Saturday, May 25, 2013
Carcel numero 478.
Cell 95. (toilet not functioning)
Pelille system.
Station designation omitted for security purposes.
Suspect has been granted spanish interpreter and has been given permission to conduct limited communications with "Jailhouse lawyer"
Armando "cinco dedos" Tantoso.
Three sheets of paper and writing implements provided in lieu of meal priveleges.
Statement of LHORENZHO:
(document redacted as necessary)
TO: Honorable Judge Percy Ponzi
An oven that is stopped, or river stayed,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage
What does the above quote portend or preface?
Hell if I fucking know, but I sense it says something about my current feelings and it is an interesting segue into the topic I want to broach in this document.
Also, it is my custom to invoke my beloved Bard when I can if for no other reason than to maintain some semblance of humanity and culture in this horrific wasteland.
My dear judge, I am currently in custody, awaiting trial for insubordination and conduct unbecoming.
I have been put in this cramped, damp, unheated cell by my nemesis.
We all have our white whales.
Our Everests.
Miura Bull is my eternal foil.
That malicious fellow has been my adversary for years.
Once again, due to his machinations,I have been forced to listen to the soul sapping clank of an iron door as it closes on yet another chapter in my tumultuous and chaotic life as a pirate in New Eden.
Why didn't I stay in school? Forgive me NANA!!
I must beg your forgiveness for any rambling or for any incoherence that may work itself into this paper.
I must write briskly.
The clock is ticking.
Isolated confinement is generally not a pleasant experience, but in this case it serves me well, as I can gather my thoughts more readily and speak my mind and help that fool Armando prepare my defense.
It will not be easy.
My hands are shaking and cramping as I write.
I am feverish and am coughing up blood tinged sputum.
I am forced to scribble these few lines as quickly as possible under threat of torture should I exceed the 30 minute allotment of time provided.
It was only an hour ago that the crippling Minmitar style handcuffs were removed.
I was provided only a stub pencil, having been relieved of my classic Mont Blanc fountain Pen (A gift from my loyal aide Doroteo) by a sadistic female jailer known as Stinky Kate, a known paramour and appointed civil servant of Da Bulls.
Sadly, the congenial and ever loyal Doroteo is unaccounted for and is presumed to have fallen victim to foul play of some sort.
I have been purposely deprived of replenishing sleep (I am subjected to loud recordings of the BULL's speeches 24/7), concubine visitations (not even discounted Amarr hookers?), toilet priveleges, and food and drink.
My clothes are embarrassingly soiled and I reek of feces and urine.
The cell corner is adorned with the malodorous remnants of my last good meal which these inhumane conditions have caused me to convulsively wretch forth.
Yet there is a ray of sunlight in this dark nightmarish scenario.
Yes,I have been effectively dehumanized by BULL's operatives in this facility.
Yes, I have been denied access to adequate counsel, save for that shyster Armando, and yes I have been virtually incommunicado since my arrest.
Yet, my Caldari spirit remains unbroken.
It is intact.
In fact is soars on wings of righteousness!
If you will indulge me your HONOR, I will attempt to explain the circumstances that precipitated this sorry state of affairs.
First, I want to make it clear that this memorandum is meant to give my version of what happened in the last 72 hours or so in the event Da Bull decides to proceed with disciplinary action, or more ominously for my future prospects of liberation, a full summary court martial.
He has sworn to finish me once and for all, and I take him at his word.
In essence, this memo will serve to function as my defacto deposition statement.
My saving interrogatory. Please read it carefully sir.
I must say my piece now.
Whether it is ever disseminated to my designated recipients remains to be seen.
I pray it does your honor.
One can only hope that some vestige of judicial oversight and review of criminal matters is still available in this hinterland.
I hope to find myself in your wise court and sooner rather than later dear Judge.
On to the narrative.
Three days ago, during a quick mandatory meeting of SKRMR personnel in conference room 213 A, I chose, perhaps unwisely, to confront our leader, the mercurial, and inimitable Miura Bull, regarding his steadfast, bullheaded insistence that we, each and every member of the Screaming Hayabusa's, conform without question or contemplation to his newly revised corporate MISSION STATEMENT!
