Cultural Appropriation!

[Rip]

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Sanctorum
Not a creature was stirring, no one checking the forum;
The stockings were placed on the floorboards most bare,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Star Wars spoilers danc'd in their heads,
And with Samurai in his 'kerchief, and I in the nude,
We had just settled our brains for a long winter snooze —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter!
Away to the window I flew like The Flash,
Tore open the shutters, but threw up on the sash!
The moon looked like breasts on the new fallen snow,
And I spied Cain committing the Sin of Onan below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should resolve,
But a miniature Chevy Tahoe, and eight tiny BOBs!
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Phant, that prick.
More trundling than beagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:
"Now! Ahab, now! BlackMage, now! Katawa, Xaenyth!
"On! JT, on! Guido, on! Perry and Darlid;
"To the top of the board! To the top of New Posts!
"Now flame away! Gnash away! Bash away all!"
As dry weed that, before the wild fan gust does fly
When you're too stoned to stop it, mounts to the sky;
So up to the URL his coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys — and Phantomgrift too:
And then in a twinkling, I thought that I heard
The prancing and pawing of each little nerd.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Phantomgrift came with a bound!
He was dress'd all in shit, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes looked like something you'd smash with a boot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look'd like dumbass, his jaw hanging slack:
His eyes — how they roiled! But his dimples: so merry!
His cheeks were like mushrooms, his nose a dingleberry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
I knew in that moment I'd be needing a beer;
The stump of a liberal he held tight in his teeth,
And the Trump poster he wore on his head like a wreath,
Made me recognize this self-styled Modern Machiavelli
For the joke that he was, with his aging old belly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly jack-off,
And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of my cough;
But the cock of his gun and his obsession with lead
Reminded me that crazy is still something to dread.
He spoke not a word, he went straight to his work,
But fumbled like prom night, that clumsy old jerk,
And spilling his shells 'neath my sofa and stove
He immediately gave up, and out the window he dove.
He sloughed to his Chevy, while Cain still was jerkin',
And away they all flummoxed, as I refilled my bourbon:
But I heard him exclaim, when the cops pulled into sight —
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

[Agent]

Happy Halloween!

[Phantomgrift]

a Merry Slagnor in the coming year...

Heh.

Heh...
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[Sage]

Phant, you're alive?

[Phantomgrift]

Yup.
Not for wont of lack of trying on the part of the BHR though.

Despite Rip's exaggerations at times, I've mellowed considerably. Still married, still a mini-me, still anger issues at the world, etc.
Current command is an amazing path on the road to recovering from stress-related shit, however.

How about you? Finding metal tubes all their cracked up to be?

[Samurai]

Season's greetings, all. Rip's creativity and Phant's lowered stress levels are both welcome gifts.

[Sage]

Nah man they moved my metal tube to the drydock so I'm working 18 hour days when I'm not stood down trying to convince a bunch of overpaid, overweight bearded jerkoffs to fix my metal tube before it tries to kill me. People in Maine can't drive, either, so it's stress on the commute to and from work. Top it all off with my usual blend of depression taking the month off for seasonal depression and it's pretty much the best. I'm not sleeping on workdays because when I do sleep I sleep for 16 hours, and I can't do that AND go to work. I'm not eating much. Dread, depersonalization, disassociation, the whole nine yards. Plus tricare is convinced I'm in Groton, so they'd be happy to treat my leg, as long I go to one of their hospital-service centers a short 4 hour drive away. The leg's chronic now, I'm holding it together with ace bandages and limping for right now. Hurts if I stand on it for too long, "Doc" thinks its bursitis but can't actually diagnose because ""Doc"" doesn't have a medical degree. But hey!! if they don't/can't fix my problem in just a short 687 days, then I MIGHT get disability, provided it's been properly recorded and annotated in my record, a reoccurring problem with the submarine force as a whole and my command specifically (both the GET MEDICAL ATTENTION and RECORD MEDICAL ATTENTION part).

Honestly I see a lot of stupid shit pulled related to leave, EAOS, and rotation dates at this command and the only reason I'm not the one crying foul is because I don't want to be a crusader. tl;dr Metal tubes suck, don't let your friends/kids/SO on metal tubes, especially not american metal tubes

so I'm doing pretty much the same as always, I guess.

[Rip]

You should write more poetry

[Phantomgrift]

Sage, contact Tricare, and if need be, get ahold of the fucking Fleet Inspector General concerning the medical issue.

The stress one... That's rough. About the only thing I had available to me was leave and occasional chats with a counselor at FFSC.

I cannot overstate this one. Being a crusader is different from making sure that your paperwork is in fucking order. Unless you start working on that now, it will only screw up your day to day shit when you go to leave. If you want, find me on facebook or PM here. I went through a lot of shit on the BHR/ESSEX and I don't want to see someone in your situation get wrung out like a damn sponge because your command is to busy with make-work, and you don't have all the possible resources or options available.

(And Rip... If you're talking to me- I actually do have some poetry pieces floating around I've been working on. If you were referring to Sage, I would also like to see his word work.)

[Rip]

No, I was joking; poetry sucks.