You Can't Cheat the Reaper

          I have to apologize to all of my wonderful viewers for not keeping up with the blog to much as of late. After all I know those of you like Lucas that have no lives must be very saddened by the lack of maddening disaster filled entries. I however have found myself with a few extra minutes before I pass out from boredom so I thought I'd regale you all with a few tales of what has been going on around essence lately.
         The past few weeks have seen the rapid decline as I see it, of my beloved Black Rebel Rifter Club. Even my good friends, Lucas and John, as odd and dysfunctional they may be have decided to part ways with the corp leaving me utterly alone and quite saddened by my newfound lack of people to go kill shit with. This naturally left me in a rather sour mood, so I thought to myself, "Why not go kill nubs to satisfy my now gaping emotional emptiness". And set off to kill them I did.
        It was a rather unproductive day as I recall and the slow flow of targets did nothing to assuage my anger at John for becoming a null bear and Lucas a dirty tusker the day before! On top of that, the application I submitted to Shadow Cartel had been denied on the sole reason of my low SP (this did not sit well with me at all, I think corps should accept on skill and facts rather than paper statistics, but hey I'm just a 11m Sp nub right?). The day had not been kind to me at all. So after a little bit of milling around the station and pouting in my room of pilfered valuables from blapped mining vessels, I couldn't sit in the hangar any longer. I had to get out and at least do something productive.
        As I undocked I casually warped off to a safe spot in space and cloaked up. Nothing presented itself immediately so I pulled out the newest addition of Pirate weekly and began reading the editorials and about how everyone hated the Venture more than ever. This did not surprise me in the least. With a +2 warp core strength the could even slip out of the clutches of all but the most specialized tackling ships. With a ship as illusive as this a competent pilot could avoid all but the worst of situations. But as many people in the EVE universe know, there is a key word here, competent, and most of the pilots around here (John being a prime example) dear reader are the exact opposite of competent.
        Not long after I finished laughing at the miserable failures of my flashy colleagues, speak of the devil, a venture appeared on scans. I quickly narrowed him down to a belt and warped in to end his misery of shooting space rocks for isk. I found him about 30km off me so I decided I'd get a little closer so I could spam his comms with demotivational gifs as my furious torpedoes reduced his ship to what it should be at all times, a floating pile of scrap metal. I prepared myself for glorious battul and decloaked and locked up the poor bastard. I could practically visualize the unsuspecting miner staring at his overview like a deer in headlights as his shields melted away. Trust me if you've never experienced that feeling before you haven't lived yet, or you're just a bear that likes rock mining like John.
        At any rate, I digress, as the torpedoes smashed his rickety vessel to pieces he managed to get a lucky align time and warped out in structure. The bastard not only escaped but also proceeded to troll me in local as he considered himself elite for having escaped me by the skin of his teeth. Threatening to return and kill me with a larger ship, I warmly welcomed him to try his luck and come on back. He promptly turned tail and ran. Much to my surprise however he did return with a Corax class destroyer which did worry me a little as the dps could in theory melt my bomber if light  missiles were fit. After even more smack talk he left again. Now he was going to die in a fire. No one pisses me off and lives. So I made it the days goal to go and kill him as well as his pod.
          I lurked around Adirain a little while longer and even ventured out a few jumps to see what else might be out there. and just like usual, there was pretty much nothing. Then the unthinkable happened. The little shit that made me death threats was spotted by one of my associates in the Lisbaetanne Solar System. Time to die mother fucker. I made all haste to his last known location and found a very satisfying sight. It seems my little friend had taken his destroyer into a belt and gotten in a little over his head with the rats that were quickly melting away his shields. I had been looking forward to this all day long. I decloaked and savored every second like a drug as I pointed the poor fool. Now to have a little fun. I decided the most hilarious way to make him die would be to let the rats get him into hull and then pop him with one last volley. I trolled him very flagrantly over local chat and after many healthy lolz decided it was time to end his sorry existence. I promptly fired all weapons and opened a hailing frequency for my oh so sweet victory yodel. Seeing the blue explosion of his little destroyer was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in days.
          The sound of his hull buckling as his cabin depressurized was unlike any other. There's simply no simulated sound that could ever be half as exciting. After looting his wreck and loling like a baus at him I returned to my cabin, victorious. You can't cheat the reaper bitch.

Into Shadow

           Today was a good day, I thought to myself as I lounged on my *new* sofa. Yes, due to my recent tyrannical actions I have managed to acquire sever new assets including but not limited to, several new corpses, a new cooler, a new sofa, and a nice piece of scrap metal that almost reminds me of Seth Rogan's face. I had also acquired several cases of booze and some strippers clinging to space wreckage floating around the wreck of Nosta's Ishkur. Thats a double win. So once again I sat down and recollected the crazy events of the evening.
         And well....... shit........ I'm tired as fuck. Long story short we got blobbed on a roam, all died while I loled many lolz cloaked. Then I went and 4v1ed some nubs. Ill fucking explain it tomorrow or something.

A man and his torpedoes

         It's been a slow few nights around Essence so I really have not had much reason to log anymore entries into this battle log. However in light of my spare time, napping in my cloaked bomber making everyone feel unsafe, I have began to ponder on what it truly means to be a cutthroat pirate. It's simply a life that's not cut out for everyone (even if collecting carebear tears is the most satisfying occupation I've had).
       As I sat down on my couch and popped open a coke (I ran out of booze because of all the free time and the fact that Nostra's ability to ship any in with the loss of about 12 ships has prevented him from shipping any in) I began to ponder one unlucky Venture pilot who was on the wrong side of my torpedoes yesterday. I had tracked him through several belts, slowly taking my time while positioning myself for the perfect ambush. There's not quite any more satisfying feeling in the world than watching the carebear in his natural habitat, alone in a belt with no rats, shooting space rocks. I could practically hear the poor unsuspecting fool at his controls, using his hands as guns making cool shooting sounds at the rocks.
      Pew! Pew! I had to laugh at myself as I saw the mining lasers fire up and I knew the time was right. I decloaked and savored that oh shit! moment that follows a carebear seeing a flashy red icon appear on his monitors out of nowhere. I spammed the poor fool with demotivational posters in local as my warp disruptor (even if it was a wasted gesture) attempted to knock the the warp drive out of operation. Wasting no time I went to hit the fire button and all of the sudden time stopped and I had an epiphany. Was the regret I was feeling in my stomach? I mean after all this death and killing had I even pondered the meaning of life and death? Oh, wait, that was just indigestion creeping up on me. And then the torpedoes began to fly and were soon enveloped in the wonderful (Ventures make the most satisfying explosions) color of light and shrapnel.
     I have to remind myself not to eat tacos before I go out to  kill shit. Oh and I almost forgot: Note to self BITCH SLAP Captain John Crichton for being a flip floppity homo fag for leaving me alone in R1fta. But I digress, there is no need to feel remorse for bears as a staunch pirate. A man needs only one relationship in his life. Those between him and his wonderful torpedoes.