Friday, 1 July 2011

-Spencer- Team, we need to talk

No, I'm not breaking up with you, but yes, I am going to fucking shank you all if you don't stop fucking arguing like a bunch of five year olds just because you discovered the magnificent invention that is the fucking comment button.

... Boss things aside, keep it up. Fucking hilarious, that is.

Alright. Now to business. The delivery starts at seven 0' clock SHARP tomorrow morning. No later. You're all expected to be in proper uniform and have all your supplies packed, and the rides will be ready. Bring your own food and weapons and yadda yadda yadda; we're not stopping until we reach the city, that clear?

Alright. Some clarification:

This is for GOVERNMENT BIGWIGS TO OTHER GOVERNMENT BIGWIGS. I'd tell you more, but for god's sake, I'm not even sure what we're dealing with. Follow the goddamn rules and we'll be fine. Don't, and we all die horrible, horrible deaths. Amanda is on another delivery, and will catch up if she can. Crow, if you're reading this, August says to re-calibrate the stations on the way, or something. God knows what he means.

So the trip to Detroit won't be too long. Once we reach downtown, we continue en route on foot. We pick up the... whatever it is when we enter the city, cross the core, and drop it off at the next rendezvous point, which is on our way back home.


Review the rules in my second post. Or don't. But I'm not stopping my sorry ass to save yours. Complete the delivery and you get paid. Plain and simple.

Oh, and if anyone out there needs us? If you're on the way, no problem. Just give us a call.

As for posting? Whatever you fucking want. I really couldn't give a rat's ass. As long as you don't post about the package, type about whatever to your little heart's content.


Now, if you don't mind I'm going to try and get some sleep.


Fat chance.

Be ready.


  1. Hey, I resent that. I was arguing on at least a ten-year-old's level! And Steele was at least around seven!

    "Uniforms," boss? Getting fancy on us? What are they, frilly aprons to match August's?

  2. Hey. Leave my frilly apron out of this.

    (I wouldn't want to get blood on it, anyways.)

  3. The comment button doesn't seem to be doing you many favours either, mate. I've never known a man to be so drunk that even his typing is slurred. You have an amazing grasp of the apostrophe key even when in your fragile state.

  4. ....I think by the time you drink as much as Spencer, being sober is like being drunk for everyone else.