Why do they call you that?
- Thread starter 57thEnryu
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Chi-Ro
Private Tester
Chi-Ro = the Greek letters Chi and Rho which put together is explained here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chi_Rho
More or less I've always loved history, and as I am a Christian, this was a good match for me.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chi_Rho
More or less I've always loved history, and as I am a Christian, this was a good match for me.
Novaz
Member
Loved that explanation <3
kasityolainen
300
It was a sweaty August evening, I have no idea of what day or what time it was, as time had lost all meaning to us. We had set up positions 2 klicks from Charlie controlled territory, and the constant skirmishes blended day into night, my time in that hellhole was a amphetamine fueled haze with no clear indicators of how long it had been going on.
We fought off small skirmishes day and night, they didn't want to face us in open battle, they preferred ambushes. Every time we moved forward, I had to fight the cold terrible certainty, that I would fall into a pit filled with razor sharp bamboo sticks and get a forceful and lethal suppository through my spinchter.
Cold sweat and adrenaline ran down my spine like a conga line of spiders. So many friends and comrades had fallen to the hellish contraptions that could only have been conceived by a sick and twisted mind. A mind that was probably sexually frustrated as well, judging from the phallic themes prevalent in most of them. Or maybe it's just me, you can never tell when you have spent so much time in an environment, where the most arousing sight is when your squad mate takes off his socks to check for trench foot. The mind starts to wander.
Two days ago we lost Richard to a mine that had been wired into a tree, I had to pick pieces of him off my highly masculine beard (not standard military issue, but standard protocol holds no meaning in this place. nothing does) for hours. Me and Richard went all the way back to basic, we used to call him Dick, which he kind of was, but he was my kind of Dick. I knew I should have hated him, but I just never seemed to get enough of Dick, nor his stupid jokes about antilopes. I have no idea what his beef was with those gentle sojourners of the savannahs. Maybe some deep rooted childhood trauma. Who knows? I suppose I'll never find out.
It was dusk, and we had just settled in to get some rest. You learn to sleep where ever and whenever you can on the front, because you never get enough sleep here. Naturally we never should have assumed that we'd be able to get some much needed recuperation, as the moment I got my boots off, our Lt decided to inform us of a recon mission to scout enemy positions.
After a few outbursts of language that would make Popeye spit out his spinach, we set off towards what we knew was probable death. Napalm fires painted the horizon orange, so the visibility was still good enough, but that just meant that we'd be seen easier as well. When we approached the enemy positions, we switched to a loose formation, maybe 5 metres between every man. We were more focused on our surroundings than a virgin at a strip bar, as if we set off even one booby trap, we'd announce our presence more forcefully than a Catholic priest in a grade school locker room.
I was drenched in sweat, both from the oppressive humidity and the cold fear that kept me jacked up on adrenaline. Well, adrenaline and amphetamine. Everything was going smoothly, until that asshole, Jackson, decided to trip. His safety was off, and he accidentally pulled his trigger as he fell. Way to go fudgepacker.
The shot rang out like a thundercrack in the silent jungle, silencing even the wildlife. We thought we were clear for a moment, but then all hell broke loose. Shots began to ring out from infront of us and our left flank. I immediately hit the ground. I think I saw Jackson take a bullet to the chest, but I'm not sure, the starting moments of that skirmish were a blur. If he did, he deserved it. Dick. I could see shapes moving among the trees, more of them were running into their positions. We were getting surrounded.
The amount of fire poured upon us was tremendous, I could start hearing the stacatto bursts from their machine guns. I knew we were too heavily pinned down, it made an organized retreat impossible. Anyone who rose from cover would just get immediately cut down. I did the only thing I thought I could do at that point, I started to search for targets, even though I knew it would be futile in the end.
The Lt had sent us to our deaths. Thanks a bunch. I saw a silhouette of someone peeking too far out from their position. I did what I was trained to do. I quickly had him in my crosshair, I aimed what I believed was the center mass. I pulled the slack away from my trigger, breathed out and prepared to fire.
Time seemed to slow down, bullet impacts around me were sounding slurred. I focused on my gunsight until it was completely sharp. I was prepared to send him to communist heaven, where he could slurp borsch soup with Lenin for all eternity. I fired. Or at least I attemted to. My new goddamn rifle jammed. No need to ever service this new fangled rifle my ass. I knew I didn't have time to clear the jam, and I resigned to my fate of becoming another statistic in the NY Times.
