Tuesday, November 29, 2011
(Warning: gratuitous expletives and quasi stream of consciousness shit below)
I don’t know if it is apparent from the tone of my recent blog postings, but I am having a grand time flying and raising hell with the upstart Black Rebel Rifter Club, the brainchild and creation of renowned New Eden pilot Miura Bull.
Whoever coined the ancient phrase “motley crew” deserves a fucking prize for clairvoyance because he clearly had the BRRC in mind. It is a corporation whose makeup will remind you of your favorite aunt’s mysterious but delicious stew. If your dear aunt is anything like mine her “surprise” stew is a concoction bursting with flavor because it has a pinch of this a smidgen of that and a cupful of whatever.
“Keep stirring mijo”, my dear Tia Chalupa used to tell me.
“It will come together and surprise you. Andale!”
She called her stew “Caballo Sorpresa*”.
Remember Lencho (her nickname for me) she would whisper to me in her most serious voice, “Each ingredient standing alone may seem ordinary and bland but when lovingly combined they suddenly coalesce and transform into a tangy, spicy and very savory treat. Toss in that horse tail quick!”
She could be very professorial sounding. God Bless her!
“Gracias tia. Quiero Mas!!” (For my gringo readers please note this means I WANT MORE!)
The culinary analogy above is the essence of the BRRC.
E. pluribus Unum. From many one!! (Where have I seen that phrase?)
At over 90 members strong and growing, it is clear that Uncle Miura intends to keep adding to his version of the secret recipe for cooking up a killer corp. This group is quickly making an impact in our sector. They are efficient killers, clever and resourceful pilots and they are at times incomprehensibly hard to understand due to their wild card nature. They are collectively the Eve version of a spice rack laden with exotic varieties and Miura Bull is the chef with no qualms about applying them liberally to his corporate stew.
If you dare to walk the corridors of our headquarters in Heild (make sure the lights are on!) you will be struck by the diversity of the personality types you encounter.
You will see urbane, slick ladies men with coiffed meticulously waxed mustaches, stodgy and serious minded bean counters with portable calculating devices hanging from their belts, menacing homicidal hombres with dark brooding eyes and bloody knives in their scabbards, family men with young children playing at their feet, impressive one man think tanks with encyclopedic knowledge of piloting minutiae in their heads, orphaned unstable snot nosed youngsters looking to make a name for themselves, serial abusers of banned substances, whiskey swilling drunkards, purged rejects from other corporations, psychotic man-raping parolees, prison escapees, and nefarious practitioners of every sordid activity imaginable. Sometimes the above traits come packaged in one body!
Despite the broad spectrum of personality types chronicled above there is nonetheless a common trait present in all of them. A life view they share. That view is encapsulated in a two word phrase.
That is their answer to whatever challenges the murderously dangerous and foreboding Eve universe may present. It’s their calling card and reflects their attitude about everything! You gotta love these little bastards!
Admittedly, there are times when I question my own sanity in joining such an outlandishly unpredictable group. These fuckers have not hesitated to pop each other in the past.
The corporate issued protective flak jackets and vests we don prior to undocking are meant as much to enhance survivability in our own corporation as they are to protect us from outsiders. There is no guarantee that you will come back in one piece when you embark on any excursion with these blokes. You are just as likely to get popped by one of these dudes as you are to be blown to bits by the enemy! People often ask me why I am so concerned about being able to see my fleet mates in my overview. It is not for the reasons you may suspect I assure you. I have to keep tabs on those putos!!
You always make sure you know in which direction a “loose cannon” is pointing. Of course, this added uncertainty only heightens the excitement. We pirates do thrive on and love excitement right?
That is why we hate the “CAREBEAR”. They have sold out. They are the antithesis of what we represent. They want comfort, security and shelter, amenities that we shun and have learned to do without.
You can have that life.
The Carebear wants certainty and predictability and is unsettled and knocked off balance by the irreverent mindset and unstructured lifestyle of a REBEL. Sorry assed hulk flying muppets!! Grow a pair!!
There are some in the Universe who have never learned to say and indeed will never bring themselves to say FUCK IT!! Who wants to live like that? Die on your feet or live on your knees.
When I slide my corpulent carcass** into the seat of my venerable Rifter, I always say a short prayer to the gods of New Eden for I know full well that the trip back in formation with my “CORPIES” may be the time when I am most in danger. My palms are ALWAYS sweaty when I finally dock up in our home station. Yet, I cannot see myself flying with any other bunch. Damn you Rebels!!
Why would this harrowing existence on the edge be appealing to anyone you might ask? Are you some kind of masochist Lhorenzho?
Have any of you ever seen the old Earth show “Fatal Attractions”? (check your captains quarters video database you fucking couch potatoes)
Some people are born with a bizarre fetish to have something acutely dangerous and potentially lethal nearby. We need to feel alive at all times. A close association with potential peril is our ticket to happiness. The term often used is adrenalin junkies. I am sure there is an element of that in all the Rebels.
I am the fool who insists on living in a two room hovel with a hungry 600 pound man-eating Siberian tiger clone. I am the foster parent who agrees to “mentor” a convicted double axe murderer and his twin. I am the 400 pound*** man who climbs 10 feet up his rickety wood ladder to reach that last Twinkie on the top shelf of his pantry (look out below!!!).
During a recent roam we had a young pilot who was contemplating joining our corporation ask us if he could tag along. It was quickly apparent that he was appalled and taken aback at the attitude and “operating procedures” of our R1fta pilots.
He was concerned about losing his ship and the cost of his modules.
FUCK IT! There are more where those came from! Move it vato!
He was worried about the risk/reward ratios.
FUCK IT! The risk IS the reward silly! Quit dawdling!
He was concerned about the lack of planning and the ad hoc nature of the group. FUCK IT! We hate analysis paralysis dude. Warp in NOW pendejo!
He wanted to know who the FC was.
FUCK IT! There ain’t one. We don’t need no stinking FC! Press on cabron!.
He wanted to hang back and make sure he had complete “situational awareness”.
FUCK IT!! You will be aware when the situation hits you in the face! Step on it fool!
He asked about force multipliers and questioned our fleet composition.
FUCK IT! Da Rifta is all ya need man. Get on with it!!
He questioned our zeal to surge forward without fully knowing what was waiting for us at the belt.
FUCK IT! We will know when we get there! Prime your guns ese!!!
I could hear the confusion and disappointment in his voice. He could not fathom how we were operating. He claimed he was “experienced” and even gently boasted that we could not catch him if we were ever to hunt him. He dropped some jargon that implied he was a strategist and a tactician. He sounded like a veritable mini Von Clausewitz. Sun Tzu had nothing on this kid. Yet, I instantly recognized that he would have difficulty fitting in with our group. Thank God recruitment was closed.
Flying with guys like Zodiac Black and DARKSTAR POWNYOUALL is proof that PvP fortune really does favor the brave. Their aggressive actions and play style add credibility to Lenin’s adage that you thrust forward with your sword first and then adjust depending on whether you meet mush or steel!
I could not imagine the kid on our roam “ride along” ever mustering up the courage or the will to say FUCK IT!
That’s how this Rebel bunch rolls.
I would not have it any other way nor would any of my BRRC brethren.
Yes, they all have my grudging admiration. They are a unique brand of pilots.
They are a scary bunch and make me nervous when I haven’t had my courage bolstered with double shots of whiskey but I have learned to deal with my apprehension around these vatos. I need my adrenaline rush.
*My aunt kept a stomach pump on the premises
**Is there a Jenny Craig Clone in New Eden?
***Seeking contact information to the EVE version of “The biggest loser”