Transmissions from the Bunker: Status Report
Status Report:
It's the aftermath of Valentine's Day, so it's time to take stock in life. I've got a handful of good mates that I know have my back. It's my "every World War II movie" squad. Scott's the Lt, without all the answers. Then there's Riles, the sniper. You never really know if he's kidding when he says he's going to kill with with an avacado. Then there's Danny-Boy and Conor. They're the two Irish guys in every squad, close as brothers, volatile and worth their weight in gold in a fight. Then there's John, the mechanic. Anything that runs or ran in the last 200 years, he'll have it working again. Then there's DT. He's the Italian guy from New York who won't let you forget it. In spite of the brashness, he's got a good heart and'll cover your back. Then there's Fitz. He's the engineer, ready to take a battery, a tube sock, duct tape, and WD40 and make a thermonuclear weapon. Then there's Dan, the radio man. Knows radios and codes like the back of his hand and works well, if a little frazzled, under pressure. Oh, and Emil, the black guy that has to die in the first five minutes of the movie. Then there's me. I'm the sergeant. I help keep things running smoothly and try to keep everyone from killing each other, and, if we're lucky, completing our objectives. We may be a bunch of nutcases, but I wouldn't trade them for the world.
On the Front:
Romance... wait... I hear about this once in ancient legend.... right? Either I mess up what I have going or I don't have the nads to go for what I want. Either way, it's a losing proposition. To quote Billy Connolly, for me it's always "You're soooo funny. You're my best friend!" But hey, you can't win 'em all. Or even a majority. Or a plurality. Or even a just few. But hell, I'm going to go for it again. If you hear an explosion, that's the Flak 88s of "We're just friends" shredding the fuselage of my P-47 "So, you want to hang out?" Thunderbolt.
Other News:
Risen to command of the Theology Club, so now I can shape it into an effective club to carry out its mission on campus. Readying for the St. Patrick's Day season. Wondering if it is permissible to get a flamethrower to clear the ice on the way to class tomorrow. I was thinking I could put it in the Theology Club's budget as we can multi-task and use it for the 1st Annual Heretic Cookout. We'll see.
Goals:
It's the aftermath of Valentine's Day, so it's time to take stock in life. I've got a handful of good mates that I know have my back. It's my "every World War II movie" squad. Scott's the Lt, without all the answers. Then there's Riles, the sniper. You never really know if he's kidding when he says he's going to kill with with an avacado. Then there's Danny-Boy and Conor. They're the two Irish guys in every squad, close as brothers, volatile and worth their weight in gold in a fight. Then there's John, the mechanic. Anything that runs or ran in the last 200 years, he'll have it working again. Then there's DT. He's the Italian guy from New York who won't let you forget it. In spite of the brashness, he's got a good heart and'll cover your back. Then there's Fitz. He's the engineer, ready to take a battery, a tube sock, duct tape, and WD40 and make a thermonuclear weapon. Then there's Dan, the radio man. Knows radios and codes like the back of his hand and works well, if a little frazzled, under pressure. Oh, and Emil, the black guy that has to die in the first five minutes of the movie. Then there's me. I'm the sergeant. I help keep things running smoothly and try to keep everyone from killing each other, and, if we're lucky, completing our objectives. We may be a bunch of nutcases, but I wouldn't trade them for the world.
On the Front:
Romance... wait... I hear about this once in ancient legend.... right? Either I mess up what I have going or I don't have the nads to go for what I want. Either way, it's a losing proposition. To quote Billy Connolly, for me it's always "You're soooo funny. You're my best friend!" But hey, you can't win 'em all. Or even a majority. Or a plurality. Or even a just few. But hell, I'm going to go for it again. If you hear an explosion, that's the Flak 88s of "We're just friends" shredding the fuselage of my P-47 "So, you want to hang out?" Thunderbolt.
Other News:
Risen to command of the Theology Club, so now I can shape it into an effective club to carry out its mission on campus. Readying for the St. Patrick's Day season. Wondering if it is permissible to get a flamethrower to clear the ice on the way to class tomorrow. I was thinking I could put it in the Theology Club's budget as we can multi-task and use it for the 1st Annual Heretic Cookout. We'll see.
Goals:
- Global Conquest
- Theology Club Growth
- A Good St. Patrick's Day
- Girlfriend
- Pet unicorn
- (Note: Since the last 2 are obviously fictional, don't worry if you don't see progress toward them)