EVE General Discussion

Remember to include the author and title of the original.

(even if you are parodying Shakespeare)


There are a couple of otherwise good entries that are currently disqualified for this reason.

Adaptation of The Man From Snowy River, by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

The Ganker from Old Man Star

There was movement at the station, for the word had not been missed
That the miner in the belt had got away,
And had joined the wild bot-aspirants - he was worth 10 million ISK,
So all the ships had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted gankers from the systems near and far
Had mustered at Leremblompes overnight,
For the gankers love hard flying where the wild bot-apsirants are,
And the catalyst snuffs the battle with delight.

There was James 315, who made his pile when Halaima got its Code,
The great man every miner's toughest foe;
Few could fly beside him when miners tears they flowed -
He would go wherever stabber and man could go.
And D400 of the Death Dealers had come to lend a hand,
No better ganker ever graced a pod;
For never Concord could kill him while the armor reps would stand,
He learnt to gank while flying in Embod.

And one was there, a newbie in a small and weedy frigate,
It was something like a destroyer undersized,
With a touch of Gallente green - three parts Atron class at least -
And such as are in faction warfare prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient flight;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
His ship whizzing through space at the speed of light.

But still so new and gankless, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the great man said, "That ship will never do
For a long and tiring gank - lad, you'd better stop away,
Those belts are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful - only D400 stood his friend -
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his ship and he are Essence bred."

"He hails from Old Man Star, up by Heydieles side,
Where the fights are twice as common and twice as rough,
Where a frigates guns strike firelight from their enemy every fight,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And Old Man Star pilots in the stars they make their home,
Where the aurora runs those giant belts between;
I have seen full many gankers since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such pilots have I seen."

So he went - they found the miners by the big Gamis ice clump -
They raced away towards the ice-belt's brow,
And the Saviour gave his orders, "Knights, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy flying now.
And, D400, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Fly boldly, lad, and never fear whats dealt,
For never yet was pilot that could keep the bots in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of that belt."

So D400 rode to wheel them - he was racing on their wing
Where the best and boldest pilots take their place,
And he raced his catalyst past them, and he made the ice-belt ring
With the antimatter, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung his dreaded gun,
But they saw their well-loved ice-belt full in view,
And they charged beneath the blasters with a sharp and sudden run,
And off into the ice-belt cloud they flew.

Then fast the gankers followed, where the ice gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their lead,
And the antimatter woke the echoes, the miners defiantly answered back
From icy rocks and crags above their head.
And onward, ever onward, the wild miners held their way,
Where veldspar, omber and scordite grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the bots good day,
No man can hold them through the other side."

When they reached the ice-belt's summit, even D400 took a pull,
It might well make the boldest ganker hold their breath,
The wild asteroids grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of Concord's guns, and any slip was death.
But the man from Old Man Star let his frigate have his head,
And he swung his railguns round and gave a cheer,
And he raced it through the ice-belt like a torrent through its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent Gneiss stones a'flying, but his frigate kept it's feet,
He cleared the jettisoned containers in his stride,
And the man from Old Man Star never shifted in his seat -
It was grand to see that Old Man pilot fly.
Through the Kernite and the Jaspet, on the rough and broken ground,
Round the ice-belt at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the engines till he landed safe and sound,
Amongst the bot-aspirants and their sickly, putrid scent.

He was right among the miners as they reached the further belt,
And the watchers on the grid standing mute,
Saw him ply the antimatter fiercely, he was making miners melt,
As he raced across a clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two asteroids had met
In the belt, but one final d-scan reveals
At a dim and distant ice-belt the wild miners racing yet,
With the man from Old Man Star at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their ships were torn and blown.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy pod all beaten could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from Concord;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For every miner, with the Code, was now on board.

And down by great Halaima, where the Code reins supreme
Its proud and noble battlements on high,
Where the sky is clear as crystal, and miners do but scream
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around The Citadel the systems sweep and sway
And from the catalysts, the miners all take flight,
The man from Old Man Star is a household word today,
And the gankers tell the story of his fight.

You could always try:

EDIT: The forum doesn't edit it. Removed the word.

EDIT 2: Nope, even different spellings all get through. Removed all versions of the word.

I saw the best miners of my generation destroyed by gankers, sociopathic cowardly idiots, dragging themselves through minmatar space after downtime looking for an angry tear,
angel farming spaceshipsters burning from the socket closing disconnection to the clone vat in the machinery of the station,
who poor and toxic and hollow-eyed and rustled warped off smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-space grids floating across the docking radius contemplating ****,
who scared the lames with hulkageddon under the hel and saw mordus angels staggering through vale target painted,
who passed through test with raging fool cries hallucinating relevance and respect among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from eve uni for awoxing & publishing obscene odes on the forums of the dull,
who cowered in highsec in npc corps, earning their isk in gank magnets and listening to the troll in local,
who got ganked in their freighter returning through uedama with twelve bil in mods for jita,
who ate long limb roes in vfk or drank quafe zero in poitot, warped out or froze their corpses night after night,
with beams, with drugs, with carebearing nightmares, alcohol and epeen and no balls…


meh this poem is a lot longer than i remembered... you probably get the idea )))

edit: hmm i guess they censor the word "j1zz"

Lyris, stop.

