Episode 22: Youre Not The Boss Of Me!

Youre Not The Boss Of Me

In honor of Freddy Prince Jr. day, we present to you the Rubicon Fleet Command episode! (Honestly, did you need a better reason to do an episode on FC’ing?)

It appears that either the Skype gods have been unfavorable or the brand spanky new headset that Kyle purchased caused some ….issues. However, we are looking for new, more exciting and preferably more stable platforms to record on. (If only because Skype is no longer allowing my recording program to work after Dec. 1. Curse you Skype Gods!! *shakes fist*)

Your panel of lovable knuckledraggers for this episode include:
Kyle Yanowski, Random McNally, Ashterothi, Fintarue and an added late appearance from Zealot Comadrin!

In this episode, we discuss our EVE lives and give ourselves a little “Pat on the Back” for being recognized by CCP and being featured in an EVE Spotlight. If you haven’t read it, you can find it here. http://community.eveonline.com/news/dev-blogs/community-spotlight-high-drag-podcast/

Zealot brings up the topic (for the Noob Segment) about “What fights should we have taken that we didn’t” and vice versa. In the main drinking discussion for the evening, we chime in on Post Rubicon Fleet Command and FC’ing with some good advice.

The episode wraps up with the Tao of Fin and a very strange dual tank Breacher. Yea, you’ll just have to listen. Shout outs to follow and away we go!

Music for this episode:
Have a Cigar by Pink Floyd
You’re not the Boss by They Might Be Giants

Bed Music provided by Mind.Divided.com

Kyle’s “The Grouchy Ladybug” can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grouchy_Ladybug

The MN Meet Up is on December 7th, 2013. It will be at Park Tavern in Minnetonka. For details, check out http://multiplexgaming.com/m/events/home/

It Was Bound To Happen…

It’s a sad, sad day.

On Sunday the 17th of November, I finally was able to settle the duel with HerrBert of Semper Ubi Sub Ubi. Allow me to set the stage.

It was a typical Sunday for me. This means, busy as hell. I sat about dawdling on getting the podcast edited in the hopes of finally getting this duel business finished. I thought that warming up was a good idea so I jumped into my Enyo (parked in Amarr) and flew back towards RVBland.

I should take a moment to mention that something “kooky” happened to my computer that caused me to loose ALL my overview data. Since I’m a complete moron on setting up Overviews, I should have seen this red flag.

Back to my tale. I fly back to RVBland in my Enyo, happy as a clam, when I land on gate and see 4 of my beloved Red Fed brothers battling a flashy red. “Good Heavens”, think I. (Yes, I do think things like that.) WAR TARGET!! I leap back through the gate and immediately engage this flashy red villian. ENYO power! He dies very quickly. That’s, when I get worried.

My fellow Red Feds start attacking me. Wut?

I look up and notice I’m in Poinen. Yea, I landed in the middle of the FFA with a T2 ship. This means, I’m primary. D’oh! I join fleet and apologize profusely for my error.

(This was red flag #2. uh, for those keeping track)

I pew. I welp. I’m warmed up and ready to go! But still, my opponent has not made himself known. I take a leisurely flight back to Amarr figuring that since I’ve missed TWO roams waiting, I may as well resign myself to editing episode 22 of High Drag. In the uber sekrit Skype podcasters channel, Tumbles Goodness (who was to video the duel) confirmed that I was the winner due to HerrBert’s no show.

Not easy to swallow.

I start editing and low and behold, Bert comes in! OK!, now I’m warmed up and ready to fight! I log back into Random, Gynax Gallenor (of Conquering Darkness and Fly Reckless podcast) gets pressed into service as our referee. He’s at the sun. One of us warps to him at “0”, the other at “100”.

We undock for our first battle. I in my Talwar, Bert in his Algos. Well, crap. Drones. Suffice it to say that my poor missile chucking Talwar, the first I’ve ever owned, survivor of several RVB fleets, died.

