Goonhub
08-28-2017, 06:36 AM
Strewth! This vendo sells Donkets! I thought it was only an urban legend told by jackass Heads to make us Assistants look like assholes when they'd steal all the Donks! Huh. Guess they were right. Still, screw them for taking my Donks.
Whoever hacked this machine into vending Donks is the real MVC. Probably an Assistant. Man, Assistants rule.
I swipe my ID, punch in my PIN, and fill every available slot in my inventory with dee-hee-hee-licious Donk Pockets. Then I vend out two more and, before dining upon the perfected breakfast, brunch, and dinner of skags, weens, and wannabees, I toast them to a perfect golden-brown in the radiant heat of my burning flesh. Yum yum, goddamn I love the taste of activated instant omnizine. Luxury Lenny sure knows how to incentivize their customers to consume their products in accordance with manufacturer intent, thus preventing Advertizing from getting pissed off about how reality doesn't bend to their will or something.
Man I should really think about putting myself out. If spacemen could feel pain in any consistent manner, this'd probably sting a bit. It's weird, I could be completely engulfed in flames and standing inside of a Combustion Chamber burning hotter than the bluest of supergiants, yet my jumpsuit would be untouched, my stupid flowing teal locks would look just as rockin' as when I woke up that morning in the cloner, and all the while able to have a calm chat with the Engineer about their day in my brief moment of consciousness. I swear, space does things to people.
I feel the omnizine flowing through the boiling arteries beneath my crispy, crackly, charcoaly skin, diffusing to the surface in a frantic attempt to graft back on what continues to slough off, only feeding more fuel to the fire. The burst, hemorrhaging, mutilated mass in my eyesocket knits back together into a blind, space-filling, creamy-white orb. Gonna need some Orange-Aid.
For a moment, I consider putting myself out with the extinguisher I picked up for exactly this situation. Nah. I'd just catch fire again. Plus, I haven't heard a peep from the Nuclear Bomb Has Been Activated alarm, so chances are, by now, this shift'll be over in a few minutes anyway.
Superlagg [145.9] asks, "Hey medbay, did you catch that vampire yet?"
Heh.
Oh yeah!
Superlagg [145.9] asks, "Throw off the shackles of communism that bind you to a lifetime of indentured servitude under a degreeless authority what promises nothing and delivers even less. Under Anarchy, you are truly free; no masters, no Heads, no laws to oppress nor currency to segregate. You are exactly who you are and nothing less, with nobody to punish you for failing to repressurize the podbay or growing explosive fruit. Don't you deserve that, after all you've been through?"
Almost forgot to continue that dumb anarchy thread. Phew!
I head toward Escape and chill as I burn.
Whoever hacked this machine into vending Donks is the real MVC. Probably an Assistant. Man, Assistants rule.
I swipe my ID, punch in my PIN, and fill every available slot in my inventory with dee-hee-hee-licious Donk Pockets. Then I vend out two more and, before dining upon the perfected breakfast, brunch, and dinner of skags, weens, and wannabees, I toast them to a perfect golden-brown in the radiant heat of my burning flesh. Yum yum, goddamn I love the taste of activated instant omnizine. Luxury Lenny sure knows how to incentivize their customers to consume their products in accordance with manufacturer intent, thus preventing Advertizing from getting pissed off about how reality doesn't bend to their will or something.
Man I should really think about putting myself out. If spacemen could feel pain in any consistent manner, this'd probably sting a bit. It's weird, I could be completely engulfed in flames and standing inside of a Combustion Chamber burning hotter than the bluest of supergiants, yet my jumpsuit would be untouched, my stupid flowing teal locks would look just as rockin' as when I woke up that morning in the cloner, and all the while able to have a calm chat with the Engineer about their day in my brief moment of consciousness. I swear, space does things to people.
I feel the omnizine flowing through the boiling arteries beneath my crispy, crackly, charcoaly skin, diffusing to the surface in a frantic attempt to graft back on what continues to slough off, only feeding more fuel to the fire. The burst, hemorrhaging, mutilated mass in my eyesocket knits back together into a blind, space-filling, creamy-white orb. Gonna need some Orange-Aid.
For a moment, I consider putting myself out with the extinguisher I picked up for exactly this situation. Nah. I'd just catch fire again. Plus, I haven't heard a peep from the Nuclear Bomb Has Been Activated alarm, so chances are, by now, this shift'll be over in a few minutes anyway.
Superlagg [145.9] asks, "Hey medbay, did you catch that vampire yet?"
Heh.
Oh yeah!
Superlagg [145.9] asks, "Throw off the shackles of communism that bind you to a lifetime of indentured servitude under a degreeless authority what promises nothing and delivers even less. Under Anarchy, you are truly free; no masters, no Heads, no laws to oppress nor currency to segregate. You are exactly who you are and nothing less, with nobody to punish you for failing to repressurize the podbay or growing explosive fruit. Don't you deserve that, after all you've been through?"
Almost forgot to continue that dumb anarchy thread. Phew!
I head toward Escape and chill as I burn.