I, Brother-Sergeant Kollon, of the Imperial Fists have been attached to the Angry Marine Chapter. In my first week training with our brothers, I had the privilege, of sorts, to encounter none other than their chapter’s Reclusiarch, Mofo. After completing the morning firing rights alongside the Angry Marines, I made for the closest lavatory to relieve myself before battle practice began. The firing rites, as dictated by the Codex Astartes, involve squads honing their skills with ranged weaponry. While my fellow Astartes of the Imperial Fists attained perfect accuracy and precision with our bolters and sniper rifles, our less restrained Battle-Brothers spent most of the time missing their targets with the few bolters they had on hand. After expending his ammunition, each marine would charge down the firing lane to smash the pristine target with his bolter, his hands, and anything else within reach. We began to suspect that this non-codex treatment of ranged weaponry was the cause of the shortage of bolters in the Angry Marines’ armory aboard the Litany of Litany’s Litany.
I had deactivated and removed the appropriate sections of my power-armor, noticing the raised dais in the center of the lavatory chamber about which all the commodes faced. Many print copies of the legendary Codex Astartes lay upon this dais, and I found it odd that the Angry Marines would partake in the custom of reading while relieving oneself like so many of the Imperium’s cultures do. I had just sat down upon one of the commodes along the bulkhead when Reclusiarch Mofo entered the chamber.
He wore his full set of armor, not even having removed his helm. He is larger than the average Space Marine, and carried his signature Crozius, Fag-Basher. It is platinum, and shaped like a great fist holding an Imperial Aquila token with the middle finger extended.
The Reclusiarch tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of my presence and sat himself down upon a commode near the one I was seated upon. I quickly expelled the contents of my bowel, and experienced another tortured minute while the Reclusiarch violently did the same with much loud swearing and oath making. It was then that I realized that the commodes in this lavatory did not have a bidet function like most toilets of the modern Imperium. I had just turned to ask the Reclusiarch how his Chapter went about cleansing themselves when I saw him reach out to one of the copies of the Codex Astartes. He opened it, and Emperor preserve us all, ripped a page from it, and began cleaning his backside! I cried out,
"This…THIS IS HERESY!!"
The Reclusiarch became a blur, a lightning strike of motion. Instantly his crozius was alight in his hand, its power field sending blue energy flicking out from its surface. “HERESY!!! WHERE!!?? WHERE IS THERE HERESY, YOU FISTFUCK ARSE-STRUMMER!!??,” he shouted at max vox amp. He stood there, his head rapidly scanning the entire room for any sign of heresy, with the soiled page of Guilliman’s life’s work still wedged in his backside. It was the most astonishing sight I have ever seen in my centuries of service, and before my gen-enhanced senses could even register it, he had planted Fag-Basher in the bulkhead just centimeters from my head. “DON’T FUCKIN’ STARTLE ME LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING CUNTBREATHED, PISS-ENCRUSTED, ARSEWART!!!!!!” he roared right in my face. Mofo then turned back to his toilet, and angrily finished cleaning himself with the torn codex page. He closed his armor, and ripped Fag-Basher back out of the wall causing me to duck. As he walked through the portal to the lavatory, he turned and shouted, “BATTLE PRACTICE STARTS IN THREE MINUTES FUCKFACE, SO BREAK IT OFF AND GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!!! IF YOU’RE LATE, I’M GONNA REPLACE ALL OF THIS TOILET PAPER,” as he gestured to the copies of the Codex Astartes “WITH YOUR HANDS!!!”
He then stormed down the hallway, leaving me stunned on the toilet. I looked at the copies of the Codex Astartes, a holy work written by the Emperor’s own loyal son and the basis for everything I have lived my long life for as a Space Marine. I had the choice of defacing the codex, or undergoing the foulest penance I had ever been threatened with. This was only the first week of a decades long deployment with this Chapter!! Had the Emperor abandoned me?
Thought for the Day: Heresy must be met with hatred.
The planet of Tertius Gamma was besieged by mutants of Chaos, the insipidness of which had never been before seen in this sector of space. The furry abominations, committing the hideous blasphemy of wearing sacred power armor as if in service to the God-Emperor, had been leveling city after city for days. And now… they had advanced upon the capitol city, the last bastion of humanity.