But then it hit me, I wasn't completely out of options. I still had my tools, I had always been good with my hands and I had plenty of wood. Not in my pants, get your mind out of the gutter. I have no idea how I did it, as time simply blurred. It was probably the amphetamine again, but that stuff sure is great. It's probably also the reason why I thought this could ever work.
Before I knew it, I had built a beatiful dining room table, complete with a set of masterfully crafted dining chairs. I called everyone to my position and told them to use our new dining set to cover our retreat. Everyone grabbed something, and we ran for it. I have no idea how we got out of there, I think Charlie was just hesitant to ruin such a display of master craftmanship, as there's no way they'd ever have stopped a 7.62 bullet.
We lost half our patrol, but it could have ended a lot worse. When we got back to our camp, Lt Bunghole demanded to know why we hadn't completed our mission. Sarge broke a chair on his back. We had lost many friends, but we had gained an almost complete dining set. Who truly came out on top? I honestly can't answer that. The war taught me that there are no simple answers, no black and white, only shades of gray. And totally badass tables.
Sadly, the set didn't survive the war, but that's a story for another time. I got a medal for my actions during that fateful patrol. I also got a new nickname.
This was the story of why I am called Käsityöläinen.
We fought off small skirmishes day and night, they didn't want to face us in open battle, they preferred ambushes. Every time we moved forward, I had to fight the cold terrible certainty, that I would fall into a pit filled with razor sharp bamboo sticks and get a forceful and lethal suppository through my spinchter.
Cold sweat and adrenaline ran down my spine like a conga line of spiders. So many friends and comrades had fallen to the hellish contraptions that could only have been conceived by a sick and twisted mind. A mind that was probably sexually frustrated as well, judging from the phallic themes prevalent in most of them. Or maybe it's just me, you can never tell when you have spent so much time in an environment, where the most arousing sight is when your squad mate takes off his socks to check for trench foot. The mind starts to wander.
Two days ago we lost Richard to a mine that had been wired into a tree, I had to pick pieces of him off my highly masculine beard (not standard military issue, but standard protocol holds no meaning in this place. nothing does) for hours. Me and Richard went all the way back to basic, we used to call him Dick, which he kind of was, but he was my kind of Dick. I knew I should have hated him, but I just never seemed to get enough of Dick, nor his stupid jokes about antilopes. I have no idea what his beef was with those gentle sojourners of the savannahs. Maybe some deep rooted childhood trauma. Who knows? I suppose I'll never find out.
It was dusk, and we had just settled in to get some rest. You learn to sleep where ever and whenever you can on the front, because you never get enough sleep here. Naturally we never should have assumed that we'd be able to get some much needed recuperation, as the moment I got my boots off, our Lt decided to inform us of a recon mission to scout enemy positions.
After a few outbursts of language that would make Popeye spit out his spinach, we set off towards what we knew was probable death. Napalm fires painted the horizon orange, so the visibility was still good enough, but that just meant that we'd be seen easier as well. When we approached the enemy positions, we switched to a loose formation, maybe 5 metres between every man. We were more focused on our surroundings than a virgin at a strip bar, as if we set off even one booby trap, we'd announce our presence more forcefully than a Catholic priest in a grade school locker room.
I was drenched in sweat, both from the oppressive humidity and the cold fear that kept me jacked up on adrenaline. Well, adrenaline and amphetamine. Everything was going smoothly, until that asshole, Jackson, decided to trip. His safety was off, and he accidentally pulled his trigger as he fell. Way to go fudgepacker.
The shot rang out like a thundercrack in the silent jungle, silencing even the wildlife. We thought we were clear for a moment, but then all hell broke loose. Shots began to ring out from infront of us and our left flank. I immediately hit the ground. I think I saw Jackson take a bullet to the chest, but I'm not sure, the starting moments of that skirmish were a blur. If he did, he deserved it. Dick. I could see shapes moving among the trees, more of them were running into their positions. We were getting surrounded.
The amount of fire poured upon us was tremendous, I could start hearing the stacatto bursts from their machine guns. I knew we were too heavily pinned down, it made an organized retreat impossible. Anyone who rose from cover would just get immediately cut down. I did the only thing I thought I could do at that point, I started to search for targets, even though I knew it would be futile in the end.
