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Tales of the Admins - Printable Version

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Tales of the Admins - Dieter Schprokets - 02-01-2012

Dieter sat up to speak to Garrett.

This required all his neurons, being inebriated.

Consequently he wet himself. Minor muscle groups could work things out themselves. To hell with them.

"The jar, you got it?", he asked, suprisingly lucid.

Garrett nodded and began to speak. Dieter stopped him with a blurted explanation.

"It's for your soul. Put soul in jar. Log into server. Do Admin work."

He belched. Wheat beer, apparently. He continued.

"Log out. Take soul back for the evening. Unless you wish to sleep well, in which case, keep it in the jar for the night."

He drifted off.

Garrett thought he said "The horror.."

Maybe "the whore"?

Not certain... Maybe did not matter..

He regarded his jar with some interest...



Tales of the Admins - Reverend Del - 02-01-2012

Reverend Del had awoken from his dream state only a few weeks ago, but already he was beginning to get the cloud above his head that signified the approaching apocalypse.

As he strode purposefully toward the refectory he noticed Dieter and Garret lying on the floor each holding a jar and a bottle of beer. He noticed the brand, the heretical Dab beer, not at all sanctified, only good for the useless waifs called moderators. He took up the bottles, pondering if he should cut off Dieter's hand as he was doing so, as the man had a grip tighter than steel. Eventually he managed to pull the bottle out of Dieter's hand without resorting to such drastic measures. A few feet away he dropped the two bottles into the recycling unit.

He walked to the refectory musing as he went. The current spiritual state of the Admins was intolerable, did they not know that offering their souls to the Great Devourer of Rules would absolve them of any guilt? Could they not see the light of darkness cast all around for their own consumption. It kept a person vigourous and clean. It was thusly good.

Arriving in the refectory he glanced around noticing other Admins within, as he sat down Modburg appeared, half visible, clearly the man was loafing, but what else could you expect from the detritus that was the mod team.

As he made his pronouncement, no doubt high or drunk, Del thought, it occurred to Del that Modburg was being slightly off.

"How do you expect to hold a putter without a physical body Marburg?" he replied to the outlandish mods request.

As soon as modburg had ruminated on the concept, the alarm klaxons went off.

"Warning, Forum whining in progress, all hands to battlestations. Warning Forum whining in progress, all hand s to battlestations. This is not a drill"

Del sighed, and headed out to work.


Tales of the Admins - Jihadjoe - 02-05-2012

The battlestar was a mess. Joe's own stack of unfinished paperwork had slowly spread from his desk onto the floor. Not that he minded much. At least the mods had something to sleep on when they finally keeled over from lack of food and exhaustion.

He was just about to unscrew the lid to his jar when the alarms went off. Joe sighed and ran to his antifire seat, plugged himself in and glanced over at Del, who was already in the process of firing healthy sarcasm into the whole situation.

"Sarcasm? Del, you gotta be mental, there's too many of them, subtlety isn't gonna work this time..."

He flicked the safety off on the Metaphorical Blunt Object Cannon and opened fire.

"Damnit" Joe cursed to himself, watching the projectiles falling wide of the mark. He called over to Del who was still laying down covering fire with his Sarcasto-matic 4000.

"DEL!" he yelled over the noise, "OUR JADED OPINIONS JUST AREN'T GOING TO CUT IT. I'M CALLING ALLEY."



Tales of the Admins - Blodo - 02-06-2012

Deep in the bowels of the ship, in the farthest corner of the engineering section, available only through a set of exceedingly swirly and dangerous catwalks, was the aptly named "worker's lounge". That place, long forgotten and most likely closed down by management, avoided by employees due to rumours of Black Sabbath loving ghosts, would have been inhabited by nothing but rats was it not for the presence of one Person.

The scribbled sign on the door read "Warning: Guard dogs inside", and behind sat the Person, smoking his big cigar and lighting his mops on fire.

- "Welp, it's been weeks and they still haven't found me." - the Person conversed with himself. Or maybe it was the rats?

- "I reckon I really can hide out here forever, they can't make me do any work if they can't find me!"
He uncorked a bottle of scotch, poured himself a glass.

- "Though I swear I could hear them shouting my name up there... Nah, probably just the rats humping in the walls."
He picked up the moderator mop, swiped the floor around him a single time, threw it in the corner and carried on drinking while listening to 80's heavy metal on full volume.



F[color=#C70300]IGHT THE POWER



Tales of the Admins - Tanker - 02-07-2012

Tanker wakes up in what looks like a dormitory room. A room devoid of any furnishings except the double row of bunkbeds lining the walls. All in all a very unremarkable room. But what was interesting was the lack of sound. So he decided to go take a look around.

Just as he was about to open the door into the corridor a voice comes from a previously overlooked speaker. "Greetings Moderators, Welcome to the Lost Battlestar, We hope you will enjoy your stay here. (several chuckles and downright laughter can be heard) Proceed to the command deck to get your duties. By the way, DO NOT drink the coffee. It is for Admins only.
That is all. This is a recording"

"Well then that explains everything" Tanker mutters. But, coffee does sound good right about now. It has been rumored that the Admins get their powers from their coffee. Now, where to find it. Tanker wanders aimlessly but with a purpose through the halls looking for some of that coffee.

