Watch this.
I love E3. Please watch this.
2.6.06
D-Day
Be seated.
Men, this stuff that Eve-O alts sling around about goons wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit. Goons love to fight, traditionally. All real Goons love the pew and fofo of battle.
You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your mining alts. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you do not want to play World of Warcraft. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the Vagabond pilots, the toughest boxer, Lowtax, and the All-American football players. Goons love crokite. Goons will not tolerate dark ochre. Goons despise carebears. Goons play to win and make isk all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who was podded and laughed. That's why Goons have never lost nor will ever lose a war we bother to travel to; for the very idea of losing crokite is hateful to a Goon.
You are not all going to die. Only the frigates right here today would be podded in a major battle. Losing implants must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. He probably can't even find his warp disruptor hotkey. If he says he's not afraid, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get scrammed and webbed watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the Rifter who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate fofo.
Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Goons pride themselves on being Bee Men and they ARE Bee Men. Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are faggots.
All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call "mandatory pvp ops where nothing happens." That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to wake up at four am so he can blow up your POS with his dread! There are four hundred neatly marked cargo cans somewhere in Syndicate, all because Swaffer is retarded. But they are Axis of Faggotry cans, because we camped them in before they did it.
A Fleet is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse shit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Eve-O forums don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking! We have the finest forum, the finest zeitgeist, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do.
My men don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command warping out unless he's into structure. Even if you're tackled, you can still fight back. That's not just bull shit either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like Cefte, who, with an interceptor against his chest, jerked off his helmet, jammed the enemy's blasters with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his small autocannon. Then he looted the can and went out and killed another inteceptor before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!
All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Fleet plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every mining op hauler suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a safespot? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one bee in thousands.' But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our Region, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Goddamnit, Goons don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The production men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The freighter is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man with a light blue portrait has a job to do, even the one who accidentally warps ahead of the gang.
Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like Serpentis rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more mining alts. The pvpers will breed more pvpers. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of pvpers. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow setting up a covops warp-in point in the midst of a furious fire fight in Cloud Ring. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'getting 15km behind the enemy, sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned warp has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those HACs strafing the gate bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' Then he closed the convo. Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the markup on covops cloaks.
And you should have seen those miners and haulers warping to S-3 during Kommunist Weekend. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old Miner IIs.
Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.
Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in Goonfleet. I was sponsored in. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans. Someday I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Goonfleet again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Sesfan.' We want to get the hell over there." The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing BoB and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned dreads get all of the credit.
Sure, we want to mine crok. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Outer Ring and Cloud Ring. And when we get to their belts, killing their doods, I am personally going to pod that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch CHON. Just like I'd pod a snake!
When a man is lying in a safespot, if he just stays there all day, a German will probe him out eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't log off in safespots. I don't want them to. Logging off like SK Rooster only slows up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to log off either. Make sure you get points. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the barrels of our guns. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cock suckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.
War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to blow up their tech 2 equipment, or they will blow up yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!
I don't want to get any private convos saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like Tempests through a Hulk; like shit through a tin horn!
From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our newbies too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our bees will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty months from now when you are sitting in GFGBS with your adopted newbie on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great Rings War, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Mentor mined crok for four hours a day and safespotted when hostiles entered system.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Goonfleet and a Son-of-a- Goddamned-Bitch named Sesfan Qu'Lah!'
That is all.
Men, this stuff that Eve-O alts sling around about goons wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit. Goons love to fight, traditionally. All real Goons love the pew and fofo of battle.
You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your mining alts. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you do not want to play World of Warcraft. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the Vagabond pilots, the toughest boxer, Lowtax, and the All-American football players. Goons love crokite. Goons will not tolerate dark ochre. Goons despise carebears. Goons play to win and make isk all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who was podded and laughed. That's why Goons have never lost nor will ever lose a war we bother to travel to; for the very idea of losing crokite is hateful to a Goon.
You are not all going to die. Only the frigates right here today would be podded in a major battle. Losing implants must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. He probably can't even find his warp disruptor hotkey. If he says he's not afraid, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get scrammed and webbed watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the Rifter who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate fofo.
Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Goons pride themselves on being Bee Men and they ARE Bee Men. Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are faggots.
All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call "mandatory pvp ops where nothing happens." That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to wake up at four am so he can blow up your POS with his dread! There are four hundred neatly marked cargo cans somewhere in Syndicate, all because Swaffer is retarded. But they are Axis of Faggotry cans, because we camped them in before they did it.
A Fleet is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse shit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Eve-O forums don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking! We have the finest forum, the finest zeitgeist, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do.
My men don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command warping out unless he's into structure. Even if you're tackled, you can still fight back. That's not just bull shit either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like Cefte, who, with an interceptor against his chest, jerked off his helmet, jammed the enemy's blasters with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his small autocannon. Then he looted the can and went out and killed another inteceptor before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!
All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Fleet plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every mining op hauler suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a safespot? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one bee in thousands.' But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our Region, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Goddamnit, Goons don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The production men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The freighter is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man with a light blue portrait has a job to do, even the one who accidentally warps ahead of the gang.
Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like Serpentis rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more mining alts. The pvpers will breed more pvpers. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of pvpers. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow setting up a covops warp-in point in the midst of a furious fire fight in Cloud Ring. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'getting 15km behind the enemy, sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned warp has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those HACs strafing the gate bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' Then he closed the convo. Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the markup on covops cloaks.
And you should have seen those miners and haulers warping to S-3 during Kommunist Weekend. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old Miner IIs.
Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.
Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in Goonfleet. I was sponsored in. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans. Someday I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Goonfleet again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Sesfan.' We want to get the hell over there." The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing BoB and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned dreads get all of the credit.
Sure, we want to mine crok. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Outer Ring and Cloud Ring. And when we get to their belts, killing their doods, I am personally going to pod that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch CHON. Just like I'd pod a snake!
When a man is lying in a safespot, if he just stays there all day, a German will probe him out eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't log off in safespots. I don't want them to. Logging off like SK Rooster only slows up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to log off either. Make sure you get points. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the barrels of our guns. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cock suckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.
War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to blow up their tech 2 equipment, or they will blow up yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!
I don't want to get any private convos saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like Tempests through a Hulk; like shit through a tin horn!
From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our newbies too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our bees will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty months from now when you are sitting in GFGBS with your adopted newbie on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great Rings War, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Mentor mined crok for four hours a day and safespotted when hostiles entered system.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Goonfleet and a Son-of-a- Goddamned-Bitch named Sesfan Qu'Lah!'
That is all.
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