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.