If

Based off of Kipling's poem of the same name



If you can FC when all about you

whine about the blobbing and the Tidi

If you can trust your logis when they lock you

But know your fit is a solid try

If you can camp and not be tired of the bash

Or be scammed but not try the same

Or be trash talked but not talk trash

And yet don’t look too bling, nor try for fame



If you can fit, but not make fits your master

If you can pvp- and not make death your aim

If you can be podded or pod the other faster

And treat both of the events just the same

If you can read Eve-O GD forum posts

Words twisted by bitter vets made of straw

Or if you can watch the awox of your corp to ghosts

Start over recruiting some newbs full of awe



If you can put all your assets in one Carrier

And risk them in an unscouted move ‘cross null

Be popped and start over in an Impairor

And never rage quit or on the loss mull

If you can awaken to check a comm ping

Long after the coffee (or booze) is gone

Bleary eyed stare are the monitors screen

Because the FC said we all need to stay on



If you can run for CSM and keep your virtue

Talk with the devs but not forget the game

If neither Goons nor miners will try to hurt you

If all votes mention you but none apply blame

If you can fill every moment you play it

With flights of imagination and of fun

You know what you have and you say it

And- which is more- you’re a pilot, my son!

m

'Tis nice to hear of such a contest!

I will be sure to submit my work by the next days.

[Based on Cloths of Heaven by W. B. Yeats]

Virtue of Ibis by P. X. Diadochu

Had I the Officers' laden ships,
Enwrought with purple and faction mods,
The Navy and the Angels and the Blood ships;
Of bling to pimp'd for all my mods,

I would rip your pod from outta your hull:
But I, being poor, have only my Ibis;
I sit off station, as you're blasting my hull;
Tread softly because the cyno that's on my Ibis.

Parody of Casey at the Bat by Ernest Thayer


FC with the Call

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the low-sec roam that day;
The killboard stood at ten percent, with but a short time yet to play,
And then the bait squad died at once, and the tackle did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the streamers of the game.

A raging few logged off, and left in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only our FC could get his mojo back -
They'd put up even money, now, a gatecamp they could crack.

But the wing commander stuttered, as did the only scout,
And the former was a pubbie and the latter was a lout;
So within that stricken fleet of newbs grim melancholy grew,
For there seemed but little chance to win no matter how they flew.

But the scout, he got a warp-in, to the wonderment of all,
And the logi squad, though much despised, let not a single pilot fall;
And when the field was looted, and they saw what had occurred,
There was green upon the killboard and the fleet still up for more.

Then from 100 throats and more there rose a lusty cry;
It rumbled through the servers, it rattled the wifi;
It knocked throughout the teamspeak and recoiled upon the chat,
For the FC, patient FC, had asked them to ship up!

There was ease in the scout’s manner as he jumped ahead to look;
There was pride in the fleet’s bearing and on each face a smirk.
And when, responding to the scout, they quickly set the path,
No pilot in the fleet could doubt the FC's groove was back.

Two hundred ears were listening as he called out warps and jumps;
A hundred gifs appeared in local when they blobbed some solo chump.
Then while the waiting enemy fleet was sized up by the scout,
Defiance filled up each squad chat, all eager for the rout.

And now the final jump and warp call came from the FC,
But the enemy they were chasing did warp off, so quick to flee.
“Just missed the point by seconds” said the valiant tackle squad.
"We’ll scan them down, no worries” said the patient wing command.

From the teamspeak, filled with grumbling, there came a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill them! Kill them all!" shouted someone on the mic;
And it's likely they'd all shouted had not the FC called “Break, break!”

With the depth of long experience the FC’s voice was calm;
He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the scout go on;
He signaled to align again, and once more the fleet it flew;
But the enemy warped off again, and the local taunting grew.

"Cowards!" cried the maddened fleet, and comms became a roar;
But “Break, break!” again in teamspeak and the pilots stilled once more.
They heard his voice grow stern and cold, they heard his patience strain,
And they knew that this FC wouldn’t let the foe escape again.

The sneer is gone from each one’s voice; their teeth are clenched in hate;
They pound with grim frustration on their keyboards as they wait.
And now the scout calls out the point and now they hit their warp,
And now the grid is loading and the guns are all run hot.

Oh, somewhere in this wondrous game someone is having ‘fun’;
A miner melting rocks somewhere, or missions being run,
And somewhere pirates ganking, and causing someone pain
But there is no joy in Arnher - for the node has crashed again.



(OP - thanks for setting this up, I had way too much fun doing this)

This Be Thy Universe

They f*ck you up, these gankers do.
Think they won’t get you, but they will.
You filled your freight with too much goo
And no profit after ship lost bill.

But they get f*cked up in their turn
By CONCORD ships with insta-toast,
Who were busy watching noob-ships burn
That time you needed them the most..

Man hands on misery to man.
It festers deep and grows in you.
Destroyers trained quick as you can,
And you’ve become a ganker too.


(This Be Thy Verse - Philip Larkin)