Doomed
Dear Mom,
Greetings from Mars! I’ve always wanted to say that, and now I can! You’ll be happy to know that I arrived safely after a long journey, and they’ve kept me so busy since I got here that I haven’t had time to feel homesick.
I know I shouldn’t complain, but being on secondment to UAC security isn’t turning out to be the clever career move I’d hoped. The marketing may imply that UAC is a top-shelf professional organisation, but as anyone who’s ever used one of their consumer products knows, that’s not quite true. Remember that toaster I gave you, which always burnt the bread? UAC. The PVR that refused to record anything but Bulgarian soap operas? UAC. That popcorn maker that was possessed by Satan? UAC. Honestly, it’s a wonder they can make it into space without the rockets falling off.
Right now my biggest gripe is that the entire Mars City complex seems to be lit with a single 40 watt lightbulb. Ever since I got here I’ve spent most of my time banging into crates and tripping down stairs. I don’t see the point of sending men all the way to Mars, only to have them blundering about in the dark like a convention of Stevie Wonder impersonators. At least when the Gateway to Hell opened it let a bit of light in. The only time I can see where I’m going is when one of those flaming skulls flies through the room.
I’ve been busy since I got here, going through orientation, running errands and fighting off the living dead. At least I assume they’re the living dead. Frankly their attitudes were so bad when I first got here that it’s a little hard to tell. “Where have you been, marine?” “Can’t you see I’m busy, marine?” “Hurry up and finish that assignment, marine!” Having them merely wanting to eat my brain is actually a step up. And at least now I’m allowed to shoot them!
Anyway, I’ve got to go now. There’s a team of undead scientists coming down the corridor, and you wouldn’t believe how many bullets it takes to bring them down. I’ll write again soon when I don’t have the Legions of the Damned all in my face. I hope you and Dad are well, and please give my best to Mike and Cheryl and the kids.
love,
Junior
P.S. If a flaming skull comes to the door, it might be best not to answer it. Oh, and practice ducking.
Greetings from Mars! I’ve always wanted to say that, and now I can! You’ll be happy to know that I arrived safely after a long journey, and they’ve kept me so busy since I got here that I haven’t had time to feel homesick.
I know I shouldn’t complain, but being on secondment to UAC security isn’t turning out to be the clever career move I’d hoped. The marketing may imply that UAC is a top-shelf professional organisation, but as anyone who’s ever used one of their consumer products knows, that’s not quite true. Remember that toaster I gave you, which always burnt the bread? UAC. The PVR that refused to record anything but Bulgarian soap operas? UAC. That popcorn maker that was possessed by Satan? UAC. Honestly, it’s a wonder they can make it into space without the rockets falling off.
Right now my biggest gripe is that the entire Mars City complex seems to be lit with a single 40 watt lightbulb. Ever since I got here I’ve spent most of my time banging into crates and tripping down stairs. I don’t see the point of sending men all the way to Mars, only to have them blundering about in the dark like a convention of Stevie Wonder impersonators. At least when the Gateway to Hell opened it let a bit of light in. The only time I can see where I’m going is when one of those flaming skulls flies through the room.
I’ve been busy since I got here, going through orientation, running errands and fighting off the living dead. At least I assume they’re the living dead. Frankly their attitudes were so bad when I first got here that it’s a little hard to tell. “Where have you been, marine?” “Can’t you see I’m busy, marine?” “Hurry up and finish that assignment, marine!” Having them merely wanting to eat my brain is actually a step up. And at least now I’m allowed to shoot them!
Anyway, I’ve got to go now. There’s a team of undead scientists coming down the corridor, and you wouldn’t believe how many bullets it takes to bring them down. I’ll write again soon when I don’t have the Legions of the Damned all in my face. I hope you and Dad are well, and please give my best to Mike and Cheryl and the kids.
love,
Junior
P.S. If a flaming skull comes to the door, it might be best not to answer it. Oh, and practice ducking.
posted by Blandwagon at 1:52 PM
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