I may have wept…

Second battle. I undock sniper Cormorant and Bert undocks Catalyst. If you are a listener of Fly Reckless, Connall Tara spoke about how this sniper Cormie puts people into fits of rage. My fit had 80+KM locking range and could hit with Spike ammo. I took no damage and Bert was unhappy. OP success!

Score is now 1-1.

Final battle. I was cocky and undocked a Rocket Corax, Bert undocks Talwar. OH, crap! We were both MWD fit, and I knew that the Talwar could easily outrange my Dual MASB Corax. After a fair bit of dancing (I chased and couldn’t catch, try slingshot maneuver and STILL couldn’t catch him) he finally moved in close enough to slap a web on him. By this time, my MWD was melted. I overheated Rocket launchers and we slugged it out. I was focusing on my MASB’s so intently that I didn’t pay attention to my melting launchers. Things were dire for both of us! I had used up ALL my Cap Booster Charges for the MASB’s and was dropping fast to his LML’s. My rockets were tearing him apart!

Then it happened. Just as Bert was saying “You got me.” my launchers burnt out. He got 1, yes 1 more volley and blew my Corax apart. It was probably the most exciting fight I’ve ever been in. IF I had changed out from precision missiles to rage, the fight would have been VERY different but that was a HUGE error on my part.

Now, I leave to you, the podcast listeners and blog readers, did Bert get the win, or did the no show give me the default win?

I await you comments….

Random’s Pod and Pilot submission-For Love and Money

Was originally planned years ago as a dedication to an old corpmate. However, it never did make it into print….until now. I hope you all like it!

For Love and Money

Norin Mahddson awoke with a broad smile. Today, he was going to make a killing. He had a plan.

He attended to his morning rituals and when cleaned and fed, he dressed in a worn but comfortable flight suit. All the while smiling at what was to come. He stepped out his door and was greeted by a brilliant sunrise. He stretched and breathed deeply while the breeze danced across his light olive skin and dark hair. Today was going to be warm and pleasant. It was too bad he would miss it. He heard a woman’s voice and he turned to look across his small property. Elian, his wife of twenty years jogged to catch up with him. She was a stunning beauty in her youth; he was so lucky to have won her favor. Over his years of marriage, she had given him three beautiful children and tended the house while he was away. As she closed the distance, she still looked lovely. The years had been kind to her and had converted the stunning beauty of youth to a stately femininity. Despite the dirty work coveralls, her sun streaked hair and lightly tanned skin gave her a radiant look.

“Oh good,” she said, “You’re smiling this morning. You always do so well when you wake up happy.” She gave him a hug and a kiss then took his head in her soil stained hands. “Be careful.” She insisted. “I’m not worried about riches; I am worried about my husband coming back to me.”

“What if I return to you a capsuleer, pockets jingling with wealth?” He asked, adopting an air of exclusivity.

She frowned, “Why, then I shall divorce you, take our children and find another man whom I can give my life and love.” She smiled and snuck in another kiss. “You know I don’t care for such things. We have a small but beautiful home, wonderful children, happiness, and we love each other. We do not need such silly things as capsuleer.” She waved away the word ‘capsuleer’ like an insect about her head, but then stopped and looked pensive. “Love, I know we’ve talked about this many times, but do you really want such a thing?”

He sighed; they had indeed had this conversation many times. “Elian, I must work hard to supply the meager things we have. Being a capsuleer would open new avenues. I know that my skills applied with a capsuleer’s influence would provide for us much better.”

She pouted; an expression that looked slightly out of place but he found it adorable. “I love you and I’m happy with our life.” She brushed the errant bits of soil clinging to his flight suit from their embrace. “I only want us to be happy, go grow old together, and not have our life complicated by such things.” She turned him towards the road and said, “Now shoo! You will miss your convoy.” He looked back over his shoulder and smiled as he walked to the street. She was smiling but he knew that she was holding back tears.


