Well, I’ll tell y’all true, I ain’t never gittin’ in a beam agin. Think I’da learnt after the last time the universe went ta hell’n’back, but nosiree. Worse things, some pig in a snit’s taken the helm o’ the ‘porter, and you cud hear a fly sneeze in his skull. Well, maybe if he waren’t hollerin’ all the time, leastaways.
Back to tha story though, we wuz all set ta give an escort ta some emdee who fixed brains down planetside on a rock fer crazies. Damn hog-boy screws up, ‘n’ we’s all got stuck habitin’ bodies o’ some o’ the jailbirds. Yeah, so’s that meant o’ course, thanks be ta the god o’ poor luck, our bodies were up ta some serious shenanigans, but ah’ll get inta that in a tad.
First things, we panicked a bit, I’m not ‘shamed to ’mit, ’cuz our new suits had their share o’ troubles. Met up wit’ Krusks, but he musta been brain damaged or some such, ‘cuz I don’t remember him bein’ such a hard arse. Made like he planned the whole thing, he did, but that seems total barkin’ mad. If I hadna seen Sarge, god rest ‘is soul, blow him ta hog slop, I woulda sworn he were an evil Krusk from… elsewhere.
Had a run o’ luck though, in that ol’ cowboy doc had a brain left in ‘is ’ead, so we had one person ta convince we weren’t yer run-o-the-mill crazies. He got us out, right ‘nuff, but like I said, fryin’ pan ta fire.
Yed have thunk folks’d be useta dopples runnin’ around after last time, but no, one bolted it, couple got brigged, and ‘parently, my boy’s a klepto stealin’ from dead VIPs or somethin’, cuz he gets his hands on some illegal suit and legal rakes me over coals.
Well, I think that’s it fer me. I’m out o’ pocket payin’ fer that damn snake-tongued lawyer, and I’ll be thrice damned if I ever step on a pad agin. My two years were up a month or so ago; jest stickin’ around fer the boys in my squad, but this’s it. I’m out. God bless the rest o’ yeh, and don’t git yerselves kilt, ya hear?