Psykokow speaks, rather excited "This is Hutton Orbital, here to inform you about the drinking contest for our annual sports day. We're standing in front of our impenetrable voult, holding our most precious drinks for the most prestigous contest in all of universe. It's the moment you all were waiting for, the doors sart to open and we see... What on earth... It appears that our vault has been penetrated... And emptied... Who was on guard last night?"
Everyone looks into the now opened vault, inside- a smiling Cecils face, exclaiming "Worth it" before he falls asleep snoring rather loud.
Title:-Drabble team entries to the Colonia Sports Day
Well its sports day and the drabble team entered.
They said lets have a meeting see who's going where.
Alien said 'I will go for the decathlon, no one Knows who side I am on.
Winnard says "I will go for the sumo wrestling event"
"I will go for the 100 metres event, I got go faster stripes on my head" said Mindwipe
Simoof went for the Marathon as his farts would make him faster.
Psykokow selected the short jump as he doesn't know how to jump long.
EntariousFusion went for wrestling
Simoof said "Ok meeting over another wasted day".
We don't need none of them bleedin' sports!
So you won't catch me in no effin shorts,
which is just as well, I've got hairy warts
-not to mention those stomach supports.
It's just not graceful for us astronauts.
But I'll be very happy to scrounge a day.
I'll spend it playing with my way-hey-hey!
I'll prod and poke it in my own way,
until it grows old, tired and grey.
(A bit like Maggie or Teresa May)
Yours faithlessly
- a cantankerous, disgruntled and slightly dodgy commander.
Kyle smoothed out the kneejoints in his sports spacesuit. He was limbering up for his attempt. There was no way he was going to accept second place.
He bounded down the course, fast as his legs could carry him. He hit the spot perfectly behind the putty and launched himself upwards.
He kept going up and up. The arena disappeared behind him. He watched the ground he was high above race underneath him, but stay exactly as far down as it was.
He watched the arena appear on the horizon, get bigger, and go under him. He checked his air.
Here we are, the final event of Hutton school sports day 3304.
We apologise to the parents in the front row for the unfortunate finish to the egg and spoon race, when Simoof Jr tripped over. Please send your cleaning bills to the head teacher’s office.
Which house will win the zero gee tug of war to take home Alvin's prize this year?
Will it be the Federation or Imperials, tied at 99 points each?
It’s just a shame that the Anarchists were disqualified for pulling the Independent’s shorts down. Please delete all photographs of that event from your tablets.
01 - Entarius Fusion - 1st Drabble.... Mr Hankey, guess what..... i voted for you! Happy birthday by the way.
02 - Listeri69 - Running from myself again....
03 - psykokow - Blistering
04 - Simoof - Going the full hog
05 - FolcoTook - What's a Couple Extra Letters Amongst Friends
06 - TheOriginalB - The View From The Observation Deck (Or How This Unrelated Title And Story Barely Meet The Criteria)
07 - Star-Lord_Prime - Sports day=drinking day.
08 - RoyalHankey - Drabble team entries to the Colonia Sports Day
09 - Ninj - Why do we even publish letters like this?
10 - Frank - Big Air
11 - Fletchmo - “Someone’s Gonna Get It”
Eleven is a good haul of Drabbles, especially considering the late start. A special welcome to all our new players. It's going to be a great competition this week.
And there's still time for you to take part. Yes I'm pointing at you! You still have time to enter the contest. I won't be setting up the poll for another hour yet.
The rules were simple. Paired entrants joined 2 ships together and raced For some reason, the fact that no one had done this before and that the race was sponsored by The Red Hand Gang hadn't put people off. Neither had the risk of explosive death from binding landing gears together.
Perhaps the prize of a free anaconda at the first waypoint, Hutton Orbital, was the reason.
31,000 ships lined up at Alpha Centauri. The Smug commanders of a Corvette-Sidewinder combo boasted on local comms as 500 Red Hand ships lay in wait listening to their leader. "That one first".
So there it is, another week ends and another champion is crowned King Drabbler. Lets see how long they can reign.
Congratulations Ninj, you are the honoured one this week and you chose the topic
Personal Hygiene
Anyone can enter this weekly contest and the rules are simple - write a drabble give it a title and add it to this thread below.
What's a drabble I hear you say! Well for this competition it's: -
A short story of exactly 100 hundred words (excluding the title)
It must be set in the Elite Dangerous universe and relate to this week's topic.
The first 20 drabbles get entered in the contest (1 per person) and the poll is put up on Thursday with voting taking place over the weekend. On Monday the winner is declared and they pick the topic and the fun starts again.
Last week took a long time to get going followed by a mad flurry at the end. So I'm going to start things off by writing my drabble on day one for a change
Title: Personnel Cleansing
There it was, Orca class. Intel were correct.
I glance at the door as I direct her in. "Saud Kruger Sierra Tango Delta, you are cleared to land, please hold for quarantine procedures, sorry for any inconvenience". The door closed quietly as Jen and the "decontamination" boys departed.
I wait. Two minutes to the armoury, eight to docking level, another to surround the ship. Ten minutes, was that enough?
The speaker crackles, "Control, are you ready?"
"No HQ, vehicle wash occupied"
"No time, control".
I check the scopes... ambassador shuttle approaching... five minutes to dock, six more to redeploy team...
I swear, I double checked. Triple checked even. 754 tons, like it said on the manifest. There I was, though, 500 light years from the bubble, and the computer said 753 tons. Not 754. I swear, I double checked.
753 tons of biowaste, and I had 22 hops to deliver 754. Deep space, here; I'm all alone. Not that most stations would give me the time of day with this particular haul.
I sighed. Being an independent pilot means being resourceful - means finding a way to "yes" - so I pulled up the ship's plumbing diagram and grabbed another bran muffin.
Dump completed,OB1 flushed the cache and began to scrub its hard drive hard.
Images of mounting ports flashed briefly across retinal scanners as it massaged the mammoth electronic graphical object.
Dongle wiped and re-sleeved, WD-40 liberally applied to its undercarriage,it rolled out of recharging cubicle three, brushing a few stray protocols out of site.
Ready for its hot data link up with an environmental scrubber with pointy pins and hub access to die for.
'The name's Kerr, OB1 Kerrobot',vox-box drawled,arching one optical shutter in best Johhny5 impression.'Wanna populate?'
Debate was no longer on the table.
Hygiene is a advanced AI assistant for all your filthy trucking needs.
Compatible with Hutton Trucker Tracker it can truck and track at the same time.
It'll take anything from bio waste to slaves and sell them with high profit, addictionally it can clean your cargo hold!
(cleaning is sold as an addictional upgrade)
No more dirty hands, or filthy cargo space.
(Hygiene corporation is not responsible for any lost profits or cargo that may appear during use)
What are you waiting for filthy Truckers. Get your Hutton Trucker Tracker compatible AI assistant, say goodbye to *profits* dirt!
George Lucas turned its attention to the Cobra docked in bay 17.
The manifest showed 42 tonnes of Leestian Evil Juice. George Lucas checked its inventory: 69,669 glasses of Juice had gone that week, on a drinking contest between Under-Janitor Simoof and Principal Mop (2nd class) Winnard.
The economic boom was inevitable with traders barely able to meet demand for gas masks, bleach and air freshener.
Desperate to impose order, Station Clockwise Commander Frank summoned the contestants to bay 1. A smile flickered on his lips as the pair were boosted through the slot: "Sorry lads, you understand - personnel hygiene."