He took transport to a shuttle facility and commuted in an Interbus shuttle to the station in orbit. He moved purposefully to the lower rent docks where his hauling vessel was birthed. As he walked through the Capsuleer docking areas, there were larger and more wondrous industrials and freighters, their pilots and crews working studiously. “Ah,” he thought. “Someday I shall be wealthy enough to fly among the stars with the wealth of kings.” His broad smile faltered at this thought. He had managed to hide away a small amount of actual ISK. If Elian had known that he had acquired and hidden actual ISK, she may have disapproved. But an independent trader must be prepared for eventualities. His smile returned with the thought, “I’ll not let the big fish get away for lack of funds.”

As he approached his ship, the Wine Song, and placed his hand against the hull, touching it lightly as he walked its length. “Bring me wealth and bring us back safe.” He said aloud, part of his preflight ritual. A loud clang caught his attention and he looked up to see the mass of his chief mechanic, Ronner. Ronner lifted the welding mask from his eyes and looked down to Norin with a scowl.

“The shield emitter is back online and we’re ready for space.” He growled. “Let’s hope that pirates have better targets to chase this trip.”

Norin beamed his broad smile back to the oft grumbling mechanic and said, “This should be an easy run. I have no intentions of going back through pirate space.”

Ronner scowled down to the ship’s owner. “You said that last time. Look what that got us.” He snapped.

Norin smiled even more broadly, “It got us a fat paycheck and plenty of supplies to keep this lady operating.” He placed his hand on the hull of the plain hauler. Ronner grumbled something unintelligible in Matari and went back to work with his customary scowl. Normally, Norin would not have kept Ronner in his employ but he was a near miraculous mechanic, despite his grumbling. There had been more than one encounter aboard the hauler that would have ended their lives, were it not for the crusty old grease monkey. “We’ll be fine!” he shouted up over the general din of the hangar. “Are we loaded?” he asked, timing the question when Ronner started back into welding just to be irksome.

“I said we were ready for space.” Ronner snarled back, his welding mask flipping back into place.

“I’m planning on cutting your pay!” Norin shouted up with authority.

The mechanic flipped up the welding visor, this time with a grin that matched Norin’s. “Then you won’t survive the trip.” He said, then flipped the visor down and resumed his welding.


The trip had been blessedly uneventful. The Wine Song’s crew had already netted a tidy little profit from running trade goods along the caravan route but Norin had his sights set on one more prize. A call had passed along the caravans of an agricultural world called Targin Flat. The world had been recently recolonized by a brave group after the previous inhabitants went missing. Upon the colonist’s arrival, they found the infrastructure of the previous colony more or less intact with the neglected equipment and dwellings as their major concern. The colonists called upon the merchant captains for goods and materials but none had braved the trip.

Dark rumors had circulated among the merchant fleets that a deep incursion from Sansha captured the original colonists. Many of the trader captains were interested in tapping this new market, but were anxious of being the first. Often heard were ‘What if they return’ and ‘the place is an ill omen’. Most of the captains were content to wait and see who would be the first to chance it.

The Wine Song crew, to a man, felt that this would be an opportunity worth chancing.

Norin hailed the colony and landed the Wine Song on a broad strip of worked bed rock. He powered down the hauler and moved to disembark; pausing only to glance in a mirror to make sure his appearance was acceptable. Outside, a small contingent of people in simple work clothing waited until it was safe to approach. Norin stepped out of the ship with a bottle of wine, and was greeted by a deeply tanned grey haired man.

“Captain,” began the colonist, “I am Roget Behn. I’m the…” he struggled briefly, “mayor? Governor?”

Norin beamed a friendly smile and chuckled at the man’s awkwardness. “May I call you Administrator?”

Behn looked pained as if the title fit clumsily. “Please Captain, call me Roget.”

Norin took the man’s hand in a firm handshake and said, “Only if you call me Norin.” This brought a smile from Roget and he shook the captain’s hand briskly.

“Roget,” Norin began, breathing deeply and looking around, “I have brought, for your approval, mechanical equipment, seed stock, some frozen supplies and construction materials.”

