Day 78: The Killer Gnomes

Remind me the next time I start thinkin' that I'm seein' agrobiology gnomes following me to NOT shoot at them with my plasma rifle. The cap' damn near tore me a new one after I sobered up and realized what I'd been up to. Ya see... there seems to have been a little extra somethin'-somethin' in my snake whiskey. I have to admit that I do feel kick ass now that I know all those gnomes are dead. Their beady little eyes were followin' me around! I swear! So, yeah, I realize they probably weren't really there. Whatever. A good gnome is a dead gnome. That's what mom always says.

Another bonus of soberin' up completely? No more thinkin' that I can go outside the cargo bay door without a pressure suit. Nice. Stupid gnomes outside on the hull! They were tauntin' me, I tell ya.

I'm packing all my goods for the trip to camp tomorrow. A transport barge is supposedly pickin' me up at the crack of 'verse time. I've decided my old stun gun Marge out of retirement. See you guys tomorrow night.

Day 79: My Head Is Explodin'

I forget exactly what I was thinkin' when I broke out the snake whiskey last night. I'd been hidin' that crap inside my plasma flare container so I wouldn't drink it. Oh, but it seemed like a good idea last night what with my busy activities comin' on next week.

I got pulled over by an Alliance patrol the last time I drank snake whiskey, so I knew this time I'd be havin' an interestin' evening. I'll be sure to tell you about my interestin' time as soon as I start recollectin' exactly what it was that I did. I've got a vague recollection of flossing my teeth with cobra fangs. There's also a bag of freeze dried chipmunks hangin' from my bunk. Must have been good times. I think. Maybe.

Day 80: Post Mortem

Mission accomplished!



While Marissa was in the ladie's room I managed to get in a fight with some 肛门 that I met at mercenary camp years ago on my homeworld. I wasn't sure it was him at first, but my trusty retinal scanner never lies! Well, sometimes it lies, but only 'cause I want it to. Rest assured, it wasn't lyin' to me last night. After consultin' my handy People Who Owe Me Money notes, I reckoned he owed me close to 500 credits figurin' in interest and all. He didn't seem all that excited to pay me back when I first made mention of this, so I had to pound the credits out of him with a wine bottle. He didn't look like he was bleedin' too bad (mostly thanks to the wine).

Not sure what I have planned for the weekend. I figure sharpening all my pointy things would be a good idea.

Day 81: Valentine's Date Preparation

Marissa's shuttle pod docked up with the ship early this morning for our Valentine's date. Below you'll see a photogram of the woman destined to receive certain services from my body. She's inspectin' her flame thrower collection for leaks. I would've offered to help but didn't on account of my bein' particularly lazy. Besides, I was too burned out from cleanin' my bunk and powerin' down chargin' stations and arrangin' flux grenades to where I wouldn't accidentally bump into them during the giving of the previously mentioned certain services from my body.



In a few days I'll post up video highlights of our date that are fit for viewin' for the general public and children folk. The rest of the video is goin' into a locked drawer for safe keepin' as I'm supposed to go to Reaver Killin' Trainin' camp next week thanks to the kind folks at Subspace Soldier of Fortune. Mmmm! Camp!

Well, I guess that's all. I'm ready to go where many men have gone before. My bunk is prepared, too, as I've sprayed enough of Kaylee's man perfume all over to where you can no longer smell the gun powder and rifle fluid. Nice.

Day 82: Money Talks and B.S. Walks

Let's not mince words, readers. I'm in this mission to make money. Lots of it. Yes, there will be dead Reavers everywhere. Yes, some of them may have had some kind of useless Reaver existence where maybe there was a mommy Reaver and a daddy Reaver and an ugly baby Reaver. Truth be told? I'm still going to blow away all of 'em. Once they're gone I can get back to doin' what I do best, and it ain't plantin' a garden or writin' pretty sonnets.

I've turned on some money banners to help fund my mission over the next 82 days. They'll appear in between each of my transmissions. Now, don't be thinkin' that just because I've done this that you're gonna hear me swoop into my most deepest inner thoughts and reveal what makes ol' Jayne tick. You're readin' the wrong comm channel for that! You're going to hear me plottin', plannin', meetin', talkin' and a whole mess of other things that end with the in' sound.

If you're willin' to listen to me yammer on for another 82 days about the mission then bookmark this transmission and check back often. Tell your ship mates, your friends, your male concubines... whoever! I'm not prejudiced (well not much). The point here is -- I'm gonna do this even if Subspace Soldier of Fortune doesn't help me get my mag-discharge machine gun with a built-in cup holster built up all nice. I've got plenty of alternate means of destruction on hand.

So stick around and I'll make it worth your while. I ain't promisin' that I'm gonna post some nakie photograms of Marissa on this thing, but you never know.

Day 83: Corporate Shmorporate

Ever since word of my supposed suicide mission to kill all the Reavers hit the freqs, I've been receivin' lots of personal transmissions as of late. Usually I'll delete a message after the first sentence 'cause they're always askin' the same thing. You know, like how big is my 阴茎 (HUGE) or do I plan to take pictures of me with my shirt off (NO!) or do I like it when I get my back tickled (that's my business). LEAVE ME ALONE! DANG!

I was just about to punch up the delete sequence again when I got notice of this note from the folks at Subspace Soldier of Fortune asking me about new weapon ideas.

"Rock on" he says??? Heck yes I'll be rockin' on right their way. No doubt in my mind! I have this idea for a mag-discharge machine gun with a built-in cup holster for my drink of choice. The Reavers won't know what hit 'em -- and I won't be thirsty!

