Fort Akito

[Homac]

I am SO SCARED now.

I'm gonna start hiding now. Bye! *hides under his couch*

[kempff]

I like pen*s.< edit by Akito.

Point proven by Akito's edit.

Akito has a small c*ck indeed.

[Akito]

I knew it!

Much disappointment to be had.

[kempff]

Day 170 of the glorious war against the Father,

We are listening to this for dramatic effect.

Our finest mission at last, the day our dear Leader had promised: to strike the very heart of Aazi Aukstriklio.

"It is perfectly sensible that such a inhumane, corrupt ideology be born from the cellar of the world. That such a perverse, backwards, and genocidal people be our mirror opposite. Father, he will pay for his crimes one day, and that will be your finest mission!"

We hear that speech daily, but specifically say that bit to ourselves: dear Leader has warned us of the traps and surprises in the Father's Aazi Aukstriklio. He has told us that 85% of the population is female, and oddly enough, have no papers. It is also pondered if there are any males, as none have been seen, but in Aazi propaganda: thus this leads us soldiers to weird scenarios where the Father is the only male on his corrupted little island. Truly he is a disgusting vile, petty man.

We are somewhere off the coast of THE HOUSE THAT AKITO BUILT Sydney, though YOUR GODDESS IS DEAD NAOW Melbourne is rumored to be the target of daily siege from friendly forces. It has been understood that we, sons of the dear Leader, must take the evil empires capital, THE HOUSE THAT AKITO BUILT Sydney.

Company sergeant Ichabod Crane, leads the first great charge.
Though he speaks of some White Wale, we all figure it is the Father himself, and he intends to harpoon him.
"MAN THE HARPOONS MEN! WE MUST TAKE ALL THEIR BLUBBER!"
And we must, that is what the Father has in such great supply.
Word is, is that the Great War against the Father, is actually to steal the copious amounts of Blubber the Father eats and feeds his dilapidated Aazi nation.
But, we know this cannot be.
As we get closer to the shore Sergeant Crane goes into hysterics about his family, a son that he beats daily for being too handsome, charismatic, and simply better than him. His mother is apparently like a Saint, and so he must sleep with a million women to feel as pure as she.
The first air raids have been done, and great clouds of smoke lift up from THE HOUSE THAT AKITO BUILT Sydney. Then come the artillery shells at your landing crafts.
We figure the horrible aim and occasional misfires has something to do with the gunners being only women.
Now we land, and we charge towards THE HOUSE THAT AKITO BUILT Sydney.
If only our dear Leader were here now, he would lead the glorious charge, he would fearlessly strike the heart of Aazi Aukstriklio.

To think that the Father killed both our dear Leader, that fellow we're not sure who he is, and wounded the Goddess. This became a holy war. And the Father is on the brink of doom.
But, worst of all, the Father killed our dear Leader when our dear Leader showed mercy, agreeing to meet to come to a truce. What coward stabs another in the back?

So, the Father put us in a desperate position; or so he thought. The wounding of the Goddess sent our fires to rage, and then no manner of beast or man could keep the dear Leader's people from retribution. And the Goddess sent us really fine weapons to boot, what was not worth trying?

Something has become a stir now. Companies, even entire brigades are being kept down. What are the reasons?
If only we had taken the dear Leader's words with more understanding: the Father has left enclaves of unclothed women about, tempting our brave men.
What a vile deed.
If there is no change, what hope do we have but to be mowed down by women?

Lo-behold! We have found a remedy, they are defenseless to being bound, chained, and beaten with bottles!
Our dear Leader be praised, that is why we brought them!

The fourth and fifth air-raids have taken place with the sixth through eight ready. THE HOUSE THAT AKITO BUILT Sydney is in flames.

News has come, we have cornered the Father. Surrender is imminent.

But we know, we remember, we tell ourselves: what would our dear Leader do?
The pride of the Father would change our messages.
The hubris of the Father would change our names.
The arrogance of the Father would rewrite our descriptions.
The ego of the Father would call us failures of his son.
But we suspect this is all to hide the fact of his very tiny c*ck.
And if he changes this message, we will re-post it endlessly.