Especially those poor bastards on the ‘Carrier. Didn’t frakking Apollo shoot them down? Five years on and lack of food has my memory a little rusty. And the freezing …

But, you know, life wasn’t exactly great on the Tyllium refining ship. It was pretty much indentured servitude. I wasn’t even supposed to be on that ship until … ok, I guess it was the frakking Adamas’ put me on it. At least my arm didn’t get chewed up the way that college boy’s did.

You know, though, it was getting pretty thin on that rusted tin can of a ship. I guess you must have been on one of the luxury ships … that didn’t get blown up. The Rising Star … remember her?

So, we’re stuck on this frakking planet, but we at least don’t need to worry about running out of air. Or eating algae. Gods, I was so sick of eating algae. And living in a tin can, worried about Cylons blowing us up before we jumped someplace. I heard the ships were pretty much breaking down anyway.

I don’t know why they sent them into the sun – nobody actually asked for a vote.

Of course, the last time we landed on a planet, used the ships for shelter, and set up a city … well, New Caprica. Cylon occupation. Frak it if it didn’t rain nearly all the frakking time just to add insult to injury. That was when we really started running out of meds too.

I heard some of the officers – sorry, ex-officers – comment that supplies were nearly shot anyhow before we made planet fall. Not that they get that much of a say – the cons from the Astral Queen somehow wound up on top of the heap. Just below the mountain lions, that is.

I guess any way you look at it, we were frakked the moment Cyclons nuked the Colonies. It was just a matter of time before that holocaust caught up with the rest of us.

So, yea, frak ’em all – Gods, Apollo, the Toasters, and the frakking eggheads that made ’em.

Frak.