Day 84: A Date

I'm not one for long relationships and whatnot. The time I spend with a women friend is always short and to the point just like when I'm on a mission. I get in. I get out. That's it. A shower may be involved. I'm not sure.

So, it seems to me that women are always wantin' to go outside somewhere to some strange place that I haven't surveyed for safety. I guess it's cause women are always starvin' 'cause they haven't eaten a lick in ages due to their bein' so skinny and all. It also seems like once we're in whatever gorram place she wants to go to that I'm always gettin' into a tussle with the low-lifes that hang around there. There may be mayhem involved. I don't know why. It just happens. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'll kill a man in a fair fight, or if I think he's gonna start a fair fight, or if he bothers me, or if there's a woman, or if I'm gettin' paid. Mostly only when I'm gettin' paid, but the woman thing is the key here.

Hmmm. Now, where was I?

Oh right! Marissa saw that I blogged about her on this thing and called me up on the comm link decidin' she was interested in makin' my acquaintance on V-Day. I don't know why, but I said yes 上帝不管他! I told her she can visit my bunk and we can get comfortable and such. I'm glad she's not lookin' for anything long term. Looks like it's time to ask Kaylee if I can borrow that man perfume she's always wantin' to give to the doc. Gaw!

Day 85: Can't Stop This Feeling Anymore?

For crying out loud, these PETA people are so lame, this is unbelievable. Stop sending me your gosh darn sappy emails, PETA! So what if Reavers are people? You don't think there's bad people out there that are hurtin' for a good killin'? What if I promise to only eat tofu -- will you let me spill some 哑巴 reaver blood then? Gaw, come on, people. I'm already done sharpening all my knifes and all my weapons and grenades are in their charging stations. Heck, I've even asked Zoe if she wouldn't mind washing my clothes for me. It bein' not my month for getting clothes washed, but I figured after the mess in my last post about figurin' out what to wear that I'd at least smell good when I did my killin'.

Here's a nice photo that I got off the comm grid from some of my buddies who'll be joining me on Day 0. Lookin' forward to it, fellas! This here's Marissa who's very handy with the flame thrower. This is the Reaver gear she's going to wear when the big day falls upon us. You're lookin' mighty scary Mar! A site to behold! I wanna squeeze you real hard and plant a kiss on your open sores.

Day 86: Dress

Someone suggested that I could slip by the reavers by dressing up as them and kinda walkin' like them so as not to arouse suspicion. Yes, I had to have the computer look up how to spell suspicion, so don't look at me like that you 驴! Okay, now where was I? Oh, right right. Give me a few minutes and I'll post up a video I took of the skivvies I may be sportin' when the big day arrives!

Day 87: Addressing Your Comments

Shoot, ain't nobody reading this thing? Come on! I'm still doin' this thing.

Day 88: What am I going to do with the dead reaver's stuff?

I think I need to hit up the Container Store. It occurred to me that I'm gonna have a 粪便 pile of dead Reavers personal possesions once I get to the end of this 90 days. I was thinkin' maybe eBay would be a good idea, but I hate going through boxes of stuff that ain't mine. I'm not much of a hoarder, myself, so I'd be mighty surprised if I picked off anything from a dead Reave-head. I'm not saying that a nice Reaver hatchet won't make it into my bunk, but you can count me out as far as wanting any of their ugly garments. Come to think, how is it that these fellas are able to keep organized enough to where they can have uniforms to wear in the first place. It's like a band of crazy people somehow had enough sense to put together crazy people uniforms. So, whatever, I'm going with my first idea and selling whatever goods I get to prospects on eBay. Man, now that I'm thinking a bit more on the subject, I'm really mad that I can't leave feedback for sellers now. Geesh. Maybe I should do something about the morons at eBay before I start up with the Reavers.

Day 89: What's up with shaving?

I was figurin' out my look for when I go in to kill the Reavers in 89 days. I figured I'd forego something with any color on it and go for straight black. Reavers don't need to be lookin' at my pretty defensive wear, anyway, right? So this got me thinkin' about whether or not I should have a clean shave or not when the big day comes. I'm a stubble man, myself. Heck, I can't recall the last time I didn't have something growin' on my face at some point -- facial blemishes not withstandin'. I'm thinkin' I'll stick with my current look at try to keep things clean and trim in the meantime. Don't need any hair cutting stuck in my flash rifle while I'm sticking filthy Reavers with it.

Day 90: The Decision

I'll figure this blogging thing out, okay, because if I can take apart a 4GH gamma gun in 20 seconds, I should be able to post something on this 见鬼 blogger thing. It's day 90 for crying out loud. No, wait, wait... it's T minus 90 days. Ah, whatever... day 90 it is. I'm writing about all the reavers I plan to kill when the cap gets the ship in drydock in a few months. How'd I get this idea, you might be askin'? I was with some friends and we were watching a repeat of the infamous Superbowl 2009. That's the one where the Manning boys get together and solve the mystery of the missing football jersey during halftime. Damn good game that one was. So, I was thinkin' that I needed my own adventurin' to keep me occupied. I've looked all over the 'verse for something similar to those bygone times. Meh, the next best thing was South Korean Secret Soccer. Those guys were crazy -- they'd use a steel ball and you'd have to shoot at it with an AK-47 to score. Very slick. So, right, right... losin' my focus again. I'm gonna kill me some Reavers in 90 days. That's the plan and there's nothin' you can do to talk me out of it! It's not a suicide mission, right? I'm coming back, dammit.