“Excellent, Captain Norin,” Roget began with a genuine smile, “I was beginning to worry that my calls for materials would go unanswered.” Roget paused, suddenly fearing he had said too much. Norin could tell that the desperation of the administrator’s tone may give the man a fear of being overcharged.

“We are but a small colony,” Roget began, looking awkward, “we don’t have a lot of money.”

Norin’s grin turned reassuring. “Be at ease, Administrator,” he said, using the man’s title, “I’m not here to raid you. My intent is to open trade with you and your colony.” The captain swept a hand around the cultivated fields and said, “I may, however, aggressively ask you for the privilege of bringing your excess harvest to market,” said Norin with a mock serious look that quickly washed into a friendly smile.

“In a show of good faith,” Norin continued, “I’ll gladly open my books to your accountant so that he can see what our purchases cost and, with the addition of a little something for my crew, what I will sell them to you for.”

The thought seemed to brighten Administrator Behn and he began to look comfortable as he told the captain about the regions, their crops and a bit of the history of Targin’s Flat. Norin signaled for a crewman to bring a couple of glasses and pulled a tool from his pocket. With the deft ease of a man performing a familiar task, he pulled the cork from the wine bottle. When the glasses were brought, he carefully poured the deep red wine into each glass.

“This is a very fine wine, captain.” Roget said. “I wonder if you’d care to sample some of our vintage.”
Norin’s eyes lit. “Why administrator, I would be deeply honored.” Roget had a bottle brought in and Norin sampled it with obvious pleasure. “Roget, I could find an easy market for this.” He said. “If you would be so kind as to exchange a few cases of yours, for an equal share of what I carry, I will test the waters and see what I can fetch for a price.” He turned back to the administrator, “Honestly, I could probably put your colony on the map with this alone.” He poured more of the administrator’s wine into his glass.

“That would make me very happy, captain.” Roget responded, reflecting the formality.

Both men settled back, enjoying their wine and looking over the pastoral vision of the worked fields. One of the Wine Song’s crew whispered to Norin. “It appears that our unloading is complete, Roget, and the coin has been exchanged.” He turned to the administrator with a more serious face and asked, “May I ask what that blight is over on that field?”

Roget blushed slightly, “It is a ship of some sort. I am unfamiliar with its make. The sad thing is, it’s taking up valuable field space and we have no way of removing it.” He cleared his throat, “Salvage metal does us little good with no foundries. Do you think this would be something you would like?”
Norin focused on the hulking mass of metal. “Salvage price is down and I can see where the farm land is far more important than storing rusting metal.” He pondered wistfully. “How much of this do you have?”
The administrator looked thoughtful. “There are 5 such wreckages. “ He cast a shrewd eye to the merchant captain, “Would you trade a load of materials for taking such wreckage?”

Norin cast a level gaze back to the administrator, working numbers in his head. After a few moments, “I will bring two loads of equipment and materials for the five wrecks you have. Maybe I could talk you into a few more cases of this wine?” He said, holding up his near empty glass.

“I think we have an arrangement.” Roget smiled broadly and extended his hand. Norin shook it gravely.

“You sir, are a tough negotiator.”


The Wine Song lifted up from Targin’s Flat loaded heavy with two the massive bulks of metal. As the plain hauler jumped into warp for its return trip, Norin called Ronner up to the bridge. The chief mechanic grumbled his way up and plopped into one of the bridge chairs. He cast a gimlet stare at Norin and said, “I hope you got something good for all that scrap.”

“Indeed I did.” Norin said, smiling broadly. “And, with the profits from this trip, minus the crew expenses, we should have enough to purchase a structural hull repper and potentially an armor repper.” He sat back in his chair, his grin threatening to wrap around is face.

Ronner stared as if the good captain spoke an alien language. “You intend to repair those frigate wrecks?” he asked incredulously.

“Indeed I do.” Norin responded quickly. “Do you know the value of a Succubus?”

Ronner sat dumbfounded. It was the first time in their career together that this had happened. Ronner’s mouth hung loosely; he stood and sprinted for the cargo hold.

