Personal Log. 1st Mate Richard Beck. 03.29.3001.
War is hell. Wish I was there.
I'm stuck on a 2nd class cruiser set out to baby-sit a bunch of hermaphrodite Paath freaks with Captain Dip-Shit calling the shots. I should be on a warship knee deep in the blood and guts of those unholy Arcadians. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be blasting an Arcadian Raptor right now with their entrails splattering across my hull.
The Liberace is a joke. Christ, I had to smuggle in my own personal arsenal. This shit-box only has two forward plasma cannons and aft mine deploys. What's worse is that the officers are only issued stun guns. There isn't a vaporizer in the whole munitions room. Good thing I brought along Betty, Wanda and Bloody Mary. If we get in any kind of scruff, I'll be the only thing between these ass-lickers and annihilation.
After seeing Captain Dip-Shit, I can understand why Admiral Ludwig put me here. That sorry sack of cow vomit couldn't lead us out of a paper bag.
And don't get me started on our security officer. I asked for name and rank and I swear that twit pissed his pants.
Wouldn't mind putting in at that Cretian's space dock though, if you know what I mean. Varook's got legs like a ten year old boy, and a cargo bay worthy of a salute by my little 1st Mate. Ling's quite the looker as well, but talking to her is like pulling in at a Chinese drive-thru restaurant. "You want fwied wice?"
There's something about Captain Dip-Shit's nanny I can't quite figure out though. That Jean Sprat's an odd one. Something very peculiar about him. He's a solid looking man that could probably hold his own in a tussle. Heard he used to be a 1st Mate for the Admiral at one point, but had an altercation with a damn dirty alien. That's probably what it is. I've seen it before. Sometimes war can knock a screw loose from even the strongest soldier. I'll bet Sprat still has some balls left in him though.
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