Warning: this topic has not been posted in for at least 10 days.
Unless you're sure you want to reply, please consider starting a new topic. ...Oh I'm sure!You are staring through an open window of a large barn while sentry fire and fiery flames surround the ambient air. In the distance you hear the seductive and cinching voice of a women "The enemy has dropped your intelligence" you think to yourself...Do I feel less intelligent?!?!?! (Don't lie you know this has crossed your mind at least once...and if it hasn't...it sure as hell will now) You peer in and see that the coast is clear and that it appears that no defenses remain within the confines of the enemy Intel room, but you are not some n00b-e, you have no intentions of going off half-cocked and rushing in only to be annihilated by some fat ass wielding a tomislav or be frozen in time by one of those pesky sunvabitch icikill hustling operatives.
You make another pass around the barn to assess the situation from all angles...you corner hug and peer over to catch even the slightest sound of a sentry acknowledging your existence. You listen and attempt to pull out the gentle hum of a dispenser in use. None to be detected...still alone and now feeling confident you slide into the wooden structure and begin the ascension to the back stable...not really a stable, but hell this is a barn we are talking about. In reality it is more like a back office, but you find it silly that the stable-hand was entrusted with this confidential material and that he opening leaves it spinning precariously above his desk...like he is trying to mock and boast that his shanty is an impenetrable fortress. You ponder the word fortress for a bit...something about the word just has you feeling nostalgic...then you remember that you have more pressing matters at hand and your glorious goal and victory lay just beyond your eyes.
Grabbing the stall door and with rogue like stealth you pry it open without even the slightest of sound. you think to yourself "This guy runs a tight ship...even the doors are properly greased...we need more people like this on our side" you hear a rustle in the stall next to you...you whip around and are almost certain that your death is at hand. No, you're wrong jackass, it is only a small animal that has no intentions or foresight to realize that your uniform differs from the rightful residence of this established base. (It also helps that the animal is color blind) Returning to the mission you stride forth to claim the prize and to your amazement you are but seconds late...you quickly realize...
There is no Intelligence...
You don't look cool in your hat...
You have wasted countless dollars on digital items that have almost no meaning at all and will fade faster than a yellow rain poncho left outside in the hot sun during the summer season...
There is only 1 thing of even more importance in this room...and you won't get your hands on it.
You would have to pry it from his cold dead fingers.
The room goes Black
But in reality you have just been knocked the fuck out...your trolling is over buddy, and maybe next time you will stop and think before go off on a rambling nonsense of a novel while holding your mic open.
I'm back!
...and as you can clearly see I have picked up my hammer, and I aint building no fucking barn with it either.
I now nominate myself for two awards...
Best re-entrance to administrative status in CG history.
Most unproductive day at work award.
Being serious now...I am very happy to return and I hope that you are too.
but good luck bro.
