but If I'm gunna do it I wanna do it right. . . .
Good project. Look foward to seeing the end result.
Awww. Head hurts. Need a bit of recovery time. . . Got the internal Balaclava on and everything is a but fuzzy round the edges . . .
Or you screen shotted 4/100 of a second after you crossed the line. but I reckong the first answer you got is more accurate. I would imagine that was a P1 or P2 position start. (But thats only a guess. 4/100th's goes by pretty fast.
Naked.
There is a story there certainly. But prehaps I need to practice what I preach. Discresion surely is the better part of valour here as I am v drunk. A little stoned and need to find a handy asteroid to tether my barge to until I have slept this off.
It is too good a story too mess up through a drunken retelling . . . . .
There is a story there certainly. But prehaps I need to practice what I preach. Discresion surely is the better part of valour here as I am v drunk. A little stoned and need to find a handy asteroid to tether my barge to until I have slept this off.
It is too good a story too mess up through a drunken retelling . . . . .
It was the foothils of Olympus Mons. O'Briens drift. A god fawsaken dust blown sun scorched sand filled hellhole of a place. I was one of the Six Hundred. You may of heard of us. The Casual Stroll of the Demi-Light Brigade is how it's remembered to history. But I was there. I was one of the Six Hundred and I stood next to the Dread Pirate George. He wasn't really a Pirate and he wasn't all that dread. He was Field Marshal George 'Charlie Boy' Bingham. Apparently he got some family history going on involving men numbered six hindred. I should have studied harder during history classes. Prehaps if I had then I wouldn't be here now, in the Earth Combined Nation Forces as a Seargent in the The Light Dragoons of the British Commenwealth contingent stationed on Mars just after the colonial uprising. We where outriders, quick strike teams designed to get in, hurt things lots and get out. Our machines, effectionalty known as 'Buckaroo's', where three men gun platforms. The Ion generator generating an Ion stream cushion that enabled the 'Buck' to pass over land, water, rock, sand, pretty much anything that wasn't vertical. The only problem was, and hence the nickname, was whilst it was great on Earth out here on Mars with the high metal content in the soil the Buck's Ion field would interact with the magnetic anomalies in the Marsion ground. The things would buck and jump all over the place. A few of the guys had retro fitted some white noise generaters to try and cancel the effects, they worked to some degree but the system was far from perfect. All this meaning that to get any accuracy from our .50 Cals mounted we had to slow to an almost dead stop so the auto levelling and guidance locks could work properly. Not good when your supposed to be a crack strike squad. Which is why we where here. At O'Briens Drift. We where the only troops for miles, and with the volatile atmosphere Terraforming storms roiling in the upper atmosphere there where no hope of air support. Our 'Chief' had received reports that enemy guns lay up the valley, in fact from where he had set up his camp he could see the bloody things. But us, down in the valley, we didn't have a clue. So when we got word that we where to make a run up the valley to take out a line of artillery we had no idea what we where heading into.
I knew something was afoot. You don't become Seargent without knowing which way the wind was blowing, and my wind was blowing well. I was watching a dust devil weave it's way down the track from the upper camp through the window of our inflatable workshop. These workshops doubled up, tripled even as a garage, mess and bunk room for my squad. We housed three 'Bucks' in one tent. Each Buck carried a crew of three and also had the support of three engineers who took care of the garage and the vehicles. Corporal 'Buffer' Jones came up beside me. "Call the boy's." I said. "Rupert incoming". Rupert is rank and file speak for an officer. I knew who it would be, Captain 'Lord Lucan' Luckner. Lord Lucan on account of his ability to dissapear just when you need him the most. I had seen him head to head with a recon team that had been just come back. He had headed up to Rupert town as fast as he could. And now he was returning with the good news. We had two officers to cushion the blow before Lucans news got too us. Second Lieutenant 'Kid' Harris came into our pressurised tent.
"Lads. Good news." That was Rupert speak for we're all going to die in terrable heroic and painful ways.
"We have orders to move up the valley and take out a line of Artillery. Shouldn't be too much bother. Quick in and out. Back for tea and medals what."
"What?"
"What? Hmmm?"
"Nothing sir. When do we move out?"
"11.10. Have the men ready. I expect you to perform to your usual standard Seargent. Good luck."
"You not coming with us Sir?"
"Not this time what. Damn well wish I could. Ride with the men into the heat of battle, face the enemy,look into their eyes. But alas my orders require me to be of more use here. Far from the enemy guns. Mores the pity. What."
"What?."
"Carry on Seargent."
"Right you are sir."
I must say. We where a fine sight. 25 Bucks all lined up across the valley floor. Some heavy caliber's comeing up the rear and 15 'Bongo's' to provide some covering fire. A small infantry unit would be riding shot gun, maxing out the 'Bucks' as they would be carrying over their capacity as well as towing a small barge that carried the rest of the platoon.
All in all, six hundred men lined up for the advance. And the order was given.
We charged up that Valley. Charging for the guns. We six hundred into the Valley of Death.
It soon became apparent that some one had made a mistake. But it was not out place to reply, not ours to reason why. It was ours to do and bloody well not die.
There was Artillery to the left of us, laser to the right and a hell of a lot of fire power in front. Like hell unleashed, an almighty storm of biblical performance. On we went, intot he jaws of death, into the gates of hell itself.
We flew into their lines. The 'Bucks' releaseing the barges as they leaped the gun emplasements then we span and returned to lay on covering fire for the infantry as they stuck in hand to hand. We pounded the emplacements and becuase we had men in there we couldn't blanket fire. We had to pick our targets, so we where stationary. Holding position on the gentle rise behind the big enemy guns. Silohetted against the afternoon sun that was. Bucks where going down all around us. Some of them going up like mini nukes as the big guns found the Ion Source and the ammunition stores. taking their neighbours with them. My pilot took a small bore laser round through his right leg. 'Big Mick' McKensie.
"I'm ok. Damn it. Clean through and through. Just kill the bastard who threw that at me."