Yes, you heard right dear Judge.
A fucking MISSION STATEMENT!
Something unheard of in our times and only referenced or written about, at least to my knowledge, in musty old museuem copies of the HARVARD BUSINESS REVIEW!
Pirates and Mission statements!
The consumnate ODD COUPLE wouldn't you say dear judge.
My thoughts exactly.
My suspicions were raised the moment I first caught wind Bull was considering this tactic.
Let me tell you the first iteration of that bullshit document was bad enough.
The REVISED MISSSON STATEMENT was simply unpalatable.
The anti-thesis of every majestic document ever produced by man in this or any other universe.
I had every reason, dear magistrate, to take issue with its contents.
Yet, Da Bull, for some inexplicable reason, was proud of this piece and was resistant to any suggestion that he table his intentions to use it as our corporate compass.
Frankly, your honor, it was a fucking litany of points and clauses, and
sub-standard legalese that any numbskull could see was intended to direct, control, manipulate, and beguile his impressionable corp members. (Again I ask your indulgence for the expletives as I tend to slip into the vulgar vernacular of the street when stressed)
I know what a traditional mission statement is judge. They served their purpose those many eons ago.
This document, however, was a means to ends that I could already see were not in our best interests.
There is a reason Miura Bull "left" the Black Rebel Rifter club and the Devil's Tattoo alliance.
His control over the corporation was dissipating quickly and had frankly been significantly and wisely diluted by the saintly and benevolent Peri Simone and others who saw fit to sieze that entity away from a man who was clearly no longer fit to lead due to his increasingly depraved nature.
I was familiar with his many frailties and shortcomings.
Yet, I am forced to wrestle with an incongruity that many feel compelled to point out to me.
Why, they ask and so might you dear learned judge, did I, knowing what I know about this fellow, choose to follow him to Pelille, and more importantly, why did I choose to join his Screaming Hayabusas?
In hindsight, it was one of the collosal blunders of my life.
QUE BARBARIDAD!!
I know.
One must come to court with clean hands and my affiliation with this ruffian has certainly dirtied mine.
Do not hold that fact against me.
Decide on the merits of the case your honor. I implore you.
I do not mean to insult you sir but rumors circulate that you recieve a "stipend" from a notorious scoundrel and I am a bit concerned.
He has laughed in my presence when your name is mentioned and I heard him say something about "so many nickels and dimes".
Most of my current beloved corpmates, are unfortunately easily swayed by fancy starched dress uniforms (especially that fucking VINNY) and a puffed out chest arrayed with rows of shiny medals.
I, on the other hand am not inclined to genuflect at the sight of some military decorations.
I am an avowed iconoclast.
I am NOT a hero worshipper.
Leaders can be seriously flawed.
But, I am a realist as well.
Unlike others, I do not push my personal code of conduct on others.
I believe in following the righteous path while resisting the urge to embrace silly puritanical notions of behavior.
Yes, by all means say I, drink, carouse, fornicate, smoke, cheat, lie and decieve, abuse drugs, practice gluttony, sadism, masochism, and Murder.
Those are the ten commandments of piracy.
But do them in a NOBLE fashion.
ANYTHING can be done with class!
There is elegance in all things if one knows where to look.
I have lived my life, dear judge, by this credo.
I am no angel by any stretch of the imagination, but right is right.
I took this mindset and this philosophy into that fateful meeting in room 213A and I spoke up because it was the honorable thing to do.
What we all HATE, however, and I am sure you would agree sir, is being CONTROLLED.
A pirates essence, his embodiment, his alpha and his omega, his personification if you will, is his INDEPENDENCE!
Who dares to wrestle that quintessential attribute away from a pirate?
MIURA fucking BULL. That is who.
Thus this conflict and these unfortunate developments!
But I digress sir.
Back to the meeting in 213A.
It was obvious from the collective body language of those corpies present that they were NEVER going to oppose the BULL on ANY issue, despite the fact that some had in confidence, expressed to me their dismay at the revised MISSION statement.