While Tanker was wandering he would stop every so often and call out "Blodo, Where the hell are ya, I know yer here somewhere!"

He then continues in his search of this proverbial coffee...

(To be continued...)


Tales of the Admins - arvg - 03-03-2012

Wearing an unflattering orange jump suit, with a hasmat helmet whisping and whirring away pleasantly, Mod-Al was ready...

Gripping a loo brush, and pneumatic plunger, he was setting up to tackle the largest job on the Lost Battlestar... unclogging the flood backlog.

The problem was, that meant he was going to have to wade through foul smelling, decomposing refuse for the majority of the day, trying his best to breath through the two dangling pine air fresheners that were attached to the inside of his helmet. Beat smelling Craig Furgerson's latest steaming pile of flood dumpings.

Clanking through the lower decks he reached the doors to the flood bilge, steeling himself inwardly for what was to come... once he opened that door... the door.

He had nightmares of that door, holding back the sheer weight of festering rot, word-bile, and whinge... he winced as he reached out a heavy gloved fingers to punch in the code.

WARNING FLOOD HAS BACKLOGGED FOR TWO YEARS PROCEED Y/N?

He stared at it, feeling a flutter of intense fear snaking through him. Beyond that door lay the ghosts of Disco past, like skidmarks on the underside of the universe.

He punched in the Y button....

As the doors slid open, his eyes widened in intense shock at the blinding white light flaring from around it.

"The... horror..." he breathed, before the tentacles swept out of the light to drag the poor Mod into the flood bilge.


Somewhere high above on the bridge of the Lost Battlestar, Admins were taking bets on how long he would last.

"Tewenty Quatlooms on the Moderator," one boomed, as the main screen flicked to show the poor mod being flicked through piles of forgotten F1 messages.


Tales of the Admins - arvg - 03-03-2012

Mod-Al was not having a good time of it... He was sprinting down a forgotten aisle of ICANHAZSKYPE, which teetered and tottered behind him, as the growling BEAST of FLOOD powered after him, a cacophony of din, tentacles and tears that threatened to drag his soul into the briny depths never to be seen again.

Skidding around, he slid through a gap that had been created by someone invisibling an offensive post, small little star openings that were just big enough for him to scamper through, crashing back into the darkness as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

Some how, some way, Flood had created it's own consciousnesses, either that, or the mad hatter of Flood, the great arch villain Craig Ferguson had finally found a way to bring life to his dark soulless minions...

That had been why they'd banished him down there, wasn't it? To ensure his particular brand of insanity never ever saw the light of day...

He listened to the BEAST on the other thread, stalking about, snuffling for his trail, no doubt sore from where the loo brush had been stuffed unceremoniously up his kiester in a fit of blind luck that saw Mod-Al actually refraining from being pile driven through a stack of Mod-Dab's Ego mail...

"Al to Bridge," he panted, as the BEAST shuffled past, his voice a croak, "I need a positional reference..."

Reverend Del's voice echoed through the earphones, "You're on the reservation..."

Mod-Al's heart sank through his boots as he turned his head, shaking in abject fear as he did so, looking through the foggy mist towards the blinking eyes that were beginning to open around him by their millions.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Tales of the Admins - Alley - 03-06-2012

Alley was one of the fresh recruits of the Battlestar, along with Tanker. It did take her quite some time to get used to how things worked around here, and even though, she still was a disobedient moderator. Naughty Alley.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAB !" she yelled in the moderators corridor, as she walked to Dab's office. After knocking twice at the door, Dab still wasn't answering. Alley slammed the door open. No sign of Dab but she noticed a letter on Dab's desk.

The letter read :
"soru away for the week again ))"

Suddenly, a shout echoed throughout the whole battlestar. It was not Fus Ro Dah, it was FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU, followed by so many explosions that you could have believed a fleet battle was taking place in the battlestar itself.



Tales of the Admins - Reverend Del - 04-13-2012

Del yawned and stretched and generally woke up much to the chagrin of his various muscle groups, they liked being asleep. It was comfortable. He checked his datalink, nothing. He checked the communal datalinks, nothing, he shouted down the corridors, nothing. Nothing, emptiness, the occasional moderator shuffling past, half hidden snatches of conversation, something was amiss. Del turned around, normally at this point Gheis or Jax would have appended something to his back, something the mods would snigger at when they thought he wasn't looking. Del caught sight of it then, sprayed in foot high letters across the door of his stateroom (with the mods having to resort to sleeping wherever the Admins gave them room to, Admin staterooms could get rather... opulently spaced for the inside of a space ship).

BRONY SCUM!

Del looked at it carefully, before shrugging and wandering off to find tea.


Tales of the Admins - arvg - 04-26-2012

Mod-Al clawed his way out of the Flood Bilge.

His protective suit in tatters, his tanks running nearly on empty, and a great big stick in his hands.

He gasped as he collapsed to the deck, trying to catch his breath. How many weeks had he been down there? How many more would they make him... he looked up to see Admin Dieter smiling over him smelling of alcohol and holding a jar.

"Wh-what?" Al croaked out.

"Coffee breaks over, back in you go," Dieter said with a cheery grin, simply punting the poor moderator back into the depths of flood.