My gunner doubled his fire rate, testosterone lighting up the enemy like no computer ever could. I saw men fall through my zoom lens. Their suits decompressing as they took multiple shots through the different isolated compartments. My Pilots suit would have tournequed automatically as it sensed the pressure change as the round passed through the suit and the leg. His leg would be fine, the suit would continue to run heat through the threads that lined the suit and with laser rounds cauterized the wound so there would be very little blood loss. Mick continued to hold the Buck as steady as he could as the ground shook and pressure waves battered the side of the vehicle. I would shout and movements to him if I could spot incoming only to be cursed at by the gunner as he had had a good bead. We lost a lot of men and women that day. Too many hero's died that day. We had gone into the mouth of hell and returned but boy did we pay the price. On the misguided orders of an overzealous officer we destroyed the enemy to the cost of nearly a third of our vehicles and nearly 200 hundred men.
But we must have looked a fine sight charging up that valley, raising hellish dust, the sun refecting the red Marsian dirt casting a rose tint across the valley floor. Our armour glinting, the roar of our propulsion jets. Men hanging from the sides of the Bucks and griping the sides of the barges as they jumped and swayed. It was a fine sight if heros and bravery. All it needed was for that bravery to be tempered by the better part of valour - Discrection.
And thats how I found myself stood beside the 'Dread Pirate' George. Getting a commendation for courage under fire and praise for our support and execution of our duties. I could have knocked his hat off and called him a fool there and then. He couldn't car about the casulties, the wifes and mothers who would never here from their husbands and wives, their sons and daughtersagain. The children that these men and women would leave one parent less. He took us on a fools errand and could think of nothing better than to crow about it and praise us for our bravery and moral fibre.
I couldn't stay in the army after that. I am no mans fool other than my own. I got an honourable discharge having done eight years long service.
I bought my self a classic Cargo Tug and went about hauling stuff around the solar system.
I havn't seen my old army buddies for years. You don't always keep in touch. Somethings you just need to put behind you. Alot of us left after O'Briens Drift. Our faith in the army broken. 'Dread Pirate' got transfered on rotation back to Earth. Not in disgrace I add. The casulties mat have been great but the the higher ecolongs of power its the result that matters. And the result had far reaching consiquences. As a result of our victory there the Army was able to push the enemy out of Olympus Space Gate and into the Marsian desert. A spirited young chap took over the Mars campaign and the rebellion was quelled for a number of years. There are still rumbles that Mars will never be happy untill it has independance from Earth but since the Acendance of Europa-1 and the outer colonies and the squabling over the Asteroid belt the Mars problems are generally pushed into the background. No, I don't see any of my old mate. After something like O'Briens Drift you don't want too. Too many friends lost. Too much of your heart taken away. Soldiers we where and a soldier I shall always be to some degree but I shall be my own commander.
But enough of the maudlin tails. I never told you my nickname did I.
'Naked'
Yep. Naked.
I could tell you how I got that name. But that's another story . . . .
I knew something was afoot. You don't become Seargent without knowing which way the wind was blowing, and my wind was blowing well. I was watching a dust devil weave it's way down the track from the upper camp through the window of our inflatable workshop. These workshops doubled up, tripled even as a garage, mess and bunk room for my squad. We housed three 'Bucks' in one tent. Each Buck carried a crew of three and also had the support of three engineers who took care of the garage and the vehicles. Corporal 'Buffer' Jones came up beside me. "Call the boy's." I said. "Rupert incoming". Rupert is rank and file speak for an officer. I knew who it would be, Captain 'Lord Lucan' Luckner. Lord Lucan on account of his ability to dissapear just when you need him the most. I had seen him head to head with a recon team that had been just come back. He had headed up to Rupert town as fast as he could. And now he was returning with the good news. We had two officers to cushion the blow before Lucans news got too us. Second Lieutenant 'Kid' Harris came into our pressurised tent.
"Lads. Good news." That was Rupert speak for we're all going to die in terrable heroic and painful ways.
"We have orders to move up the valley and take out a line of Artillery. Shouldn't be too much bother. Quick in and out. Back for tea and medals what."
"What?"
"What? Hmmm?"
"Nothing sir. When do we move out?"
"11.10. Have the men ready. I expect you to perform to your usual standard Seargent. Good luck."
"You not coming with us Sir?"
"Not this time what. Damn well wish I could. Ride with the men into the heat of battle, face the enemy,look into their eyes. But alas my orders require me to be of more use here. Far from the enemy guns. Mores the pity. What."
"What?."
"Carry on Seargent."
"Right you are sir."
I must say. We where a fine sight. 25 Bucks all lined up across the valley floor. Some heavy caliber's comeing up the rear and 15 'Bongo's' to provide some covering fire. A small infantry unit would be riding shot gun, maxing out the 'Bucks' as they would be carrying over their capacity as well as towing a small barge that carried the rest of the platoon.
All in all, six hundred men lined up for the advance. And the order was given.
We charged up that Valley. Charging for the guns. We six hundred into the Valley of Death.
It soon became apparent that some one had made a mistake. But it was not out place to reply, not ours to reason why. It was ours to do and bloody well not die.
There was Artillery to the left of us, laser to the right and a hell of a lot of fire power in front. Like hell unleashed, an almighty storm of biblical performance. On we went, intot he jaws of death, into the gates of hell itself.
We flew into their lines. The 'Bucks' releaseing the barges as they leaped the gun emplasements then we span and returned to lay on covering fire for the infantry as they stuck in hand to hand. We pounded the emplacements and becuase we had men in there we couldn't blanket fire. We had to pick our targets, so we where stationary. Holding position on the gentle rise behind the big enemy guns. Silohetted against the afternoon sun that was. Bucks where going down all around us. Some of them going up like mini nukes as the big guns found the Ion Source and the ammunition stores. taking their neighbours with them. My pilot took a small bore laser round through his right leg. 'Big Mick' McKensie.
"I'm ok. Damn it. Clean through and through. Just kill the bastard who threw that at me."