Hell, they were stunned and surprised to see the first version!!
Nogusha, Vincent, Luna, Logan, and all the rest of the numbered membership had (the Bull has removed the use of names as designators) at one point or another bitterly complained to me in private about this MISSION STATEMENT!
Yet, in the BULL's presence, they fell mute.
Cowed, no doubt, by his reputation for intemperate Nubian Ferocity.
The dude IS scary your honor.
Yet, people are drawn to him and choose to be his minions.
I would not be too smug BULL for history has shown that even the most depraved iniquitous killers have garnered their followers (Think Richard Ramirez and Jeffrey Dahmer both of who recieved numerous marriage proposals and in Dahmers case even exchanged recipes for "exotic" delights with or without Fava beans)
During the meeting it was obvious the group was still uncomfortable with the new dictates.
Their eyes were downcast.
They were shuffling from one foot to the other. Nerves were frayed.
Our delicious Luna's succulent breasts heaved, her breathing quickened, as her internal strife grew.
Her ambivalence was palpable.
She was clearly torn.
I could see it and believe me I looked closely at those breasts!
They heaved mightily.
I even looked a second time and still they heaved.
Nogusha held the latest copy of that fucking document in his hand but refused to read it.
A trifling splinter of a protest at least but not nearly enough.
Vinny, well, he was off in the corner looking for a buff cloth to polish up the BULL's hardware!!
Damn you R'lyeh!
SPEAK UP CABRONES I wanted to yell!!
I have NEVER been one to hold my tongue (especially after imbibing a case of my favorite processed imitation Mexican Cerveza).
I could no longer curb my anger.
These poor creatures!
I had to speak!
I didn't even raise my hand as the BULL requires and has demanded in the past we do before addressing him.
Arrogant fucker!
Filled with a righteous rage, adrenalin, and combat boosters (I have a prescription but have misplaced it judge), I jumped on the nearest chair and with raised arms screamed out...."BASTA!!!!"
"ENOUGH!!"
NORMA RAE, the ancient Earth union activist would have been proud!
Dear Judicial tribune, can I really be held accountable for such an inspired reaction to injustice?
CONTROL FREAKISM must be stopped!
"Vato you are wrong ese!!", I yelled.
"Esto es pura pinche mierda Cabron!"
(Loosely translated as.."This is bullshit" your honor)
I made it clear,through my outburst dear judge, that I considered his unwavering and wholly inflexible position that we take each and every clause in that document to heart and practice its precepts with mindless monastic devotion as unacceptable.
We are pirates for crying out loud, not interns at some entrepreneurial Caldari startup!
A fucking MISSION STATEMENT Bull?
Really? We know its all about control.
Thats how I truly felt. He has always forged ahead with policies meant to stifle independent thought.
Standing there in the conference room, I had decided to make one final grandiose unequivocal and unambiguous statement for the benefit of my beleagured corpies.
Your honor, THIS WAS THE HILL I WAS PREPARED TO DIE ON!!!
FUCK IT! Firing squad or not. Jail time or not. Severed limbs or not.
"Dammit NO!" I continued.
Yes, I raised my voice to our CEO.
The record will show that I was drunk.
I do not deny that.
We were drinking shots of cheap tequila dear judge and I was unfortunately inebriated.
It emboldened me to do something impulsive.
Honorable in its intent but impulsive and dangerous nevertheless.
But do not be mistaken. I WOULD HAVE DONE WHAT I DID drunk or not.
I crumpled that piece of paper, that outrageous MISSION STATEMENT and threw it like SANDY KOUFAX (an ancient earth athlete renown for the velocity of his hurled spheres) in Da Bull's direction!
Yes, with any luck, I might have taken one of his beady eyes out!
Testimony will clearly show that I also yelled, "Ay te va Cabron!" There it is punk!"
I will not deny it.
As they say in that old adage, you could have cut the tension in that room with a fucking Amarr assassins knife!
There was a collective gasp from the membership.
