Once more the valliant fools attempt to impress the siren of the coffin, her speech is of full metal jackets, speeding into the hearts of those she sings to.
The war between the Texan and the Peter have grown uncontrollable, their cries of anguish must be silenced by Jack's very own hands.
Soap, a requirment for suvival.
To aquire, is to be happy, and forty four of those are mine. They will come seeking, but Jack will hide. Jack always hides.
Today I was fixing the wall. There was a hole in it and when I asked Tex about it, he just mumbled about Pete and soap. It was at that moment that I realized I smelled really bad. Probably from all the times I forgot to change the bed when I peed in it. Do I have a bed...? I'm going to talk to Adam and see if I can borrow his bed.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"
A torpedo blented my riped last night. Whoever said ripple in the water as really a hard days night. When I went to the vole rats lair my farfegnuggen was blattered in the strumpet.
I realised I've not made any log entries since my little breakdown, with the axe and all that nasty stuff. Amy locked me in the armory to prevent me from... Well. She walked outside and found Jack and myself clawing at one another's throats, apparently. Not that I remember. Jack still scares the hell out of me, even though he's been unconcious for a few weeks now. Self inflicted coma. Apparently nobody should try and eat that much soap.
I'm trying to regain some focus. Amy seems to be the only one here who's not suffering. She needed my help repairing the air conditioning, so we got a pair of the external maintenance suits from the docking bay, and started working. It cost me three month's savings in bolts, but I'm not too fussed any more. I think there are better things to worry about now. At least people can survive for more than ten minutes at a time on that deck now.
Timmy asked to borrow my bed last week. I'm not using it, so I said yes. The armory is like a little haven of sanity these days. Outside I find myself with these weird urges to do stuff which can only be described as mindblowingly crazy, but when I sit inside and lock that door, with only one other person to keep me company, it seems like my brain just calms down a bit. Who'd have thought the cure for isolation was greater isolation?
Personal Log, Jimmy - Computer's Specialist 4th Class
Attempts to get Sam out of his room have resulted in an unexpected twist. He walked in there yesterday carrying a tub of Crisco and a six pack of beer... at first we assumed he was just in there watching a marathon of LA's Baywatch 818... you know the one with Hasselhoff's clone and the bouncing... any way....
Turns out it wasn't in fact what we expected, when Crewman Smith complained that something smelled suspiciously like a pork pie...
Sam'd somehow raided station stores and had decided to take up lessons to become a pastry chef. That wouldn't be so bad if he'd taken it up in the Galley, I'm sure we'd all appreciate some canopes... instead we get there to find he's rerouted the stations primary reactor vents into the Air conditioning unit of his own quarters...
Man literally baked himself into a pie.
Ordinarily we'd call on the Station's Shrink to sort us out, except he's still writing 'I'm bored' on every surface of his office, including his own skin. Not so bad, until you realize he's eying you like a block of A4 note paper.
I think I found a way to pass the time, some one has to put all the pieces of the pie into the freezer... finally something to do with the 5000 tonnes of tupperware that last DSE transport brought us instead of food.
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