Excuse Me, Sir, You Failed to Signal before Crashing That Bomber into a Mountain.
Hey, I’d shaddup if I knew what was good for you, punk. I watched the whole thing from our base’s generator tower. You were weaving like it was basket-day in Home-Ec up there. And where’s your bombardier, mister? I’ll tell you where he is, he’s on the other side of this hillock puking his guts out after you dusted the bridge UPSIDE DOWN.
And what’s this I see in the rubble? Would you care to explain that sir? A half-empty can of Ginger Ale? I can’t believe the audacity of you young punk kids going joyriding in multi-million dollar Tribes 2 bombers while hopped up on non-caffeinated sodas. Don’t you know that those slow your reaction time and make you a poor driver?
You’re what we on the force call an LBP. Lower Body Part. In layman’s terms, YOU’RE AN ASS. Here’s your ticket, and here’s some extra ammo for a spinfusor. You’ll need it to get back to your base on foot.
And don’t come back until you’ve done the Dew!
I can’t even distinguish where the wreckage of the fusilage ends and where the remains of your tailgunner begin.
Score: 7.44; Total Votes: 1521 as of 2009-12-09.