Because I’m pretty too…

Ok, well maybe not so pretty, but the ladies still want me.

I sometimes get asked how I come up with the stories I tell here at Roc’s Ramblings; what is my inspiration?

Let me give you an example:

I am the eldest son of my blue collar family. My father had always been a hard working tradesman, until a back injury forced him to change vocations. Since then, he’s barely made end’s meet financially, but always given his all to support his family. Unfortunately, his quick temper, and inability to control his excessive expressions while raging, have made him intolerable to his community, his own siblings, his wife, and if I’m to be completely honest, me.

Anyone can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad.

My mother suffered a life threatening illness at the tender age of five. It nearly killed her, but she survived. She’s always been a survivor, bearing tremendous strength of spirit. She was told she would be in a wheelchair by age twenty. Even now in her sixties, she still walks under her own power. She was told she would never bear children. She has three beautiful children, two sons and one daughter. It was my mother that instilled in me my moral sense of right of wrong. It was my mother that helped me understand the spiritual natural of things, to believe in God, and accept the truth that we are more than flesh and blood.

I am my mother’s son.

Then there’s me, the eldest son, as I started off saying. I like to think I’m the good son. I’m the only married child, prosper in my career, do what I can for those around me, family and community, and while my own sense of accomplishment at the life I have carved for myself is seen as arrogance, I still suffer from my own insecurities.

I’m just like everyone else.

My brother went through a rough breakup when he was only sixteen. We’ve all had our hearts broken. His solution was to turn to the bottle. He’s been a drunk for the last twenty years. That’s not to say he’s a bad person. I like my brother as a person. Unfortunately, my brother has never been held accountable for any of his actions throughout his life; there has always been someone there to bail him out of the messes he creates, and always at their own expense, whether it’s financial, emotional, or both.

Recently I discovered my brother is a drug addict, hooked on crack cocaine, if the evidence provided by family is to be believed.

I am sad for my brother.

My sister and I are close now, though I was horrible to her when she was younger. She is the baby of the family. She is tall, beautiful, smart, possessing a strong work ethic and a zest for life I have seen in few people. Like the rest of us, she has had her heart broken, and it left its scars. She doubts herself too much; doesn’t always realize the rarity of the angel she is.

I love my sister dearly.

Like every family, we’ve had our ups and downs. Like every family, we’ve fumbled our way through it. My parents helped raise three children of a deceased friend, and while no parent is perfect, they did the best they could, and I respect them for that. They give everything they have, and more, to those they care about. It’s a sad irony really, as my parents can barely tolerate each other, but give all of their hearts to strangers.

That has been a tremendous strain on my family for the last twenty years.

It was less than five years ago that my brother hit what we thought was rock bottom, and with nowhere to go, returned to the home we were raised in. Despite my protests, they took him in. What was my mother to do? He is her son as well. Once again, my brother wasn’t held accountable. Once again, someone got him out of the bind he was in.

He has chipped in around the house financially, easing the burden on my parents. He holds onto my mother’s bank card, as he has no bank account of his own; under the pretense of depositing her government assistance cheques and helping out. I say pretense because what really has occurred is my brother spending bill money on booze and drugs.

I refuse to help out. I call it tough love.

It was under a year ago that my brother’s misdeeds, combined with my mother’s irrational fear of my father, led them to foreclosure on their home; my childhood home.

I had to step in and help as best I could. The family got through it.

It’s not even six months later, and my brother has sabotaged my family’s efforts again. The new mortgage, through a C rate lender, hasn’t been paid in three months. Combined with lawyer fees, my parents have two days to pay back more than they earn in six months to keep their house.

I cannot help.

As of today, my brother has up and left, moved on, leaving someone else to clean up his mess yet again. My father is leaving my mother, blaming her for the loss of the house and not communicating with him about what was really happening. One of the non-sibling children they raised has been arguing with me on the phone that she will get a place with her boyfriend, taking my mother in and providing care for her. She is eighteen.

I worry what is best for my mother.

So where do I find the ideas I write about? Where does my inspiration come from? It comes from the life around me I live; the lives I see others live. Mine is no different than yours. You can’t write fiction better than life.

We all have obstacles to overcome. None of us have a perfect life. Draw from that. Grow from that. For me, writing is an extension of my emotional growth. It stimulates my mind, helps me find solutions to the hurdles I face, clears my heart and soul of confusion, gaining me a more objective insight into the many decisions I must make.