Norin smiled broadly at the idea of finally being able to afford the conversion to being a capsuleer. His wife would be furious, but…

He had a plan.

Station Games (A Pod and Planet Story)

 The Pod and Planet contest  is beginning to heat up. Below is a rousing tale of what happens when a would be capsuleer drinks matari liquor with…well… I don’t want to spoil too much. Just know that it is a true story, and it all happened just 23,330 years from today…

“So, tell the story again, he hasn’t heard it yet!”

I shake my head, denying the request, and look around the room. The X-Sense Bar is alive with all of the scum of Low Security Space. Pirates, Back alley traders, general miscreants, and a wing from the Aideron Robotics Corporation.  Two tables down, a squad from the Federal Defense Union (FDU) plinks quarters of ISK into a shot glass.

“I don’t want to tell it.” I state flatly, taking a sip from my glass.

“ C’mon, Ski, what  have you got to  lose.”

“My dignity…again.”

As my party continues to berate me, I notice in true pessimistic fashion, that my glass is now half empty.

“Buy me another drink.” I demand.

“Will you tell the story then?”


I see some brows begin to furrow. I get the hint.

“Ok.” I cave too quickly. “Make it something other than that bottom shelf Matari sludge, and you’ve got yourself a story”

Nothing but smiling faces surround me, all eagerly awaiting just one more shameful tale of my life. My full glass of… Matari… spirits, arrives.

“I said no sludge.”

“That’s all they have. “ My friend says, grinning. “The pirates already bought the entire top shelf.”

“Well isn’t that about right.” I say, taking a sip. I gag.  “This will have to do then… “

I rest the Matari concoction on the table and lean back in the hazardously cobbled-together bar chair.

“This slurry of a drink reminds of a vital lesson I learned… about fifteen years ago.” I look around the table, sizing up my audience.

“What lesson is that, ski?”

“The lesson is,” I pause overdramatically. “Never drink warm Matari Spirits, and never, under any circumstances, trust a Matari woman…”


I check another Identification tag.

Pierre. F.  Federal Defense Union. Lt. Commander. 89721-T.

“Welcome to the Jolly Drone Sir, have a safe night”

I watch as the Capsuleer reclaims his Identification Tag and disappears into the animated crowd. It’s ladies night at the Jolly Drone Bar and a generally good night to be a bouncer.

“Can you say something else? I hear that same line, every night, over and over again.” Jesse, a tiny Matari girl, Cashier, and the second part of “The Drone” entryway operation, starts the banter later than expected.

“Yes dear.”

“I’m not your dear. It’s just that I have been working across from you for a month now, and I would like to hear a new welcome line. I know you have it in that cave-man skull of yours.”

Another Capsuleer walks through the entryway and hands me his I.D.

Jones. I. Federation Navy Customs Sergeant. 40012-P.

“Welcome to the Jolly Drone Sir, have a safe night.”

I grin at Jesse. She groans and accepts the patrons entrance fee. There is a loud buzz as the doorway to the bar swings open. The Capsuleer stumbles through.

“When do you get off tonight?” I query.

Another patron hands me their ID.

Mittani. T.  Interbus sanitation engineer. 27889-F.

I pitch my usual welcome line and look at Jesse. My eyes attempt to coax an answer from her.

“In a half an hour.” She says, “And I know you get off at the same time. The answer is no.”

I pretend not to hear the last part.

“No. I will not be going on a date with you.”

“That’s presumptuous.” I reply, “I’m just going to grab a few drinks at the Bar, then take a shuttle to Old Man Star.”

She looks horrified. “But those are my plans!”

“Well then, a date it is.” I grin and take another ID. She stares at me, mouth agape.


 “Wait a second. That guy was a janitor?”

I shrug, ignoring the question, and motion to my friends that my glass is empty again.  The noxious spirits are poured and I take a healthy gulp.  A pirate, a few seats over, sings a moving rendition of “The Scolding Wife”.  He bows to raucous applause and quickly loses his attention as one of the Bar call girls tempts him from his soap box.