The Lt had sent us to our deaths. Thanks a bunch. I saw a silhouette of someone peeking too far out from their position. I did what I was trained to do. I quickly had him in my crosshair, I aimed what I believed was the center mass. I pulled the slack away from my trigger, breathed out and prepared to fire.
Time seemed to slow down, bullet impacts around me were sounding slurred. I focused on my gunsight until it was completely sharp. I was prepared to send him to communist heaven, where he could slurp borsch soup with Lenin for all eternity. I fired. Or at least I attemted to. My new goddamn rifle jammed. No need to ever service this new fangled rifle my ass. I knew I didn't have time to clear the jam, and I resigned to my fate of becoming another statistic in the NY Times.
But then it hit me, I wasn't completely out of options. I still had my tools, I had always been good with my hands and I had plenty of wood. Not in my pants, get your mind out of the gutter. I have no idea how I did it, as time simply blurred. It was probably the amphetamine again, but that stuff sure is great. It's probably also the reason why I thought this could ever work.
Before I knew it, I had built a beatiful dining room table, complete with a set of masterfully crafted dining chairs. I called everyone to my position and told them to use our new dining set to cover our retreat. Everyone grabbed something, and we ran for it. I have no idea how we got out of there, I think Charlie was just hesitant to ruin such a display of master craftmanship, as there's no way they'd ever have stopped a 7.62 bullet.
We lost half our patrol, but it could have ended a lot worse. When we got back to our camp, Lt Bunghole demanded to know why we hadn't completed our mission. Sarge broke a chair on his back. We had lost many friends, but we had gained an almost complete dining set. Who truly came out on top? I honestly can't answer that. The war taught me that there are no simple answers, no black and white, only shades of gray. And totally badass tables.
Sadly, the set didn't survive the war, but that's a story for another time. I got a medal for my actions during that fateful patrol. I also got a new nickname.
This was the story of why I am called Käsityöläinen.
theGrindLab
Member
the = Ummmm... "The". (Always lower case, as it's not a significant part of our concept.)
Grind = Your job, your hustle, your means of making money or building a reputation.
Lab = Your studio or any other place/means you create your product or service.
I used to run a production company with 21 promoters and 35 independent recording artists. We also ran about 22 studios, each of which we called a "grind lab".
Grind = Your job, your hustle, your means of making money or building a reputation.
Lab = Your studio or any other place/means you create your product or service.
I used to run a production company with 21 promoters and 35 independent recording artists. We also ran about 22 studios, each of which we called a "grind lab".
Battelstar
Member
BattELstar bekause im to stupied to wreit enlgisch?
Dacil
Member
good, cause thats what snipers are.... >_> wouldn't be surprised if i called you that/ WILL call you that
sugardemon
Member
Aye, Quenya to be precise. Supposed to have a prefix tho (e.g. Hyarmendacil: South victor). Also i think the feminine would be -dacilme. So maybe ambaldacilme ? Victor of the flag?
Sorry if my inner nerd showed itself, I'll put it away now.
Dacil
Member
i want to be just "victor" not "victor of the flag" but thanks for the suggestions and im pretty sure Quenya is a different elvish than what i'm talking about (there's types remember) its cool im a nerd too
Lunaris
Member
i always like to be the unfamiliar, or the unique one. so i took a really common game name, Solaris ( i love Latin) so i turned it the opposite(Solar=Sun, Lunar = Moon)
Moon resembles my because im not well known, im stealthy, and when you look up, im always there ;D
i also wanted something short and easy to remember. Also, my play style is from up high, just like the moon in the sky.
^hey that rhymes
like st3lth said, contact us whenever you decide to come over
Moon resembles my because im not well known, im stealthy, and when you look up, im always there ;D
i also wanted something short and easy to remember. Also, my play style is from up high, just like the moon in the sky.
^hey that rhymes
like st3lth said, contact us whenever you decide to come over
stefygraff
Private Tester
stefygraff= Stefan Grafitti (my name)
up_ur_guts
Member
i always asummed you were female on the old site, soz mate
and the name i also assumed had something to do with the extremely hot tennis player, oh how wrong can we be sometimes 
my name was just a random set of words, and didnt want to use my old name from the other site, a new site a new name and new starts ahead