My gunner doubled his fire rate, testosterone lighting up the enemy like no computer ever could. I saw men fall through my zoom lens. Their suits decompressing as they took multiple shots through the different isolated compartments. My Pilots suit would have tournequed automatically as it sensed the pressure change as the round passed through the suit and the leg. His leg would be fine, the suit would continue to run heat through the threads that lined the suit and with laser rounds cauterized the wound so there would be very little blood loss. Mick continued to hold the Buck as steady as he could as the ground shook and pressure waves battered the side of the vehicle. I would shout and movements to him if I could spot incoming only to be cursed at by the gunner as he had had a good bead. We lost a lot of men and women that day. Too many hero's died that day. We had gone into the mouth of hell and returned but boy did we pay the price. On the misguided orders of an overzealous officer we destroyed the enemy to the cost of nearly a third of our vehicles and nearly 200 hundred men.
But we must have looked a fine sight charging up that valley, raising hellish dust, the sun refecting the red Marsian dirt casting a rose tint across the valley floor. Our armour glinting, the roar of our propulsion jets. Men hanging from the sides of the Bucks and griping the sides of the barges as they jumped and swayed. It was a fine sight if heros and bravery. All it needed was for that bravery to be tempered by the better part of valour - Discrection.
And thats how I found myself stood beside the 'Dread Pirate' George. Getting a commendation for courage under fire and praise for our support and execution of our duties. I could have knocked his hat off and called him a fool there and then. He couldn't car about the casulties, the wifes and mothers who would never here from their husbands and wives, their sons and daughtersagain. The children that these men and women would leave one parent less. He took us on a fools errand and could think of nothing better than to crow about it and praise us for our bravery and moral fibre.
I couldn't stay in the army after that. I am no mans fool other than my own. I got an honourable discharge having done eight years long service.
I bought my self a classic Cargo Tug and went about hauling stuff around the solar system.
I havn't seen my old army buddies for years. You don't always keep in touch. Somethings you just need to put behind you. Alot of us left after O'Briens Drift. Our faith in the army broken. 'Dread Pirate' got transfered on rotation back to Earth. Not in disgrace I add. The casulties mat have been great but the the higher ecolongs of power its the result that matters. And the result had far reaching consiquences. As a result of our victory there the Army was able to push the enemy out of Olympus Space Gate and into the Marsian desert. A spirited young chap took over the Mars campaign and the rebellion was quelled for a number of years. There are still rumbles that Mars will never be happy untill it has independance from Earth but since the Acendance of Europa-1 and the outer colonies and the squabling over the Asteroid belt the Mars problems are generally pushed into the background. No, I don't see any of my old mate. After something like O'Briens Drift you don't want too. Too many friends lost. Too much of your heart taken away. Soldiers we where and a soldier I shall always be to some degree but I shall be my own commander.
But enough of the maudlin tails. I never told you my nickname did I.
'Naked'
Yep. Naked.
I could tell you how I got that name. But that's another story . . . .
Ahhh. Now I get it. Thankyou.
And I forgot to add Eve:online to my list of Online gaming.
No ta. But if you have any Blue Vien Camonbert. That would be nice. I heard it goes a bit pyschotropic after a few months on top o fhte radiator.
Did that mean anything? Could anyone translate that for me?
What? You want me to set my pants on fire too?
Oh. Ok then.
Pass the petrol someone.
Oh. Ok then.
Pass the petrol someone.
I would Bo. If you asked me too.
Cor. An American commentating on spelling. Showing his true color, a labor of love obviously.
Damn. Forgot to add these again - - - > [Sacasm][/Sacasm]
Damn. Forgot to add these again - - - > [Sacasm][/Sacasm]
The Dod:Source is just want I want when I just want to shoot a gun and throw grenades. The engine is good, the netcode ok and the sounds are just great. Hearing the MG's rattle in the distance is so immersive. It's not a game I would play for hours on but it's good for a quick blat around.
-edit-Enjoy S2 Ghosty. You won't look back. Well, prehaps you should. People don't like being cut up and turned into but you'll soon find your way.
-edit-Enjoy S2 Ghosty. You won't look back. Well, prehaps you should. People don't like being cut up and turned into but you'll soon find your way.
I think this thread has debased itself into a bitching session. A servers rules is a servers rules. No matter if you feel those rules are idiotic, silly or just down right wrong. They are the rules and if you play on somebody's elses server that they pay good money for then you should not be in the least offended if you are asked to leave or booted.
Wan't to run your own dictatorship then invest in your own server and you can govern it how the hell you want. But don't get worked up over something you have no control over. A mature, objective analysis of the bad rules is to be encouraged. A juvanile rant is just that, juvanile.
No point crying over spilt milk.
Prehaps a judiscious thread closing might be in order before this gets completly out of hand. Enough people have been insulted already.
Wan't to run your own dictatorship then invest in your own server and you can govern it how the hell you want. But don't get worked up over something you have no control over. A mature, objective analysis of the bad rules is to be encouraged. A juvanile rant is just that, juvanile.
No point crying over spilt milk.
Prehaps a judiscious thread closing might be in order before this gets completly out of hand. Enough people have been insulted already.
Good choice in the S2 purchase. Don't be afraid of asking advice. thats what we are here for.
I played BF2, DoD:source, LFS S2 (Like, lot's), Yea. I think that's about it. Waiting for a new comp and Enemy Territory:Quake Wars. Thats going to be something special I hope.
I played BF2, DoD:source, LFS S2 (Like, lot's), Yea. I think that's about it. Waiting for a new comp and Enemy Territory:Quake Wars. Thats going to be something special I hope.
I suppose I kinda have a very loose role as some kind of security(ish) at the moment. But the security bit only involves not opening stage door tom anyone I don't recognise (And sometimes to people I do If I'm feeling obtuse) and calling the stage crew (Of which I am one, but all together we feel much bigger and stronger and ready to take over the world) if i get frightened.
Which reminds of the time when I once ran the barricade during the inner-outer conflict of '63 with a hold full of contraband french Red wine vinegar . . . but thats another story.
