Many of EVE’s greatest moments are the result of incredible minds planning and executing complex plans. Amazing fleet doctrines and flawless logistical networks orchestrated in symphonic perfection, raining death upon the unfortunate. These moments are the stuff of legend and pilots and non-pilots alike avidly read every detail. My fellow writers here at EN 24 bring you these tales of galactic conflict with professionalism and panache’.
Other members of this fraternity of the pen (ok, keyboard), offer in depth evaluations of the complex mechanics and mathematics which are at the heart of EVE. Charts, graphs, and equations peel back the pixelated veil and help each of us better prepare ourselves for whatever form of conflict we engage in, be it by auto-cannon, mining laser, or market order.
EVE is one of the gaming world’s most cerebral games and the members of the EVE Online media are in my humble opinion some of the sharpest tools in the shed; and then there’s me. I have a post-it note on my screen to remind me how the mouse works. EVE for me, means a fifth of Jim Beam and a jar of sweet pickles. Some of my best moments in EVE are buried in my mind under a pile of vanquished brain cells. I want to high light the other side of EVE, my side, the dark seething underbelly of the galaxy. I want your stories of glorious shame. The crazy tales of plan’s that “Seemed like a good idea” at the time.
I’ll start the ball rolling with my own high/low point. A few buddies and I were running a gate camp in WD-VTV. We had a handful of frigates and a couple cruiser hovering around some anchored warp disruption bubbles looking for easy kills and waiting for the inevitable fleet to send us running and screaming. By this point in the evening I was pretty well hammered and the combination of too much bourbon and a prostate the size of a moon, had me squirming in my seat. It was rapidly becoming a question of where I was going to piss rather than when. My besotted brain search for a solution. I knew the moment I stepped away from the key board an invading hoard hostiles would fall upon us and I did not want to let my comrades down. Then inspiration struck like a 1400 arty. Earlier in the day I had consumed a delicious bottle of Gatorade to wash down a bucket of fried chicken. Where my wife would see trash, I saw a convenient portable urinal. Standing up, I prepared to empty my bladder. The heavens opened up and angels sang as I transferred by the Gatorade I had warmed to a steaming 98 degrees. It was pure bliss and my drunken brain was smiling smugly at its genius. Then the empty space in the bottle started reaching alarming levels of smallness. Panic now kicked smugness right I the balls and I watched in powerless terror. The good Lord loves idiots and fools (that’s why there are so many of us) and my bladder held just a few drops less that the capacity of the bottle. I screwed the top back on and returned my focus to staring dully at the gate. Shortly thereafter the anticipated fleet arrived and I was exploded and podded with savage efficiency. The darkness over took me and I shuffled my old ass off to bed.
Bright and early the next morning I was back at my keyboard seeking to soothe my pride, wounded at the hands of a more potent combat force. Of course there is no better way to forget a combat loss than by bathing in the blood of an unarmed miner. I set out in search of some poor toothless prey upon which I could vent my frustration. A few of my buddies joined in and we were having a good time. As we wandered around Catch, I gorged myself a capsuleer’s breakfast of Doritos, some random cheese from the refrigerator, and a jar of olives. It was a great way to start the day, made even better by a cool swig of Gatorade. . . . Holy Hell that’s PISS! There was a cruel evil moment in between relishing the thought of Gatorade and recoiling at the reality of a mouthful of urine, during which I wasn’t sure what I had in my mouth. It is truly horrifying how similar Gatorade is to a drunk’s piss and my brain struggled to process just what to do. Looking back I am sure this inner turmoil took only a fraction of a second but at the time it seemed a neon yellow eternity. Once full realization had set in, I jumped from the keyboard and rushed to the bathroom to spew the contents of my mouth into the toilet. There is not enough toothpaste in existence to scrub clean my soiled oral cavity but I sure as hell tried. My wife would later remark at the curious speed at which we had gone through the toothpaste but I stayed mute on the subject.
To my corp-mates and now to you, I have been more forthcoming, mainly because I don’t plan on kissing any of you and more importantly, because I know some of you will understand. I know this universe we share is full of fellow reprobates and degenerates. Send me your stories so that I may share them with the universe. For those out there who prefer to remain anonymous I will respect your privacy and use a nomme de plume of your choosing.
Your Drinking Buddy,
Rupert Foulmouth