So what inspires you?

My hope is that you find your own life to be full of inspiration.

Fly safe.

I hate crowds; always have.

You can take an otherwise ordinary individual, docile, selfless to a degree, kind hearted, generally good person; put them in a congested grouping with other similar types of individuals, and suddenly, things change. People become self-important, abrasive, short tempered, hostile, coarse and vulgar, physically violent and possessive. There’s something about crowds that brings out the worst in regular people. If you’ve ever been in a crowd, you understand. It could be rush hour to your job, a once per year sale at your local retailer, a sold-out concert for your favourite performer; it doesn’t really matter.

People, in volume, are stupid.

We’ve all read horror stories of individuals being trampled to death by overly excited masses. We’ve heard of uprisings where the sheer volume of people overwhelmed the controlling party. We’ve watched local authorities call in riot squads when throngs of protesters cross the line.

People, in volume, are dangerously violent.

And doesn’t it amaze you how nothing ever becomes anyone’s fault but yours? I was trapped in a crowded thoroughfare once, was bumped into fairly hard by another Brutor male, who then looked at me with a suddenly confrontational expression, expecting me to apologize for our collision. Look buddy, you’re the one who walked into me; you’re the one who will be doing the apologizing. But it never happens, does it? It’s always the other person’s fault. It’s what leads to road rage during congestion, mass violence where none existed a moment before. I could go on and on.

People, in volume, are ignorant.

So there I was, walking towards a crosswalk during a very busy morning rush hour for the planet I was on. I had researched on my NeoCom and discovered that over 5 million people per day were passed through the transit system each day for this particular country’s capital city. Impressive.

I was about twenty meters from reaching the crosswalk; a dense sea of people between me and the roadway. It didn’t make much of a difference; the roadway was jammed solid as well. Motorists honked at each other as every last person tried to squeeze a little closer, thinking that extra two seconds they might save makes up for the three minutes they have now delayed everyone else. Good logic there, idiot.

Ahead of me, at the crosswalk, I saw an elderly woman, hunched over a very primitive walker. It always saddened me to visit industrial age planets. There was such advanced technology available in the galaxy, but so much of the universe was still impoverished; unable to advance due to cost restrictions, governments living in fear, and a plethora of other meaningless reasons.

I had noticed her as I approached the crosswalk. I tried to take note of anyone or anything that stood out as unusual. She struck me as unusual simply due to the fact that she had been trying to cross this street for several sets of lights, but was unable to, partially due to her limited mobility, and partially due to the fact that the motorists were absolute morons, not yielding the right of way to her even where local law obviously stated such.

It infuriated me.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” I said upon reaching the crosswalk. I spoke as gently as I could, not to alarm the woman. “Would it be ok if I offered my assistance?” I smiled encouragingly, sweeping my arm broadly towards the intersection she needed to cross.

Her initial reaction to being spoken to was of slight fear. She recoiled, but then her eyes opened up wide with excitement. She nodded enthusiastically before finally giving her consent. “Yes. Yes dear. That would be wonderful.”

Within a few seconds, the crosswalk indicated we had the right of way. Of course, between us and the other side of the avenue were several lanes of cars illegally positioned right over the designated crossing area.

Lovely.

I motioned for the woman to stay still, then walked out into traffic. The cars slowly made their way past, but the crosswalk indicator was warning us not to start walking, as the light was about to change.

I held my ground in the first lane.

I put my hand out in front of me, gesturing the oncoming vehicle to stop. If it didn’t, this would’ve seriously hurt, but as I expected, people, despite their assholish natures, weren’t entire stupid. The vehicle stopped right in front of me, its driver fuming with anger, his hand held to the horn of his vehicle. I politely smiled, and gestured for the elderly woman I was assisting to make her way across.

She smiled and slowly started her long journey.

While my one hand kept the first lane of traffic at bay, I positioned my body into the second lane of traffic, raising my other to stop the oncoming traffic there. The first vehicle completely ignored me, coming perilously close as it sped by, but the second vehicle stopped. Its driver didn’t bother with the horn, opting instead to get out of his vehicle and deal with the situation personally.

He opened his mouth to yell at me, and I could only imagine the obscenities that were coming my way. Before that could happen, I established myself as the alpha male.