So. There I was right. Minding my own business, as you do, just landed at the Port of Interplanatory Transport and Commenwealth Humanity (or as she was more affectionatly know, the Big I.T.C.H. On account of what you came away with if you stayed there too long.) and looking to do a spot of grounding. A man adrift in space as a few needs to take care of on his return to land. My usual Earth Stopover was not going to be a possibility this time round on account of some mounting unpaid Dollars for the services rendered by a one Madam Jovinne of 16 Sahara Crescent, Croft Old Town, New Heathrow, Democratic Union of African Equator States, CF45 9PXV42. I know this address so well because it has been indelable emblazoned on my right buttock, rather thoughtfully backwards so I can read it in the mirror, by Madam Jovinne' two older brothers who where both remarkable larger than me. Who had seized upon me, rather unfairly as I was in a post 'business' state, after I had informed Madam Jovinne that I could not pay for her services at this time. At which point I was transfered in a not to gentle fashion to the street outside via the second floor window accompanied by nothing more than a new tatoo to aid in my modesty.
And so thus I found myself looking for a different house of ill repute on the opposite side of town. One recommended to me by my mechanic who was patching up my ship for me. Got a few loose rivets you see, and the reactors pinking. Got a bit of over run, just won't stop, even when I've taken the key out. But anyway, I digress. I found myself and a new venue of garanteed oppurtunity. The glowing Neon Light above the door announceed to anyone that might have passed along this blind, dark and forboding alley that this was Rose's Bar. I went in not expecting much and I wasn't dissapointed. Rose was behind the bar and I hoped to god that she would stay there. She was a big girl. Not fat, you could never call her fat, not even if you where half way to Alpha Centauri could you call her fat because she would hear. And she would find you. No, she wasn't fat but she was big. She had forearms like anvils, you could crack walnuts on her biceps. I know this because she was doing it in front of me and once she finished that the bar creaked as she spread her gigantic hands and leant on it.
"W'oo'ant"
"Er." I'm normally pretty good with women. Look at their eyes not their breasts. Listen to what they say, nod at all the right moments and always comment on their new hair do. But Rose had me stumped. Because, despite all her . . . . . physical attributes (And believe me there where many more than the ones I have mentioned . . . . Oh. I did mention breasts. Ok just a few more than the ones I mentioned) I found myself strangely attracted to her. And I wasn't sure that was a good thing.
"P.P.P.Pinta best please" I stammered out. How the hell was I going to ask this woman if she kept any ladies of alternative employment in the building. It was all I could do to stand my ground and just drink my drink. (As it would transpire I would never have to get around to asking that question and nor would I worry myself further about Rose and my strange attraction, just to allay your fears. In case you where getting worried or something). I sat at the bar as far from Rose as possible. Which seemed to be a common theme as I found myself in a considerable body of men all crowded intot the dark receses of the bar. I nodded a few greetings and rolled my self a cig. It was then that I noticed him. he was watching me from up against the back wall. Shrouded in smoke and looking suitable gaelic under his black beret. He continued to stare, holding my gaze. I broke away to pay acute attention to my ciggerete rolling. I risked a glance and he was still staring. Oh god. I thought, it's one of those places. I'll kill my Mechanic when I see him next. Not one to draw undue attention to myself I supped my drink as fast as politly possible and inhaled my ciggy. It soon came apparent my mistake. As my eyes grew accustomed to the place the abundance of leather, feather and latex became apparent. The body of men around me seemed to be a little too close for comfort. i looked around to see that my Gaelic friend had left his station at the wall and was nowhere to be seen. I began to think that I should follow suit. I am not to proud to say that I scuttled out of there. My head low, Libedo cowed and my buttocks clentched. Don't get me wrong I am all for an individuals life choices and would not dream of taking any personal freedoms away. So long as they don't think that they can liberate me I am cool with everything.
Needless to say I hotfooted it out of Rose's with nary a glance back and slunk away up the alley back to port. It was then that I realised my garlic friend was still around.
"Bonjour" He said, emerging from the shadows.
"Arrggg!!!" I said.
"Zere is no need for panic Monsiour. I am a friend."
"Your not a friend of Madam Jovinne are you?"
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter. What do you want?"
"You are the owner of a cargo tug yes?"
"Might be, who wants to know?"
"Let's just zay we are friends of zer peoples reziztance against the willful Dizzstruction of the ze Vinegar Trade."
"Oh, no Mate. I'm not getting into anything political. I don't do political."
"Not even for 1,000,000 Dollarz!!"
"This is 2342 mate. I couldn't even buy a a cheap citrus fir tree air freshener for my cockpit for that. Try again."
"Ok. Ok. I've been out of ze loop for a while. Name your price."
"For what. you havn't told me what the job is yet"
"We have a consignment of Ze Finest French Red Vine Vinegar that we need to get to Europa-1 in time for Bastille day."
"If I remember correctly the Bush Dynasty Corporation outlawed all things French."
"Ar yes. But ze outer Planets havn't. And as French Ved Vine Viniger can only come from France. Then we must produce it here and get it there".
"But what with the Earth-Mars embargo against all things Europan and vice versa how the hell do you propose we get it there?"
"You just need to get past the Inner Border Patrols. And for zat we have labelled the bottle 'produce of California' ve zink that will fool them."
"You think. Have you done this before?"
"No."
"Right"
"Zo?"
"How much again?"
"How much vould you like?"
"10 to power of 20. In Dollars."
"Znot zat much".
"Ok. 10 to the 19."
"Deal."
"Deal".
And we shook.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Border patrol stopped me just short of the Asteroid belt. They must have seen me shitting myself from low Earth Orbit. The rather fierce Fleet Captain ordered me too pull over and to be prepared to be boarded. And so I was. I would have called them Gorilla's but that would have been an insult to anything Ape like. These guys didn't exsist to think, they existed purely to be a trigger fingure and to listen to the words 'Arrest him' Which they often got confused with the words 'Kill him'. They really couldn't get their heads around 'cease fire!' or 'STOP FIRING!' or 'FOR CHRIST SAKE CEASE FIRE OR I'LL HAVE YOU GUTS FOR A MEDAL RIBBON AND TAKE YOUR MOTHERS OUT TO FOR A RUDDY GOOD SEEING TOO!'. Empathy was not what they where employed for. Their Captain on the other hand was a Captain for good reason. He knew his men where grenades that had pulled their own pins out and where just looking for somewhere to throw themselves but he knew how to interpret orders not just follow them. He ordered his men to search the ship and one of them had come up to the cockpit where me and the Captain where sharing very few words and a number of fruitful silences. The soldier who had come up to the cockpit was carrying a bottle.
