Thu, 01/28/2010 — Rev. Ragu
My Darling Henrietta,
How I miss you, my sweet; your hazel eyes, the feel of your lips as we kiss, the warmth of your stomach as we lay together, all the love we made on bright and moonlit nights. It is, quite simply, hell to be here, so far away from you. We've been camped out in this city for a week now, this unnamed city in the border regions of Blue Moon, painting buildings red, red, the colour of my allegiance, the colour of my blood. My dearest Henrietta, I remember your tear-streaked face as you held yourself to my chest, begging me to reconsider my decision to enlist, and I now wonder if you might have been right. I joined this fight thinking myself to be doing the right thing, for love of country and love of you, and how I would give anything to protect both you and it. Ah, but I was so young then; perhaps my patriotism was only the young man's need for adventure, excitement, for glory and honour and all that nonsense. Here I am now, my uniform stained with mud and blood; both my own and of others, my face drawn, my body in perpetual readiness despite the sheer exhaustion from the sleep I could not get even if I was allowed. We hear the rumbling of tanks, the exploding of shells, and with each great roar of battle an inevitably agonizing silence follows. In the suffocating stillness our minds fill in the blanks, of all the dead men, the injured writhing in agony, machines lying smouldering and their occupants rent to dust. Maybe we'll be next.
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Mon, 12/05/2005 — Usagi
It is the resolution of the Andore Seven that the incumbent government of Portugal is no longer fit to rule. Recent months have seen it revealed as a bungling shambles responsible for numerous unconscionable violations of basic human rights and international law, including but not limited to:
- Use of demon-summoning rock mages, banned since 1954
- Pseudo-random movement of fighting units in demilitarised zones
- Seizure of the summon points of civilians to fund military expansion above and beyond the 180 units permitted under the Hague laws
- The internment of foreign nationals inside various indistinct terrain elements (trees, boulders, irregularly positioned red brick walls)
These grave infractions have left the Andore Seven with no choice but to formally declare Bokosuka War on the nation of Portugal. There is no longer any possibility of a Bokosuka Peaceful Resolution in this matter and we will not rest until the despot King Portugal flees antlike before our mighty conglomerated form and his bleak and inky land stretches liberated behind us.
In the name of the Bokosuka War Effort, I, Usagi, vow to go to the left a bit, wobble erratically for several seconds, then head rapidly down to the Southern extremity of the theatre of operations, where I shall remain for an indefinite period. This is my example to those who will follow.
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Sat, 07/10/2004 — Sak
I'm from the cultural bastion of egalitarianism and autonomous thought - the southern Midwest. Home of corn, bad food, and not much else. It's where reformationist politics and inbreeding amalgamate, and the most progressive person beside myself is Mayor Jonathan Fairweather, of Decatur, Illinois, who believes that, "maybe Social Security ain't such a bad thing at all. Maybe." In case you haven't heard, apparantly our country's fine young cannibals youth are stationed in a country known as Iraq (forgive me if this is all old hat to you, news doesn't travel quick throughout Missouri, Kansas, and Illinois).
It all seems a bit suspect to me, if I do say so myself. An exercise in futility, to be sure, and a blatant disregard for life on both sides of the Atlantic. A few year back, I was having a chat with prominent Kingdom City, Missouri radio personality "Mucky" Huckson, however, I was told that I'd, and I'm paraphrasing here, never know the joys of what it's like to serve my country in its time of desperation. I'm not sure exactly what desperation Mucky was talking about, or even if he was just making stuff up, or perhaps he's just clouded in a veil of Straussian-like ignorance, but he did get one thing right - as a conscientious objector (which, around here, usually adopts the more casual synonym of "pussy"), I'll never know what it's like to serve my country - but I'll be damned if I can't simulate a close aproximation of it using the most technologically advanced equipment available in the Midwest today - MAME. I wasn't going to let some cornfed, muckracking demagogue back me into a corner. I told Huckson to go back to reading the Farmer's Almanac, because I enrolled in Konami's Combat School, baby.
The training one receives at Konami's Combat School is not unlike the work one does at the U.S. army bootcamp, however the nine weeks of grueling physical labor and mental enervation are replaced with controller-tapping repetition such that a flaneur, not unlike myself, can accessibly participate in. Okay, so in other words, Konami's Combat School isn't like basic training. At all. This doesn't stop Combat School from not being Combat School, after all, this isn't your run-of-the-mill pansy-weight division prep school or, God forbid, a university - this is Konami's Combat School, and they do not take shit from anyone. With alumni bearing credentials like the destruction of an entire alien race (uh, hello? Lance and Bill from Contra, people.), and a faculty consisting of not one, but two Belmonts, you're obviously not being trained to stand around with your dick in your hand.