A bright flash of anger tore through me, exposing every vein in my neck and forehead, flushing my skin crimson, and giving my already harsh voice extra volume and edge. “If you even think of opening your mouth right now, I will put my size 10 boot so far up your ass that you’ll be shitting shoelaces for a year.” Seeing as how I had done that very thing in the past to someone, I must’ve had a very convincing performance, as the man withered before me, retreating back into the perceived safety of his vehicle.

The elderly lady had successfully crossed two lanes of traffic. I looked in our direction of travel; only four more lanes of traffic to go.

It took about fifteen minutes, but we finally made it across intact. It was quite the adventure. The saddest part for me was the crowd of spectators that had gathered to watch our little escapade, reinforcing to me that such random acts of kindness were indeed rare to these people.

Once I had made sure the woman was no longer out of breath, and could continue on her own, I thanked her for the honour of allowing me to assist her, and wished her a good day. It made my heart feel good to do what I could, when I could. That particular day wasn’t so important that fifteen minutes would make or break it.

She looked at me with what I thought was simple gratitude, but there was something about the way her eyes shined with unadulterated admiration that unsettled me. Then she spoke.

“It was my pleasure to see you again, Colonel Wieler.”

I froze on the spot. I had been travelling incognito, and I was 100% sure I had never met this woman before in my life. Quietly, I huddled over her, and said, “I’m sorry, but have we met?”

She chuckled lightly, coughing, smiling the entire time. “Oh yes, but it was many, many years ago, my old friend; long before you were a Matar Colonel; long before you started calling yourself Roc Wieler.”

A stab of panic raced around my entire nervous system. I had no idea what this woman was talking about. Old friend? How could that be? She must’ve been ninety!

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you must have me confused with someone else.” I replied.

She shook her head firmly.

“You never forget the man that saved your life.” she said, “especially when I was only six years old.” Her frail, dry hand reached up and gently cupped my face. “But you haven’t changed one bit since that day ninety seven years ago.”

Without thinking, I stepped back, horrified at what this woman was saying. I had only been a Capsuleer for five years. It was only a few months prior to my capsuleer training that I had escaped Amarr enslavement. She must be wrong! She must be mistaken!

She continued speaking, her words sending pure dread through my heart. “I lived in Hrober back then. You saved us from a pirate attack. I’ve loved you since that day, but was too young and too shy to ever say so. I never thought we would meet again. I never thought fate would give me the chance to tell you how thankful I am for the life you gave us all.”

I had worked out of Hrober for months, but that was only five years ago. Wait, before I called myself Roc Wieler? Didn’t she mention something about that? Who was this woman? What was going on?

“We need to talk.” I said, and she nodded her agreement.

It didn’t matter to me how long this took, I was going to get to the bottom of this. In a heartbeat, my entire life had changed again.

Several titles came to mind as I composed today’s entry; Fake it Til you Make it, No more Excuses, New You Resolutions, etc, etc.

I’ve got a lot to say, so let’s get started.

So many of us make New Year’s Resolutions. So many of us fail at them almost instantly. Why is that? I like to think it’s because of a few reasons, the most notable being that we often make a resolution into some grandiose affair when really it is not. A resolution is nothing more than a commitment we make to stick by something. It takes consistency, commitment, effort. Resolutions aren’t easy. Resolutions aren’t meant to be easy.

How to Keep Your Fitness Resolutions

Many different surveys on resolutions were conducted prior to the turn of the new year. Two New Year’s resolutions that appeared on most lists include spending more time with family and getting into shape. What these two resolutions have in common is that they require time, planning and commitment. Let’s take a closer look at how to keep your fitness resolutions. Are you ready to make the commitment? If so, get ready to reach your goals!

Make Realistic Workout Plans

You need to better plan your time when it comes to exercising, planning nutritious meals and to spending time with your family. For instance, maybe you can plan some family fitness activities so that you can maintain both your resolutions in half the amount of time. Don’t fall into the trap of planning your workout time around when you have the most energy to exercise. Let me explain.