"Found this Sir."
"Just this Seargent?".
"No sir. It had quite a few friends sir. Shall I take them into custody Sir?"
"You can't take a bottle into custody Seargent. You confiscate a bottle Seargent."
"Sir. Yes Sir. Shall I Confiscate the cargo Sir!"
The Captain hefted the bottle and read out the label. 'Ze Finest French Ved Vine Vinegar.'" He read further down the label. "Made in California, America. Honest."
By this time I was really getting nervous and I was sure the funny smell that had engulfed the cockpit was me. I had to think quickly . . . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
the Captain turned the bottle over in his hands. I thought some more.
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . Ah! . . . No.
The Captain asked his Seargent how many of these bottles where there. The Seargent looked like he would have trouble counting his fingers. "Lots' Sir".
I really needed some sort of plan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .'Damn it'
"What?" Replied the Captain.
"It's coolant. Yes. That's it. My reactor, it's pinking you see. Running a bit hot. You don't know how many things I've tryed but this stuff does it. I've gone through Ketchup, Hard Water, Soft Water, Tap water, Marsian Gin, Mercurial Sulpher Ice. Everything. But this stuff. Amazing. I don't know what those Frenchi . . . . Californian' put in it but it damn keeps my motor cool."
"Show me."
"Hmm. What."
"Show me."
"Show you?"
"Yes. Show. Me."
"Right. yes. Ok then. This way."
I poured a whole crate into coolant before the Captain was satisfied. He wasn't stupid. He must have thought that anyone stupid enough to pour their own contraband into their engine woulldn't be able to get to where they where supposed to be delievering it. He let me go. But not without writing me a ticket for altering my registration with some convieniently placed rivets.
I limped into Europa-1 a day after Bastille day. So with a depleted stock and having missed the very reason that I was running this stuff for in the first place I got a fraction of what I was supposed to be paid. Barely enough to cover the cost of a new Coolant chamber and reactor lining.
And I still havn't got enough money to get laid.
Reminds of the time I fought alongside the Dread Pirate George in the Battle for O'Briens Drift. But that's another story. . . . .
-Edit- Yes. Yes. I know I got the date wrong. So sue me.
So. There I was right. Minding my own business, as you do, just landed at the Port of Interplanatory Transport and Commenwealth Humanity (or as she was more affectionatly know, the Big I.T.C.H. On account of what you came away with if you stayed there too long.) and looking to do a spot of grounding. A man adrift in space as a few needs to take care of on his return to land. My usual Earth Stopover was not going to be a possibility this time round on account of some mounting unpaid Dollars for the services rendered by a one Madam Jovinne of 16 Sahara Crescent, Croft Old Town, New Heathrow, Democratic Union of African Equator States, CF45 9PXV42. I know this address so well because it has been indelable emblazoned on my right buttock, rather thoughtfully backwards so I can read it in the mirror, by Madam Jovinne' two older brothers who where both remarkable larger than me. Who had seized upon me, rather unfairly as I was in a post 'business' state, after I had informed Madam Jovinne that I could not pay for her services at this time. At which point I was transfered in a not to gentle fashion to the street outside via the second floor window accompanied by nothing more than a new tatoo to aid in my modesty.
And so thus I found myself looking for a different house of ill repute on the opposite side of town. One recommended to me by my mechanic who was patching up my ship for me. Got a few loose rivets you see, and the reactors pinking. Got a bit of over run, just won't stop, even when I've taken the key out. But anyway, I digress. I found myself and a new venue of garanteed oppurtunity. The glowing Neon Light above the door announceed to anyone that might have passed along this blind, dark and forboding alley that this was Rose's Bar. I went in not expecting much and I wasn't dissapointed. Rose was behind the bar and I hoped to god that she would stay there. She was a big girl. Not fat, you could never call her fat, not even if you where half way to Alpha Centauri could you call her fat because she would hear. And she would find you. No, she wasn't fat but she was big. She had forearms like anvils, you could crack walnuts on her biceps. I know this because she was doing it in front of me and once she finished that the bar creaked as she spread her gigantic hands and leant on it.
"W'oo'ant"
"Er." I'm normally pretty good with women. Look at their eyes not their breasts. Listen to what they say, nod at all the right moments and always comment on their new hair do. But Rose had me stumped. Because, despite all her . . . . . physical attributes (And believe me there where many more than the ones I have mentioned . . . . Oh. I did mention breasts. Ok just a few more than the ones I mentioned) I found myself strangely attracted to her. And I wasn't sure that was a good thing.
"P.P.P.Pinta best please" I stammered out. How the hell was I going to ask this woman if she kept any ladies of alternative employment in the building. It was all I could do to stand my ground and just drink my drink. (As it would transpire I would never have to get around to asking that question and nor would I worry myself further about Rose and my strange attraction, just to allay your fears. In case you where getting worried or something). I sat at the bar as far from Rose as possible. Which seemed to be a common theme as I found myself in a considerable body of men all crowded intot the dark receses of the bar. I nodded a few greetings and rolled my self a cig. It was then that I noticed him. he was watching me from up against the back wall. Shrouded in smoke and looking suitable gaelic under his black beret. He continued to stare, holding my gaze. I broke away to pay acute attention to my ciggerete rolling. I risked a glance and he was still staring. Oh god. I thought, it's one of those places. I'll kill my Mechanic when I see him next. Not one to draw undue attention to myself I supped my drink as fast as politly possible and inhaled my ciggy. It soon came apparent my mistake. As my eyes grew accustomed to the place the abundance of leather, feather and latex became apparent. The body of men around me seemed to be a little too close for comfort. i looked around to see that my Gaelic friend had left his station at the wall and was nowhere to be seen. I began to think that I should follow suit. I am not to proud to say that I scuttled out of there. My head low, Libedo cowed and my buttocks clentched. Don't get me wrong I am all for an individuals life choices and would not dream of taking any personal freedoms away. So long as they don't think that they can liberate me I am cool with everything.