“So what happened with the girl?”

I shrug again, take a swig of the drink, and continue the story.


The bartender is a ginger. A red head. His name, or rather what we call him, is Opie. He is a friend and he is also trying to kill me again.

From my bar stool, I motion to Opie that I am done for the night. Jesse, sitting beside me, does not like this.

“You Gallanteans are all the same.” She snorts.  Opie grins.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I don’t think I am slurring my words…yet.

“It means…” She flirts “That you cannot hold your spirits.”

My pride is wounded, however, the liquor is making it too difficult to form a proper retort.  I am definitely slurring my words. Opie sees this, and steps in on my behalf. He grabs a microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a challenge has been issued.” A crowd begins to form around us.

“A drinking contest, between our resident bouncer, Ski, and the Drone’s very own cashier, Jesse!” The crowd grows even larger.

I see ISK begin to exchange hands as Opie lines up twenty-five modern Gallantean shot glasses.

“The rules are simple, there are twelve doubles for you.” He points at me. “And twelve for you.” He points at Jesse. “First one to the center glass, wins.”

More ISK exchanges hands; I feel slaps of encouragement on my back when I see a hairy paw wrench the microphone away from the Bartender.

Allons, or Al for short, is the Jolly Drones other Bouncer. He puts the microphone up to a thickly bearded mouth.

“We have the contest, we have the contestants, we even have the odds… but what… is the prize?”

The crowd roars. I hear suggestions about mutilation and scarification. One persons suggests flowers and is quickly quieted. Al hushes the crowd. In the silence, I recall that AL owns a small tattoo parlor next door; I instantly know what is coming.

“Winner chooses the loser’s tattoo.”

I groan and Jesse claps her hands together in excitement. I attempt to raise a hand in protest but am quickly stifled. To my horror, Opie has filled twenty-five double shot glasses to the brim with the nastiest rot-gut Matari beverage on the bottom shelf. I am in trouble.

Al gives the microphone back to the Bartender. Again, a hush falls over the crowd.

“Three. Two. One…GO!”

We both reach for the first drink.


“You were already drunk right?”

“Of course I was, I get more inebriated every time I tell this story.” I say wryly.

“It’s true. The last time he told this story, there were only nineteen shot glasses.”

“Speaking of glasses.” I glance at my cup and it is instantly filled. Magic.

“Where was I… Ahh yes…”


The lights feel intense. I hear laughter, screams and whoops. I look at the playing field before me and see four glasses. Jesse is writhing on her stool, head slumped onto her forearms. She has one glass left, I have two, and the middle glass lays between us.

I reach for my shot. With shaky fingers I slowly raise the grog to my lips. No matter how much I try, the drink won’t enter my mouth.

“I can’t…do… this”

Jesse lifts her head up and reaches for her glass. I try to lull her back to sleep, but can only muster slurred speech and groaning.

Jesse cocks her head back, and the amber liquid in the shot glass disappears.  Finding the motivation I need, I quickly down the pen-ultimate shot.

“Two left, darling, I don’t think you have it in y…”

My brain doesn’t comprehend what I see. Jesse, the tiny cashier, grabs the winning shot glass, and my own, and drinks them both.

Jesse had won the drinking contest.

I am slowly fading in and out of consciousness, but I am thankful for my inability to comprehend the humiliation.  I feel a hand with a vice like grip, grab my shoulder.

Too inebriated to protest and continuing to fade in and out, I submit to the crowd dragging me. I see Jesse smiling at me. I think I love her.  I catch glimpses of the crowd following, grabbing, pushing me, my feet dragging around a corner, the crowd laughing and pointing. I squint my eyes and think I see Al prepping his Tattoo Tools.

Jesse’s beautiful… and… evil face fades in and out of view. I think I hate her.

“Stand him up, and bring him over here.”

A sea of hands hoist me off of the floor. I stumble over to the bearded bouncer and tattoo artist. He pushes a button and a table protrudes from the floor.


