[Chardok]

I'd like to share some of my experiences with my throwaway trash career that became a real one. Let me explain.

Usually, when I'm learning a game, I create a profile or toon with the most juvenile name I can dig out of the sewer of my brain, I call this my trash career, and it usually goes away after I start a serious career. Unfortunately for this skipper, he's doing really well, and his career is going to stick. Presented as a script, I give you:

The Adventures of Commander Fartface Episode 1 - part 1
A tor-what-o?

Players:
Commander Richard Fartface
Admiral Jefferson Connor
Petty Officer First Class Dan Burger


Camera Pans down over pearl harbor in the morning, zooming across the water towards a nondescript, grey building. it finally goes into a window over the shoulder of an oviously high-ranking naval official, a bleary eyed young man in front of him at what could only be described as "Barely parade rest"

Admiral Connor: So....Lt. Commander Fartface? How do you pronounce that?
cmdr. Fartface: *sigh* the way you think.
AC: you're joking.

FF: I wish. It's french. It means "Tree."

AC: You wish.

FF: S'cuse me.

FF takes a flask out of his pocket and take a quick swig, offering it then to Admiral Connor, who stands up sharply, pounding his fist on his desk.

AC: DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU'RE DRUNK?!

FF: Err...what time is it?

AC: IT'S NINE AM, "Commander"

FF: Then yes.

AC: YOU PIECE OF CRAP, IF WE DIDN'T NEED EVERY SINGLE OFFICER WE COULD GET OUR HANDS ON I WOULD THROW YOU IN LEAVENWORTH TODAY!

Admiral Connor calms down, flopping into his chair, obviously exasperated.

AC: Sit down, Dick.

FF: Oh, God, thank you.

FF crashes into the uncomfortable looking chair in front of Admiral Connor's desk, letting his head loll lazily over to the side.

AC: Look, Dick, what are you doing? You should be in this chair, not me. You're a genius! What... just help me to understand what is going on in your head?

FF: Oh, not much, I'm afraid.

AC: Well, you'd better get squared up, you're leaving tonight for Honshu. On the Pollack.

FF snaps his head up, his eyes wide, a look of horror smeared across his face.

FF: A COMMAND?! NO! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! THERE'S A WAR ON! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KID-THE POLLACK?! CHRIST, MAN, THAT THING IS...BARELY...*sigh* a...boat. So, punishment, right? No leavenworth, but a suicide mission into Tokyo harbor on a boat that probably won't make it to Midway before it sinks?

AC: Stop whining, it's brand new Oh, and your crew's fresh out of training or just reclassed into their new specialty, AND your rig's loaded with the new Mark 14's.

FF: We got no sugars?

AC: Plenty.

FF gestures wildly, his eyes wide, seeming to say "WELL?!"

AC: Not for you. Get out.

FF slowly stands up, saluting half-heartedly as he does, begins to stageer towards the door.

AC: And Dick, I'd get rid of those mark 14's ASAP. But you better hurry, no one else wants them either, and we've only got so many 10's

FF: Ass.

Admiral connor laughs as Fartface shuts the door.

shot: a long straight hallway, Fartface with his hand on the wall as he walks towards the door at the other end.


Shot: a bustling dock with a submarine parked next to it. Men crawl over it, lowering supplies down hatches, some are welding, others wield wrenches and hammers, torpedos are being lowered into place beside the boat, on the dock.

Fartface, squinting and shielding his eyes from the bright tropical sun calmly walks towards the stack of torpedos being tended to by an unshirted man who, at the Commander's approach stands stick straight, saluting

Petty Officer Dan Burger: SIR! PETT-

Fartface puts his finger to his lips, shushing the over-eager young man.

FF: Ensign, what's all this?

DB: The Pollack, sir!

FF: No, These (kicks a torpedo) things.

DB: obviously confused by this apparently trick question: They're tor..umm...pe...dos, sir?

FF: Tor-WHAT-os?

DB: Torpedos, sir.

FF: Ensign,

DB: I'm a petty officer, sir.

FF: Right. Ensign, Do you speaky the eenglish?

DB: umm...yes...sir?

FF: 'Yes, sir?' or 'Yes, sir.'?

DB: Yes sir.

FF: Good, me too. You drink?

DB: umm...sometimes, sir.

FF: Like whiskey?

DB: Not really sir.

FF: Me neither, here.

FF offers DB his flask, who takes a swig, coughing and sputtering, as the swig is forcefully ejected from his mouth.

FF: But damn if I can get my hands on anything else. Look, how many of these mark 14's have you loaded?

DB: sir, we've got four in the bow tubes, two aft, and 6 in the front magazine.

FF: take three out of the bow tubes, load mark 10's, one from the aft and do the same, then the reamining stores on the boat, fill with mark 10's, leave the rest of the 14's.

DB: Sir!

FF: Oh, and if anyone needs me, I'll be...somewhere else.

DB: yes...sir...


Part two coming soon