Most people avoid exercising first thing in the morning because they lack the zest or bounce in their step that they feel during their Saturday afternoon workout. Instead, they prefer to plan their workouts during work hours at a nearby gym or in the evening. Both options are great, if you follow through. Since most people tend to repeat their fitness New Year’s resolutions every year, let me ask you a question: In the past years, did you plan to exercise more regularly? Did you follow through? If not, what was the main challenge that prevented you from meeting your goals? Once you identify your limitations, you have also identified your strengths. If you would like to work out during your lunch and make a commitment to following through, obstacles will always arise to alter your plans. To successfully stick to your plans, you should always devise alternative plans which still allow you to make time for fitness in your day. Fitness centers know all about poor planning which is why the January hype is usually cooled by the middle of February. Make realistic plans and the chances of reaching your fitness goals and changing bad habits will materialize smoothly.

Stay Motivated

Be realistic and true to yourself. If you start and stop exercise programs all the time because something comes up or because you get bored, than you need to find something that keeps you stimulated and involved. You may need to take the plunge and sign up for 10 to 20 personal training sessions at your fitness center or have a trainer visit you at home. You may need to join a fitness center which takes all of the guess work out of exercising and provides free personal coaching to make sure you utilize your time on the circuit. Maybe all it takes is a few minutes a day until you are ready to commit to a formal exercise program. Today, we are fortunate to understand how exercise and healthy eating can impact and improve our health, well-being and quality of life. It is important to make time in your day for exercise. Start by adding a few minutes of exercise to your day. You will feel the difference and you will eventually be motivated to do more.

Before jumping into the shower in the morning, perform 3 sets of abdominal crunches, body squats and push-ups (modified or full body) for 15 to 20 repetitions. If you work in a building, try taking the stairs instead of the elevator as often as you can and walk for 10 to 15 minutes during the day on your lunch hour or after work. At the end of the day when the kids are in bed and you are ready to go to bed yourself, take another 5 minutes and repeat the same workout routine you did in the morning. Try and do it at least four to five times per week. If you are not really into body weight exercises, purchase an inexpensive piece of rubber tubing from your local sporting goods store and perform two to three exercises in the morning with the rubber tubing.

Keep a Journal

Keep a journal of your efforts, challenges and achievements. Most of us need reminders to help us stay committed. Journaling every evening for 10 to 15 minutes before going to bed is a great way to review your day and to remind yourself of the commitments you were happy to keep and the ones you had to let go. Journaling helps you focus on the present and helps you create a roadmap for the future. I know it helps me and reminds me every evening of my commitment to workout the next morning.

Accountability

Another major failing point for many people is that we have no problem letting ourselves down. Given that fact, make yourself accountable to someone. Share your journal online, or with a spouse or friend. Create consequences for failure. Do whatever it takes to keep yourself committed to a better you. I’ve heard people say “Oh, the gym is too busy!”, well then, buy an XBox, buy Your Shape Fitness; a personal trainer in your own living room! Technology and accessability are advancing at tremendous speeds. Yet no matter how progressive a healthy lifestyle becomes, we all can create excuses even more quickly as to why we can’t maintain a healthy lifestyle.

Whatever. It’s all decisions. There are good ones. There are bad ones. Each has consequences.

“What do you mean my liver is failing from decades of drinking, doctor? I guess I’d better stop overdoing it!” Sometimes that is what it takes before an alcoholic would change their lifestyle. By then, it may be too late.

Good health is the same way. Heart attacks, strokes, aneurysms, diabetes, and countless other diseases and conditions are directly associated with poor health.

Seriously, why are you still making excuses?

Be Heard

So I’m going to lead by example, put my money where my mouth is. Here are some of my commitments this year:

1. By Fanfest I will have shed 10 more pounds of fat while increasing muscle mass
2. On May 8th, I’ll be running the Mercedes Benz 10k – might even win a car!
3. I’ll be running the 30k around the bay race on May 27th
4. I’ll then be heading to Ottawa the following day to run a full 42.2 km marathon
5. On Sunday July 10th, I’ll be doing the Peterborough Triathalon Sprint
6. I’ll make 100 kills with a Rifter
7. I’ll get most, if not all, of Path to Freedom published on my blog
8. I will successfully get my CanFitPro and ISSA personal training certifications and get myself some clients
9. I will learn to speak enough Japanese to survive my trip in December
10. I will actually learn how to use Cinema 4D in a “more than hobbyist” kind of way

So there’s ten goals. Want to know how I’m doing? Drop me an email. Write a comment. I’m not shy. Just ask and I’ll honestly tell you how things are going. Want to see photo uploads? Videos? Fine. Whatever you want from me for accountability.

And I’ll do the same for you if you want me to. I’ll kick your ass. I’ll check in on you. I’ll be there to help you keep moving forward.