They stepped back and I was suddenly facing the BULL alone.
ALONE YOUR HONOR!
Ay caramba!
Had I overplayed my fucking hand?
Our history suggested that I might have indeed done just that!
The support I had expected from my corpies did NOT materialize.
Why not you might ask.
Well, its is complicated your honor.
You see, over time, my incessant need to correct what I consider to be his chronic managerial missteps, have given him ample ammunition to paint me into a corner by characterizing me as a "quirky" persona, an inveterate complainer, a "CHILLON" as my grandmother used to call me, who is not to be taken seriously.
He has in essence turned me, at least in the eyes of others, into a silly, pathetic, eccentric caricature of what a true capsuleer should be.
And he has cleverly given me enough rope to hang myself.
He is BRILLIANT this BULL.
In private, he has dared to call me bombastic!
He hurls invectives at me like there is no tomorrow.
He labels me undisciplined and unreliable!
I am, he says, a personal distraction to him and a blight on our corporate landscape!
(I swear the last time he verbally lambasted me my hand moved ever so resolutely toward my sidearm! I was almost ready to sling it! Unfortunately I had run out of tequila!)
He has threatened me with purging and expulsion from the corporation and has promised me numerous times while writing me up for petty violations, that he will do everything in his power to see that I never get even 1 lousy ISK of my meager capsuleers pension!
(You fucking Bastard! I should have stabbed you in the fucking back last year after you passed out at the corp picnic!)
Forgive that rant your honor but I truly believe the universe would be a better place without this PIRATE.
Please be aware dear judge, that all this "discipline" is done out of earshot of others.
That is an important point to remember your judgeship.
Publicly he holds his tongue, choosing to present to his many minions the impression that he is an "enlightened leader" who only responds in measured terms after careful analysis and consideration of all points of dispute.
PURO PINCHE PEDO!
HOGWASH!
The fucker deserves an academy award for his performance.
(Yes I have some built up resentment. So what. That did not color my actions.)
I vowed that someday, I would force him to show his true colors by calling him out in public.
A dangerous move some would say, but a move I was now prepared to make.
Standing on that rickety unstable squeaky office chair, I was certain, my moment of glory had finally come.
Death to the BULL and death to his confounded MISSION STATEMENT!
CALL OR RAISE?
Would I get any support from the others, given the way Da Bull had cleverly managed to erode my reputation over time.
Would the others rally to the eccentric's defense if things got ugly?
The answer to that question was a resounding NO.
I looked around the room your honor and found myself without moral support.
All my corpies were looking at the light fixtures and whistling.
I was alone in this.
I TOPPLED NOISILY FROM THE CHAIR!
I stood up quickly and attempted to compose myself and regain my dignity your honor.
As I stated above, Da Bull as is his customary modus operandi, was relatively silent, choosing to utter only a few carefully chosen innocuous statements in response to my actions.
"What is wrong Dearest Lhorenzho?", he purred.
You see my dilemna judge?
No. I knew the painful truth.
His "retribution" would be delivered later and in stealth mode, out of earshot of those who he wishes to continue to deceive.
The meeting was adjourned and as we shuffled out of that brightly lit conference room in single file, DA BULL called my name.
"LHORENZHO, will you wait for just a second. This won't take long! By the way, I need you to pick up that chair."
That was 72 hours ago.
And so, here I am dear Judge, in this hellish enclosure, throwing myself on the benevolent mercy of your enlightened court.
That MISSION STATEMENT, like so many other historic writings, some splendid in their inspiration and others not so admirable, has fomented a firestorm in our sector and has in particular impacted my public and private life as a carefree capsuleer.
Can you please help me?
No matter what you ultimately decide to do about dispensing with my case, I implore you to immediately and without haste convene a tribunal to examine and investigate the activities of this BULL character.
As that great ancient earth philosopher Martina Mcbride so eloquently cooed, LET FREEDOM RING!!
Who knows your honor, the next knock you hear may be at your chamber door!
CC - Sue Derpantsoff Esq.
Pator Tech station
Molden Heath
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