Needless to say I hotfooted it out of Rose's with nary a glance back and slunk away up the alley back to port. It was then that I realised my garlic friend was still around.
"Bonjour" He said, emerging from the shadows.
"Arrggg!!!" I said.
"Zere is no need for panic Monsiour. I am a friend."
"Your not a friend of Madam Jovinne are you?"
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter. What do you want?"
"You are the owner of a cargo tug yes?"
"Might be, who wants to know?"
"Let's just zay we are friends of zer peoples reziztance against the willful Dizzstruction of the ze Vinegar Trade."
"Oh, no Mate. I'm not getting into anything political. I don't do political."
"Not even for 1,000,000 Dollarz!!"
"This is 2342 mate. I couldn't even buy a a cheap citrus fir tree air freshener for my cockpit for that. Try again."
"Ok. Ok. I've been out of ze loop for a while. Name your price."
"For what. you havn't told me what the job is yet"
"We have a consignment of Ze Finest French Red Vine Vinegar that we need to get to Europa-1 in time for Bastille day."
"If I remember correctly the Bush Dynasty Corporation outlawed all things French."
"Ar yes. But ze outer Planets havn't. And as French Ved Vine Viniger can only come from France. Then we must produce it here and get it there".
"But what with the Earth-Mars embargo against all things Europan and vice versa how the hell do you propose we get it there?"
"You just need to get past the Inner Border Patrols. And for zat we have labelled the bottle 'produce of California' ve zink that will fool them."
"You think. Have you done this before?"
"No."
"Right"
"Zo?"
"How much again?"
"How much vould you like?"
"10 to power of 20. In Dollars."
"Znot zat much".
"Ok. 10 to the 19."
"Deal."
"Deal".
And we shook.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Border patrol stopped me just short of the Asteroid belt. They must have seen me shitting myself from low Earth Orbit. The rather fierce Fleet Captain ordered me too pull over and to be prepared to be boarded. And so I was. I would have called them Gorilla's but that would have been an insult to anything Ape like. These guys didn't exsist to think, they existed purely to be a trigger fingure and to listen to the words 'Arrest him' Which they often got confused with the words 'Kill him'. They really couldn't get their heads around 'cease fire!' or 'STOP FIRING!' or 'FOR CHRIST SAKE CEASE FIRE OR I'LL HAVE YOU GUTS FOR A MEDAL RIBBON AND TAKE YOUR MOTHERS OUT TO FOR A RUDDY GOOD SEEING TOO!'. Empathy was not what they where employed for. Their Captain on the other hand was a Captain for good reason. He knew his men where grenades that had pulled their own pins out and where just looking for somewhere to throw themselves but he knew how to interpret orders not just follow them. He ordered his men to search the ship and one of them had come up to the cockpit where me and the Captain where sharing very few words and a number of fruitful silences. The soldier who had come up to the cockpit was carrying a bottle.
"Found this Sir."
"Just this Seargent?".
"No sir. It had quite a few friends sir. Shall I take them into custody Sir?"
"You can't take a bottle into custody Seargent. You confiscate a bottle Seargent."
"Sir. Yes Sir. Shall I Confiscate the cargo Sir!"
The Captain hefted the bottle and read out the label. 'Ze Finest French Ved Vine Vinegar.'" He read further down the label. "Made in California, America. Honest."
By this time I was really getting nervous and I was sure the funny smell that had engulfed the cockpit was me. I had to think quickly . . . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
the Captain turned the bottle over in his hands. I thought some more.
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . Ah! . . . No.
The Captain asked his Seargent how many of these bottles where there. The Seargent looked like he would have trouble counting his fingers. "Lots' Sir".
I really needed some sort of plan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .'Damn it'
"What?" Replied the Captain.
"It's coolant. Yes. That's it. My reactor, it's pinking you see. Running a bit hot. You don't know how many things I've tryed but this stuff does it. I've gone through Ketchup, Hard Water, Soft Water, Tap water, Marsian Gin, Mercurial Sulpher Ice. Everything. But this stuff. Amazing. I don't know what those Frenchi . . . . Californian' put in it but it damn keeps my motor cool."
"Show me."
"Hmm. What."
"Show me."
"Show you?"
"Yes. Show. Me."
"Right. yes. Ok then. This way."
I poured a whole crate into coolant before the Captain was satisfied. He wasn't stupid. He must have thought that anyone stupid enough to pour their own contraband into their engine woulldn't be able to get to where they where supposed to be delievering it. He let me go. But not without writing me a ticket for altering my registration with some convieniently placed rivets.
I limped into Europa-1 a day after Bastille day. So with a depleted stock and having missed the very reason that I was running this stuff for in the first place I got a fraction of what I was supposed to be paid. Barely enough to cover the cost of a new Coolant chamber and reactor lining.
And I still havn't got enough money to get laid.
Reminds of the time I fought alongside the Dread Pirate George in the Battle for O'Briens Drift. But that's another story. . . . .
-Edit- Yes. Yes. I know I got the date wrong. So sue me.
Last edited by Funnybear, .
Sure I could have done that, but it's not really a plot hole as I explained either previously or afterwards (But the way my mind works it really doesn't matter which) that I couldn't run for ever you see. Do try and keep up dear chap. If I gave her back then the heat was of me. Luckily enough there was that other silly sod dithering around out there blowing smoke up his arse that stood in, very convincingly I must say, for yours truly. So there you go. No plot hole Per Say' but as I have mentioned this is compleltly written on the fly with no back edits so don't expect water into wine.