I’m lucky really. I am surrounded by like-minded, motivating people that keep me honest with myself. When I screw up, I screw up. I dust myself off and keep moving forward, making more effort towards the things in life I want.

You deserve that too.

DEADSPACE
HEIMATAR REGION

“Today you will die, Roc Wieler, and it will be a great victory for the Empire. With the aid of our Caldari brethern, your name will be removed from the history books by my hand.”

My shields were depleted. My armour plates buckling, the repair systems unable to maintain themselves against the assault against me.

Over twenty Amarr and Caldari battleships continued their heavy fire against the Ripsack, my Rifter class frigate, as dozens of enemy frigates engaged me at point blank. All the while, three slave transports slowly pulled away from the battle, their cargo holds filled with my Matari kin.

“I will fight with my last breath, slaver, until the day when your vile and distorted views are no longer tolerated within any region of space. My voice is but one of many. And I shall be heard long after your corpse…” a salvo of missile fire slammed against my ship, tearing open the entire port forward strut. My hull was breached. The Rifter began to spin out of control from the impact.

I was at the end.

4 HOURS EARLIER

“Of course I’ll take your mission, agent.” I said. I had been pulled from a good sleep by the beeping of my NeoCom, something I detested. When I was off duty, I expected that to be respected unless hell itself was at the station’s door. As it turned out, the analogy wasn’t far off.

The Amarr were up to their old tricks, and were taking slaves here in Heimatar Region, right within Minmatar controlled space. I had to act fast.

I scrambled my flight team to ready my Rifter, the Ripsack, as I had pledged to only fly Rifter class ships that year, YC 113. As I raced towards my hangar, I was reminded of a recent comment made by my good friend Niko. “You know I respect you, Roc, but you’re a damned fool to be flying Rifters all year.”

He was probably right.

3 HOURS EARLIER

The remaining Caldari frigates scattered, fleeing into the safety of warp as I downed another of their squad. I knew the Amarr considered slavery an every day, acceptable occurrence. It bothered me profoundly that the State would be involved in such abhorrent practices. I contacted my agent right away to let him know of my findings; to receive my orders.

2 HOURS EARLIER

Cruisers and frigates fell before my rage. I was incensed from my very soul at the collaboration between the Amarr Empire and the Caldari State. They had been caught red-handed trading slaves in Minmatar space, yet still Concord did nothing. Our own government did nothing. Too much political fallout Shakor had said when pushed by the Senior Director of Ushra’Khan at my behest. In my anger I wondered when he had become such a neutered bull.

1 HOUR EARLIER

Still I couldn’t find the slave transports, and began to fear I would be too late. I knew firsthand the horrors that would be inflicted to these Matari at the hands of the Amarr, the dependency the Vitoc dependency they would be forced to endure, all in the name of God.

It sickened me. I tried to talk sense into the last damaged frigate commander of the Amarr/Caldari squad I had decimated, but their captain would not yield, sealing the fate of his crew. I erased them from space.

Scanning the wreckage, I was unable to find any clues regarding the location of the transports. Time was running out. My NeoCom beeped. It was my agent.

“Get yourself together, Wieler.” The agent said. “Our scouts have pinned the exact location of the slavers here in Rens. They’re moving slowly, covering those transports, and the window of opportunity is small. Do what is required to free those slaves, pilot.”

I warped through the vastness of space towards the coordinates provided. Two small squads of Caldari awaited me. I made short work of them, turning my attention to the large battleship fleet over 100 kilometers away.

It was unlikely that I would survive the encounter, but if I could blitz the transports, retrieve the escape pods, I might just get lucky and succeed at my mission. I had come so far, and was so very close. The freedom of the Matari depended on me.

NOW

“I will fight with my last breath, slaver, until the day when your vile and distorted views are no longer tolerated within any region of space. My voice is but one of many. And I shall be heard long after your corpse…” a salvo of missile fire slammed against my ship, tearing open the entire port forward strut. My hull was breached. The Rifter began to spin out of control from the impact.

I was at the end.

My overview came alive, as multiple contacts entered the area. Battlecruisers, battleships, heavy assault cruisers and assault frigates reverted to real-space before my eyes behind the enemy fleet.

I smiled.

“You just couldn’t wait, you crazy bastard.” the newest member of Masuat’aa Matari said to me over fleet comms.