Because I am incapable of saying no, or because I am just too curious, I do as he commands.

I feel an enormous wave of laughter and shouts wash over me from the crowd. I turn around and wave to an adoring audience.

“What’s it going to be, ski?” I look over my shoulder at Al. I see a big grin of white teeth beneath his gnarly black beard but before I can answer, the world begins to spin violently. To the sound of guttural, distorted laughter, I black out.


“The next morning, I wake up…”

“Arr, what do ya mean the next morning?”

I notice that the pirates have joined our group, as well as the Federal Defense Union boys. Considering I do not want to get stabbed, I decide to tread carefully.

“I blacked out. The time period between the tattoo and the next morning, would only be pure speculation.”

“Arr.” Is the only response.

“Pirates…” I say under my breath.  “ Are you singing pirates, or stabbing pirates?”

“Arrr, we be singing pirates!”

A pirate breaks out into a song.

“Nothing like this pirate life,

Stabbing people with my pirate knife!”

Strangely impressed by the pirates ability to come together in a chorus, I gulp, and continue the story.


The next morning I awake with a start. I feel a violent pounding in my head as I search for clues as to where I am. Recognizing the underwear on the floor, and the ugly posters on the wall, I am in my quarters. I don’t understand how I arrived in Old Man Star, or more importantly, who had tucked me in. Or where the rest of my clothing is. Or why my head hurts.

Slowly, the memory of the drinking contests floods my brain pan.

“Oh yeah… that” I say to myself as I roll out of bed and begin a long trudge to the quarters shower facility. I don’t know it, but the bed sheet is following me into the shower. I send the signal from brain to hand in hopes of ceasing the sheets’ pursuit, however, I am not holding the bed sheet with my hands. Perplexed, I detach the cloth from my body and step into the shower.

The water feels good as it hits my face; a natural headache remedy. I am in a state of relief when I turn around and let the water hit my back. The water trickles down…

I immediately leap forward and let out a shriek that shakes the very foundation of the Old Man Star Station. I look down where the water is sending shooting pain through my body, and see something that should not be there.

To my horror, I realize I am the proud bearer of a tattoo of “I love mining” on my left butt cheek.




The original crew is laughing hysterically. One of the FDU rookies vomits. Another privateer falls out of his stool. An old, grizzled pirate nods his head in understanding. All of them request to see it.

I take one last gulp of spirits and stand up.

“My only consolation, is that I don’t ever have to look at it…” I say unbuckling my pants.

To the sounds of laughter at my own expense, I drop my pants… and show them.

Episode 21: The Angry Eve Episode

Well, now that we are over the hump of making 20 of these Eve Online Podcast episodes, you would think that we would be happy. Well we are, but not for this episode. Usually, we’re a bunch of nice nerds on this show, but for episode 21, we let off some steam in the direction of people, places, and things in and around Eve Online that have angered us over the past few months.

Take everything you hear with a grain of salt, because even though we might hate something now, doesn’t mean we don’t love it in the grand scheme of things! Rest assured dear listener, we will always, always love you, no matter what! Disclaimers aside, we spent a good bit of time on this episode.

Taking some of the suggestions from the community, we’ve added normalization and other “refining” effects to improve the quality of the Podcast. I had to learn all about Adobe Audition in between flights at Atlanta airport. Below is proof that, yes, we do actually edit this Podcast.


In this Episode:

  • Our panel is rounded out with Kyle Yanowski, Random Mcnally, Ashterothi, and Fintature. Zao and Zealot, because their names begin with “z”, fell alseep a little early and could not make it.
  • We streamed live on Fintarue’s twitch channel which you can find here.
  • We get angry about Somergate, TEST Alliance, Interlude music, and much much more.
  • Fintarue fills in with a railgun brawling Tristan for the Tao of Fin.
  • Random asks about volley and grouping for the Noob Segment
  • Music in this episode is by Great Big Sea, and Here Comes the Boom
  • The Ship Spinning Gambling site has been helping Fintature out. Go and support them here.