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Bring It Space Noob...

Rarely do  I call out a fellow blogger. Actually, I don't think I ever have.  I'm normally happy to putter around and let others who seem to enjoy antagonistic relationships with people.

Today that's changed.  You see, Cheradenine Harper sends me this tweet about his day 200 post.  I'm excited because I really like his blog. Its a lot of fun and he makes me feel boring.  I'm only a little bit envious, however.  So, I look at his post for day 200 and I go, "What the Fuck?"  It's this dark moody ride through this apocalyptic (navy issue) future of Eve where noobs are running around like explosion crazed zombies and James315's discipleship have taken over the world.  Nullsec is dead and somehow a bunch of people are hiding in Old Man's Star trying to stave off the destruction.

I stared at this post, which is interesting and well written, but I was like, is he quitting Eve? Is there an end of days I have missed desending? Is my precious game vanishing on me so soon?  And I went to him, in distress, with tears and asked:

Cute?  Mocking?  This desolate wasteland imagery I had so misunderstood.  I had leaked tears of stress and anguish over such a bleak future.  Oh how my fingers flicker darkly over my keys fueled by the sweet taste of vengeance for the stress he caused me.  I might have another grey hair.  I found two only the other day.  Such a destructive breakdown on my psyche must be combated with only the most straight forward and overwhelming Retribution.

Rarely do I dive into the works of others in such a way, but Today, Cheradenine I have sought to correct the darkness that you smeared upon my soul in the only way that I could think of that would truly shake the foundations of what you created and rescue the psyche from the perverted horrors of thinking he was running off and leaving Eve forever.

And seriously, what the hell is Jura?  I had to look it up.  Its either coffee, mountains, or whiskey.  I'm still confused.

Cheradenine, I have gizoogled your day 200 blog into magnificence that flares brighter then the most stunning super nova.  You've been served.


Dizzle 200 : Space Noob up in tha ...umm... 21st Century by Cheradenine Harper

In tha dizzle 200 Space Noob Industries launched a straight-up hungover minin ship.
Aboard dis pimped out big-ass space hog a lone capsuleer, Captain S. Noob was ta experience off tha hook buggin outom beyond all comprehension.
In a gangbangin' freak mishap his wild lil' fuckin entire shizzle was frozen by lag beyond imagination.
Gold Digger I was blown outta its target belt of Scordite tha fuck into a grid 1000 times mo' laggy.
It was a grid dat was ta return Space Noob ta Caslemon .... 365.... DAYS later......
De de duh deeh deeh duh.. etc + Erin Gray (hopefully).

So here I be one year ahead of you, blown tha fuck into tha future by a tragic lag mishap caused by a half assed attempt at buildin mah own shoddy Damage Control Pt II. It aint nuthin but all different up in dis strange freshly smoked up ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.

I undock n' smoke up all mah ships gots a third mo' shield n' armour. What tha hell, biatch? It makes fights last slightly longer but like it was tha fix ta tha undock bug where you find you gots a third missin from both fo' realz. A bug where I never found tha trigger conditions ta report dat shit. Bizzaro. Perhaps it was planned?

I git on over ta ta peep whatz happened n' bust they link ta tha sov map. Before I can click it I notice tha entire joint has become crowded wit Hoodside 2 articles, hemmed up in by various articlez on big-ass fat combat robots. Hoodside 2 has become a thugged-out dark warground of individuals snipin at they hated enemies. No one goes fo' tha objectives anymore. Guerilla warfare against other outfits rulez tha entire game. Da comment threadz is full of DUST playas mockin PS2 playas fo' not bein intelligent enough ta find a gangbangin' fight. PS2 mock DUST playas up in turn fo' bein nuked from orbit by passing, buggin out, capsuleers.

Switchin back ta tha Neocom I notice a supacap up in tha belt. It aint nuthin but mining, muthafucka! When did they allow this, biatch? Before I can ask what tha fuck is goin on a horde of T1 cruisers hit tha grid, spoutin obscenitizzle up in local. They tear tha supacap apart n' then begin ta fight over tha remains. Most of tha pilots is less than two months old, slaverin maniacs up in charge of guns. It be a cold-ass lil cruiser blob. Reavers driven mad by tha loco amountz of PVP they can engage up in from dizzle one.

I warp ta a hood hopin they won't follow but misclick n' end up floatin above a funky-ass belt. There is ships here projectin some kind of effect tha fuck into tha ringz of tha hood. Put yo muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel this, muthafucka! What is they bustin, biatch? Hooverin up stuff, biatch? Half tha ships belong ta Goons n' have escortz of all sizes flyin wit them. I be yellowboxed n' straight-up jammed almost instantly by ECM cruisers up in tha cloud yo, but I warp ta a oldschool safe point just up in time.