And as some of you have guessed I love that very familiar way that DA writes. Such a fertile imagination. The literary world miss's's's's him dearly. I do like Terry Pratchett as well, so long as I'm reading him and not listening to him. He really doesn't have a voice for radio. But yes I love that informal, comedic writing bent. It kinda suits my personality (as it should I guess).
-edit- Oh and by the way. all this is copywrited Circa . . about now. So no wogging and blatent plagerism. Thats my job.
Last edited by Funnybear, .
Saucer of milk . . .
Imagine if you will. Europa-1. Once a frontier laboratory built into the very ice sheet of Europa it soon developed into a bustling colony. The whole place revolves around money and capitalism. From the Deeps where the massive submarines plough the deep Europan oceans for the rich protien harvests to the Uppers that serve the mining cartels and the big Multi-corps. If you got hte money Europa is the place to spend it. If you got the dollar then someone will happily relieve you of it for whatever you want.
It was in some back alley bar when I met her. Man she was stunning. Long, jet black hair. Classic Italian decent looks. Dark, husky and made me bulge in embarrasing places. I saw her walk into the joint, which was one of my favorite haunts. Far enough of the beaten track to escape the Shore Leave Navy boys, Mining Engineers and Tug Jocks but still enough of a place to have a buzz about it. It was a local bar for local people and they knew me there. I had just got of a six month prospecting junket around the asteroid belt and had turned a tidy profit from selling my findings. I got a good rep round these parts and my finds always turn up the goods so money ain't hard to come by.
So there I was. My birthday, sat at the bar minding my own, nursing my pint and smoking my baccy, jawing with the barkeep when in she walked. The entire pub stopped and as one man turned and watched her walk to the bar. You know the kinda girl. It happens in bars everywhere. She knows she's got it and she knows that the pub is silent for her. She rocks up to the bar and settles herself on the seat next to me and orders herself a pint of best. I do like a pint girl. Now I ain't no flash git, I ain't got the patter and I ain't got the looks. I'm a softly softly kinda guy, let them come to me I say. And come to me she did. She leant over and purred in a thick Mediterranean-Jovian accent "Could I trouble you to roll me a cigerette please". She had me, hook line and sinker. We talked about everything, like we where best buddies that hadn't seen each other for ages. We talked about politics (I pride myself on keeping abreast on current affairs), she surprised me by being very well eduacated about all things mining, I should have seen that as a warning. I was hopelessly in love. She was everything I wanted. Great looks, great body and a great mind. Sooner than expected the Barkeep rang time and that awkward moment came when you try and sum up the courage to try and carry on the liason. And so I did. We went out to a local club, a salsa bar run by a mate of mine. They where playing songs from the old time and she showed me some moves on the dance floor, boy could she move.
you couldn't stop me then. I was off. The night of my life. I had the talk, the walk and the cash. We sampled as much as Europa-1 could offer us. We watched the Io transit with it's massive Aurora as the moon circuited Jupiter and we went down and watched the many subs come and go from the docks. We wandered through the Centro district getting noodles from a wok house and we stopped by the Centro park. That's when we kissed. I need not go into to much detail but needless to say I offered to show her my ship. She accepted.
it was a happy few days. Doing what kids do, letting the Auto Nav wander where Auto Navs like to wander, buzzing frieghters, ferry's and cruise ships alike. Just generally having a good time. Neither of us where concerned about the outside world so it came as some surprise when I pinged the net and the first News bulletin came down about the abducted daughter of a Massivle Rich and Famous Mining Magnet. Imagine my real shock and horror when the picture uploaded showing none other than the new love of my life. They even had the registration of my ship and had broadcast the Ident across the entire solar system. I was a dead man. This girl was worth like . . . a Fortunes fortune. She stood to inherit enough money to buy the galaxy ten times over. I was in so much trouble. It was only then that I realised she was stood behind me and had read the Braodcast over my shoulder. "Take me away honey" she said. Her hands on my shoulders. "I'm not part of that life. Take me away."
I had nowhere to take her. My prospecting barge, although a home from home, couldn't out run anything. Sure we could roam the System, hiding in the Asteroid belt, maybe going deep space for a bit. but we couldn't run for ever. Sooner or later we would have to come up for air.
I shook my head. Speechless. I couldn't do anything.
It was then that I got a bounce. I'd been clocked and my Ident recognised as a fugitive carrying an abductee.
"I'll explain" She said. "I'll make sure you won't get into trouble"
"Sorry love. I've been around long enough to know that your father ain't gunna let that happen. I already got six destroyers from your fathers personal fleet, nine local law Frigates, a mining hulk and a couple of bounty hunters all pointing some very big guns in my general direction sowing up on my little screen thingy here. There's nothing for it, your gunna have to go."
So I forced her into the escape pod. Jettisoned it in the vaugue direction of the bounce, rotated my ident, dropped the Barge into overdrive and ran for the hills.
After, of course, a quick fondle for the memory of it.
It took many months of careful hair growth and DNA manipulation to enable me to show my face around Jove again. In fact you could say it wasn't my face anymore, it certainly wasn't my hair.
Apparently they caught a geezer who matched the description sent out and the stupid bugger bought the same ship ident off the same blackmarket shyster that I did who'd been pootling along minding his own business in the same parsec of space that I was. So all that face changing, DNA swapping, hair growing effort was wasted.
She was a looker though.
Which reminds of the time when I once ran the barricade during the inner-outer conflict of '63 with a hold full of contraband french Red wine vinegar . . . but thats another story.
It was in some back alley bar when I met her. Man she was stunning. Long, jet black hair. Classic Italian decent looks. Dark, husky and made me bulge in embarrasing places. I saw her walk into the joint, which was one of my favorite haunts. Far enough of the beaten track to escape the Shore Leave Navy boys, Mining Engineers and Tug Jocks but still enough of a place to have a buzz about it. It was a local bar for local people and they knew me there. I had just got of a six month prospecting junket around the asteroid belt and had turned a tidy profit from selling my findings. I got a good rep round these parts and my finds always turn up the goods so money ain't hard to come by.
