Feb. 8th, 2012

mcity: (Default)
Previously: Dear Albanian Pudding Wrestling story writer,

Turns out it ends with the monsters invading the rest of the galaxy.

After one of them made a point about them simply wanting to be left alone.

I need a "Scumbag Space Werewolves" macro.

And the how is entirely stupid, too. There was a SPAH among the crew of Intrepid Marines sent to investigate. He carries one of his partners, now a monster, back to the mother ship in an escape pod. For some reason, the security/HAZMAT measures consist of pointing guns at the agent, even after he marches off the pod and admits he's infected. He admits this, BTW, after he hands off a biological sample directly to the Evil General, who is not wearing a hazmat suit. The General wants to destroy the space station not because of the threat it poses to all sentient life, but because he wants to cover up the fact that the blight on the galaxy was caused by a civilian mistake.

I would not have let the spy back onto my ship like that. I would've had robots talk to him and take the sample. I would've had a big red button I could hit to eject the pod and expose the bay to vacuum. I would've had turrets and laser beams. If I did have men, they would be wearing max level Hazmat suits. I would have a big green button that quadruples the artificial gravity. I would've had a yellow button that, last resort, detaches the entire bay. But this story would have us believe that a four-star general was a complete idiot, taking not even the most rudimentary security precautions besides "POINT GUNS AT IT".

Yeah, no.

At least a sop was thrown to the whole All-Male Crew thing; apparently women serve in separate units, and the military is almost all male. Even Gears of Manly Hypertrophy has female characters serving as frontline troops. Congratulations, terrible story, you've set gender relations in science fiction back a few dozen years.
mcity: (Default)
Jonathan planned to make something better, something more substantial around 9. A salad, perhaps. He had some chicken in the freezer. Perhaps he could cot it into strips, have himself a bit of a fry. That might be nice. Salad with chicken.

At about 9, his flatmates trooped into the kitchen and started setting up for a little get-together. He knew because he clearly heard their music playing through the wall.

When he checked later, the kitchen table was occupied by about a dozen bottles, and--yes--a sign he was pretty sure was stolen from the car rental place next door. Either that, or it fell off the back of a fence.

A few minutes later, they started on sing-alongs.

Jonn rolled his eyes heavenward.

EDIT: They left the sign, and dozens of bottles in the kitchen.

There's a room inspection tommorrow.

October 2012

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