Somethang is still on grid, muthafucka! Investigatin further I peep a strange structure, modular like a big-ass NASA space station of old. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Industry lights some cornerz of it n' a muthafuckin right click reveals tha thang of biomass up in a space conservatory. I fail ta peep any protection on it, like it can be only dscanned down by randomly pointin tha fuck into space, biatch? As I watch a Tengu uncloaks n' begins ta blast at one of tha modules, up in turn a squad of Battle cruisers unclock, all year oldschool pilots, yet wit fearsome DPS, they tear tha Tengu apart. I run up in fear of noobs havin straight-up scapped BCs.

This kind of space is too freaky fo' Space Noob, surely some bastion of sanitizzle must exist elsewhere. I set mah destination ta Jita. On arrival I view a wasteland. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Activatin a cold-ass lil cloak I drift slowly all up in tha wreckage. Local is silent.. Where is all tha scammers, biatch? Suddenly I notice a lone Iteron on tha undock. Local booms out. It be tha Knightz of tha New Order. Trade is now banned without subscription ta tha New Order n' tha promise ta never autopilot between trade hubs, muthafucka! As I warp up up in fear I notice tha flayed body of Jizzy 315 pinned ta tha hull of a gank fit Thorax. It looks as if tha Knights rose up n' immortalised they smoker up in they quest ta prevent every last muthafuckin muthafucka playin EVE by other than they own rules.

Where is all tha personalitizzles I've enjoyed readin bout up in tha distant past, biatch? How tha fuck nuff is still wit us, biatch? A hint leadz mah crazy ass back all tha way ta Oldskool Man Star. I run tha blockade of two month oldschool Reavers only just intact n' find Oldskool Man Star ta be a refuge fo' any vet' over a year old, fightin a rear guard action against faction fit cruisers flown by five dizzle oldschool charactas whoz ass have flown outta null rattin cribs. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Should I call up ta tha Noobs as they daddy and should I join wit tha oldschool guard as I'd originally planned, biatch? Null be a thugged-out desolate wasteland followin tha cataclysmic war between tha Goons n' TEST, imitatin real ghetto history afta a gangbangin' flare up up in tha Balkans dat is tha downtown n' downtown eastside.

I chizzle ta join tha oldschool guard as I had planned ta back up in tha day, too nuff playaz had been done cooked up up in tha past. Tur is there, tha grizzled oldschool WH vet wit a much scarred Mab at his side, Kyle tha Biatch of tha Rebalizzled Nado is there, Kodachi tha frigate king, Drack tha Destroyer, Fiddle too mockin while Rome burns, n' too nuff other notablez ta mention. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da number of pilots online is off tha chart. It be time, as Tallahassee once holla'd, ta nut up and shut tha fuck up. EVE is tha land of tha noobs n' they daddy is comin ta hook up em wit guns, overheated glocks wit tha safety off.

07 EVE.

PS - Apologies all. Back ta work tomorrow n' dat combined wit a ill glasz of Jura has led mah crazy ass ta an irreverent peep tha future of EVE. To all em personalitizzles I've followed on Twizzle and they blogs, give props ta yo thugged-out ass. To all em gangstas I rap wit up in game, give props ta yo thugged-out ass. To all em gangstas whoz ass read mah drivel, give props ta yo thugged-out ass. EVE was tha top billin muthafuckin thang up in a rough 2012 fo' mah dirty ass. 2013, biatch? Time ta nut up and shut tha fuck up. I be bout ta peep you there. It aint nuthin but back ta combat come tha end of January. Doggdamn PI......


Sug back in... this neatly ties in with my earlier twitter post as well.  I'm amazing sometimes.


  1. First day back at work today, wake up feeling awful see this and grin like a maniac! I feel a lot better! Not only the fact that someone reads and responds but also your kind words about my normal posting. The gizoogle version is great too!

    It was meant to be a mocking, exaggerated (highly so), but affectionate look forward by a noob. I didn't feel was an old enough player to write a serious predictions article. In fact I was a little low on ideas for serious predictions! Then I had a brainwave. I couldn't not start writing it. It was unplanned and yet for the first time in a while a blog was zooming off the finger tips with nary any effort!

    So I'm slightly wary of having upset you with my dark comedic future. I've always had a thing for apocalyptica. I still think the dark vision of the hold out of Old Man Star sounds cool thought! I keep wanting to add to it.

    I have indeed been served.

    Incidentally I'm getting to the the point where I may have to gizoogle an entire post or include a link on every post to the gizoogled version. I might start running names for my ships through it.

    Let this be a lesson to others : do not mess with she who gizoogle calls "Kyle tha Biatch of tha Rebalizzled Nado".

    A Served (space) Noob

    1. PS. Jura is a single malt whisky from the Isle of Jura


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