So there I was. My birthday, sat at the bar minding my own, nursing my pint and smoking my baccy, jawing with the barkeep when in she walked. The entire pub stopped and as one man turned and watched her walk to the bar. You know the kinda girl. It happens in bars everywhere. She knows she's got it and she knows that the pub is silent for her. She rocks up to the bar and settles herself on the seat next to me and orders herself a pint of best. I do like a pint girl. Now I ain't no flash git, I ain't got the patter and I ain't got the looks. I'm a softly softly kinda guy, let them come to me I say. And come to me she did. She leant over and purred in a thick Mediterranean-Jovian accent "Could I trouble you to roll me a cigerette please". She had me, hook line and sinker. We talked about everything, like we where best buddies that hadn't seen each other for ages. We talked about politics (I pride myself on keeping abreast on current affairs), she surprised me by being very well eduacated about all things mining, I should have seen that as a warning. I was hopelessly in love. She was everything I wanted. Great looks, great body and a great mind. Sooner than expected the Barkeep rang time and that awkward moment came when you try and sum up the courage to try and carry on the liason. And so I did. We went out to a local club, a salsa bar run by a mate of mine. They where playing songs from the old time and she showed me some moves on the dance floor, boy could she move.
you couldn't stop me then. I was off. The night of my life. I had the talk, the walk and the cash. We sampled as much as Europa-1 could offer us. We watched the Io transit with it's massive Aurora as the moon circuited Jupiter and we went down and watched the many subs come and go from the docks. We wandered through the Centro district getting noodles from a wok house and we stopped by the Centro park. That's when we kissed. I need not go into to much detail but needless to say I offered to show her my ship. She accepted.
it was a happy few days. Doing what kids do, letting the Auto Nav wander where Auto Navs like to wander, buzzing frieghters, ferry's and cruise ships alike. Just generally having a good time. Neither of us where concerned about the outside world so it came as some surprise when I pinged the net and the first News bulletin came down about the abducted daughter of a Massivle Rich and Famous Mining Magnet. Imagine my real shock and horror when the picture uploaded showing none other than the new love of my life. They even had the registration of my ship and had broadcast the Ident across the entire solar system. I was a dead man. This girl was worth like . . . a Fortunes fortune. She stood to inherit enough money to buy the galaxy ten times over. I was in so much trouble. It was only then that I realised she was stood behind me and had read the Braodcast over my shoulder. "Take me away honey" she said. Her hands on my shoulders. "I'm not part of that life. Take me away."
I had nowhere to take her. My prospecting barge, although a home from home, couldn't out run anything. Sure we could roam the System, hiding in the Asteroid belt, maybe going deep space for a bit. but we couldn't run for ever. Sooner or later we would have to come up for air.
I shook my head. Speechless. I couldn't do anything.
It was then that I got a bounce. I'd been clocked and my Ident recognised as a fugitive carrying an abductee.
"I'll explain" She said. "I'll make sure you won't get into trouble"
"Sorry love. I've been around long enough to know that your father ain't gunna let that happen. I already got six destroyers from your fathers personal fleet, nine local law Frigates, a mining hulk and a couple of bounty hunters all pointing some very big guns in my general direction sowing up on my little screen thingy here. There's nothing for it, your gunna have to go."
So I forced her into the escape pod. Jettisoned it in the vaugue direction of the bounce, rotated my ident, dropped the Barge into overdrive and ran for the hills.
After, of course, a quick fondle for the memory of it.
It took many months of careful hair growth and DNA manipulation to enable me to show my face around Jove again. In fact you could say it wasn't my face anymore, it certainly wasn't my hair.
Apparently they caught a geezer who matched the description sent out and the stupid bugger bought the same ship ident off the same blackmarket shyster that I did who'd been pootling along minding his own business in the same parsec of space that I was. So all that face changing, DNA swapping, hair growing effort was wasted.
She was a looker though.
Which reminds of the time when I once ran the barricade during the inner-outer conflict of '63 with a hold full of contraband french Red wine vinegar . . . but thats another story.
He couldn't even spell it let alone be on it . . .
I have a Mysapce account. It's Myspace.com/Mypub/Mypint/mytab.com.
it's amazing how many people you meet on MyChair.com in MyPub.com. People leave me messages with MyBarmaid and I can rely to them through the technological marvel of MyPen/MyPostit/BackofBar dot com. And the video and audio feeds are out of this world. Although after a bit of MyPint.com the two can become slighty overwhelming and a tad confusing so a visit to MyBog/MyPub.com is needed to calm everything down again. And you never know if your lucky you can indulge in a bit og MyDrunkNewFriend/Shagging/Carpark.com. best cyber you will ever have.
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Dot
Com.
it's amazing how many people you meet on MyChair.com in MyPub.com. People leave me messages with MyBarmaid and I can rely to them through the technological marvel of MyPen/MyPostit/BackofBar dot com. And the video and audio feeds are out of this world. Although after a bit of MyPint.com the two can become slighty overwhelming and a tad confusing so a visit to MyBog/MyPub.com is needed to calm everything down again. And you never know if your lucky you can indulge in a bit og MyDrunkNewFriend/Shagging/Carpark.com. best cyber you will ever have.
So if you want to visit my Site come to MyFarFromTheMaddingCrowd.com/FriarsPassage/Oxford/England=TimmyattheBar&makemineapintthankyou.
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Com.
Pc Zone and/or PC Forum or something like that. They'd done a bit about LFS in the online section. Looked it up, had a go on the demo and viola! A rabbit from a hat and I wish I was a baller.
No, thats not right. Viola, here I am two years later spamming the LFS forums for all I'm worth.
But never fear . . new job, new money, new gaming rig. I'll soon be back terrorising Aston National with my purple (Not Pink!!) FZR . . .
No, thats not right. Viola, here I am two years later spamming the LFS forums for all I'm worth.
But never fear . . new job, new money, new gaming rig. I'll soon be back terrorising Aston National with my purple (Not Pink!!) FZR . . .
FGED GREDG RDFGDR GSFDG