“Good to see you too, Niko.” I replied. “Cutting it a little close aren’t we?”

“Well, wouldn’t want them to get suspicious and all. I mean who attacks a battleship fleet in a Rifter anyway?”

My ship shook as the circling frigates continued to pepper me with weapons fire. I overheated my repair systems, enough to reinforce what little armour plating I had left, and engaged the enemy.

I watched as the battleship fleet split into two, outflanked by my allies, reeling to respond strategically. Another frigate exploded before me, but there were too many, and my damage was too much to recover from.

I sped headlong towards an interceptor, overheating my autocannons. Neither of us veered from our course, each hoping to obliterate the other before it was too late.

Neither of us succeeded, our ships colliding at over one kilometer per second. Both ships were vaporized instantly.

“Roc! No!” Niko screamed over fleet comms.

“I’m alright, Niko; focus on that fleet. Take out the engines on those transports!” I replied from my pod, already aligning to the Brutor Tribe Treasury station in-system.

I wouldn’t be there to join in the glory of victory. I wouldn’t be there as we freed those Matari, teaching the Amarr and Caldari that we would never accept slavery within the galaxy, that we would never rest while such despicable disregard for human life was endured, that we would never back down, no matter what the odds.

We were Matari, and our spirit would never be crushed.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER

“The flagship is nearly done, Roc. I’ve got you a direct channel with her captain.” Niko said.

“Thanks Niko, but broadcast this on every open channel: fleet, enemy, local, civilian, all of it.”

“Will do, boss.” Niko replied.

“‘As I was saying, Commodore.’ I began. ‘Your corpse will be nailed to the front of my ship for all to see in the coming weeks, but only after I have let some of my less than respectful brothers defile it … repeatedly. And when the stink of your rotting flesh becomes too much for my nostrils to bear, I will jettison your deteriorating sack of meat into the nearest wormhole I can find, that you may never know peace in the afterlife. And do you know the best part of all this? Do you, Commodore? Your god won’t do a damned thing to help you. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Kinda makes you wonder if you were on the losing team from the very start, doesn’t it? Guess what? You were.'”

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 87,000 times in 2010. If it were an exhibit at The Louvre Museum, it would take 4 days for that many people to see it.

In 2010, there were 303 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 854 posts. There were 119 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 16mb. That’s about 2 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was May 7th with 24,432 views. The most popular post that day was Tyrannis: The Contest.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were eveonline.com, crazykinux.com, facebook.com, lifeinlowsec.blogspot.com, and ninveah.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for roc wieler, roc’s ramblings, republic fleet firetail, rocs ramblings, and pizza cones.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

Tyrannis: The Contest May 2010
51 comments

Firetail Revisited February 2010
13 comments

Tyrannis: The Tyranny of the Undead Space People May 2010
27 comments

Republic Fleet Firetail June 2009
10 comments

Tyrannis: Worlds Collide May 2010
47 comments

Looking back, I’m still amazed at the influence I had over any other capsuleer. I have never envisioned myself a celebrity, or someone of importance. My existence has always been one of necessity when it comes to others, and excess when it comes to myself.

I have always done what is needed. I always will.

Still, it was the Year of the Rifter, that year I challenged all the pod pilots of New Eden to commit to flying nothing but a Rifter for an entire year. Some balked, saying it would be impossible for them to go on fleet ops; others cried they would die too easily in a Rifter, but many took up the call. Thousands of them in fact.

And it was a good year for the galaxy.

Pilots re-learned the joy of flying frigates; of relying on your wits instead of your blob. They learned the benefits of versatile fittings, and a small, agile ship that could get you out of many sticky situations.

The Year of the Rifter proved to be a good idea in the end. Had I only known then what I know now.

DAY 1
9:02 AM

I’ve been flying the Ripsack for a while now, but this marks my first official entry in the Year of the Rifter. I’ve been scanning for pirate activity for the last ninety minutes; no luck. I wandered over to Amamake briefly, knowing there’s always a fight going on there, but I couldn’t lure any strays away from their packs. Disappointing.

I’m docking up for now. Will try again later.

Roc

You might not know this about me, but I like to have as much fun as the next Brutor. To that end, I’ve set up a meme generator for all of you to enjoy.

LINK

Here’s some that the #tweetfleet on Twitter have already created. Feel free to link yours in the comments below.