We circled the Davis constellation, acquired beer molecules and
explored the dark recesses of the outer Harvard constellation on our
way to discovering a virgin derby lot deep in the recesses of MIT.
Moose and the Fleet Admiral instructed in the wise ways of old school
derby. "Your opponent respected is. Force and speed, cowardice and
evasion — these are not the true path, only to the dark side
will they lead. The true derby pilot masters his ship, commands
maneuver and strategy. Engages the opponent does he, fears not the
crash, and manly hugs afterwords does he share. IN SPACE!"
Thus instructed, SCUL pilots engaged in the noble sport and with each
other. Poetic ballet IN SPACE! With much crashing and hugging. And
tall bikes. Cashing and hugging tall bikes... IN SPACE!
The time flew and soon we realized that there were less than 30 earth
minutes to the end of MUM. The Fleet Admiral was optimistic and
piloted by Navi HeadCrash the rag tag band wound their way through the
Cambridge system, arriving to the cheers of the masses with 10 earth
minutes to spare.
There was no time to be lost getting down, posing for photos, and
jumping glowy stick rope.
Catastrophe struck... actually Catastrophe wasn't on this ride. So
something ELSE struck Cloudbuster and a landing gear failure brought
the noble ship down, smashing the disco deathstar into many non-posi
fragments. But all the fleet's horses and all the fleet's men did in
fact put that deathstar back together again. With tape. IN SPACE!
After breaking down the party and reassembling Cloudbuster, the Fleet
hit Luna DDs on the way back to the landing pad. Much fun was had by all.
|Senior Chief Petty Officer
|Star Hustler (Bombardier)
|Lieutenant Junior Grade
|Life Support 1
|Life Support 2
|Local parking lots