However, little did anyone realize that the incursion had been noticed by one of the greatest Chapters of all Space Marines — whose mighty Battle Barge was even now entering orbit around the planet — the Angry Marines.
“GODDAMMIT, WHY AREN’T WE ON THE GROUND YET?" screamed an armored visage. What remained of his face, had been twisted recognizably by sheer rage.
“Sir, we can’t enter the atmosphere that quickly, we’d burn u-" The voice of the Servitor was cut short as he was crushed beneath the sheer weight of the Marine’s armor as he jumped into the pilot terminal.
Thus, the Battle Barge, the Litany of Litany’s Litany, began its screaming descent towards the besieged planet.
All the while, a cacophony of sickly sounds continued to permeate from the murky planet below.
”Yiff… yiff… yiff… yiff…"
It was maddening; sufficiently so that any lesser man would have taken his own life. But it had no effect on the stalwart Marines of rage save to infuriate them like never before.
At the same time (and unknown to their brethren on the first Battle Barge, or vice versa), a second Battle Barge of the Chapter, the Maximum FUCK, hovered at the ready directly over the capital city. Upon it, poised the payload of Adeptus Astartes Angry Marines, prepared to make planetfall.
Captain Temperus of the 3rd Company watched and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens showing a wave of mutants overrunning the planetary defense force positions. He felt his blood boil as he looked upon the livery adorning their armor, their mockery of everything they stood for. Their faces were an abomination. The heretical glee, visible on their faces even from space, angered the Brother Captain even moar.
The comms-servant gave a silent nod, and although it seemed as though he hadn’t seen it, Temperus was well aware. It was time— but he hadn’t the patience for any conventional strike, this time.
“CUNT SNIFFING FAGGOT MOTHERFUCKERS!" He bellowed with rage. With the full force of his forehead, Captain Temperus struck the large red button on the console in front of him, destroying it in the process. Great shields on the side of the Battle Barge turned into place over the front of the craft, forming a giant battering ram shaped like a middle finger.
The Maximum FUCK began its nose-first descent into the atmosphere.
The fighting around the capitol city grew more and more fierce. The furred mutants were sending their numbers to die beneath the walls of the city; each one attempting to use their bladed weapon to try and chip away at the hardened rockcrete. At first the defenders jeered at their foolhardiness. But as more corpses piled around the walls, the more precarious became the city’s chances.
“Keep up that heavy bolter fire!" the Commissar screamed over the din of the gun placements.
”Bring up the flamers! Show these abominations the cleansing power of The Emperor!”
Just then a Servitor scuttled up to the Commissar’s side.
“Milord, crafts from off-world are making planetfall. It appears to be the Adeptus Astartes.”
“Ah, at last. Now we shall TRULY turn the tide against this filth!" beamed the Commissar.
In revelry and decadence, the furries fought and continued to advance. The city would soon fall, there was none alive on Tertius Gamma who could stop them now.
Suddenly, all heads turned skywards, eyes scanning above to find the source of a terrible noise. The two Angry Marines Battle Barges collided sides-first against one another as they plummeted towards a single target. The mutants realized that target was them.
The Commissar turned his eyes skywards as the enemy fell silent and a great shadow fell across the lands.
“What the fuck…" the Commissar uttered under his breath, in disbelief.
“FUCK YOU, I WAS HERE FIRST!!!" screamed the commander aboard the Litany of Litany’s Litany, as he piloted his barge directly into the heart of the mutant hordes below.
“NO FUCK YOU, I DEPLOYED THE FINGER!!!" Captain Temperus cursed back.
Traitors fled, mutants hid, deviants cried out for their dark gods to save them. As one, then two Battle Barges slammed into the enemy lines.
With a terrifying roar, the planet itself was torn asunder!
Tertius Gamma was no more.
Thought for the Day: Suffer not the Furry to live.
Getting dinner with some of the gang was a good way to start break. :)
After the block I called my friend (the stunning gal above) and asked if I could come to her office for puppy therapy.
Her boss runs an animal rescue also and someone left a beer box with seven literal ( in the dictionary sense of the word) day old puppies on the steps of the humane society. In the middle of winter. Now they are 4 weeks old and starting to look like puppies- their eyes and ears are open and they are figuring out how to walk! SO CUTE I WANT THEM ALL.
Nervous about the block but puppies and ice cream and sunshine help a lot.