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[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone (part 2)

25/12/2014 in Warhammer 40K

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“Where’s that bloody tech marine?”

Dick had had to enlist three other Ultramarines to help him give a chair-lift to Marneus Calgar. The fat, complaining Chapter Master had point-blank refused to strip out of his armour for the journey. He was paranoid about “That new girl seeing my nipples”.

They’d worked up a fine sweat by the time they reached the transport bay. Unfortunately the bay, which was more of a circular, open-air arena which perpetually stank of promethium, was almost empty. The floor of the bay was streaked with black stains. Above them, the winter sky was a brooding presence.

“He’s uninstalling Firefox from all our computer systems, sir, and loading Opera in their place.”

“Why in the name of Bob Hoskins did I ask him to do that?”

“You need to work harder on those memory tests, sir. The Inquisition declared Firefox to be more bloated than Nurgle’s colon and you were sick of having your computer freeze for five minutes every time you started Firefox up. Said the waiting made your bollocks retract into your hips.”

“Tech-Priest Nerdingham is the laziest, most unmotivated slob in the region,” said Calgar without irony. “The first time he ever does anything I ask him to is the day my kidney goes kamikaze. He was supposed to be working on the Rhinos today!”

“You put the fear of Guilliman into him, my Lord, by threatening him thus: ‘I don’t give a flying feth about the tanks, mate, you either install Opera or spend five minutes in the nerve glove, pain level ‘watching the European intro to Gran Turismo 5.'”

“That’s quite a good impression of me,” Calgar said, not sure whether to be impressed or go into one of his tantrums. “You even pronounced our Primarch’s name correctly. Hardly anybody does that.”

(Unfortunately, dear reader, even I don’t know how to pronounce that name, and I’ve been taking it in vein for more than a decade!)

There was a familiar buzzing crack; not of the lord Calgar’s flatulence for a delightful change, but an incoming lasgun shot.

“Look out, sir!” Dick yelled, almost flipping the Chapter Master out of their grasp as he tumbled the group of Ultramarines sideways.

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[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone (part 1)

23/12/2014 in Warhammer 40K

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Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone

A Warhammer 40,000 parody by NoPoet

Synopsis: Gasp and vomit your way through this insulting, lavatory-humour farce in which the Lord Calgar, whom my Windows Surface tablet thinks should be called “Marines Calgary”, is menaced by a nasty kidney stone… oh, and an invasion of Nurgle. All Calgar wanted to do was use the toilet…

The Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army Official Anthem

With special thanks to the track author, Dummy, and OC ReMix

==||==

Calgar’s Kidney Stone

-or-

Calgar’s Discomfitting Kidney Mishap

-or-

Marneus Calgar: A Profane, Blasphemous and Intelligence-Insulting Anecdote of One Man’s Unfortunate Circumstance

==||==

PART ONE – THE MADNESS BEGINS… AGAIN

Welcome to Macragge, home to the most pious Imperial servants: an entire Chapter of devout warrior-monks, heroic noblemen whose lives are constantly on the line so trillions of robe-wearing minions can scribe things that someone else chucks in the bin. Macragge is a rocky and cold world, a place where dwell men of legend… and their glorious leader, Marneus Calgar.

“OW!” roared Lord Calgar from his uncompromising squat on the Crapper of Macragge. “My fething piles are playing up. They’re throbbing like alien brains in a B-movie.”

“Then stop sitting down with a thump, sir!” Dick called from outside the door. “Remember what the apothecary said: don’t provoke the piles!

“I’ll provoke the little bastards when I pop them with a power sword and cauterise them with a hand flamer! Even if it itches like a fething bitch, it will be a blessed relief compared to this! I feel like I stuck my arse in a nerve glove set to ‘exterminatus’. Or maybe ‘exterminanus’.”

“My Lord?”

“It was bawdy lavatory humour, Bannerman. You can feel free to laugh.”

“Oh,” Dick said. “Ha. Ha.”

“Nobody ever gets my jokes,” said Marneus Calgar as the toilet strained beneath his podgy rolls. “You know something, Number Two? These aren’t just piles. They’re rancid visitations. Every time I try to push, I get a stabbing pain in my lower back.”

“You might be wiping too hard, sir,” Dick offered. “We can hear bog roll tearing and shuffling in there for twenty minutes every time you have a crap. It’s bound to play havoc with your ring region.”

“You may be right, Number Two,” Calgar conceded. “Oh, speaking of bog roll, some silly tosser used the last of my Andrex. Fetch us a couple of rolls, will you?”

“Which kind, my Lord?”

“Er… natural pebble, because their marketing executives called it that with a straight face. Fair play to them, their will is clearly stronger than mine. And tell the lads to stop pinching it, I’m supposed to be the only person who comes in here at stopping-off time.”

“You are the only person who goes in there, you big fat bog-roll wasting bell end,” Dick muttered as he headed for the pantry, where Calgar hid his Andrex.

“Oh, and Number Two?” Calgar said.

“You shouldn’t really use that nickname when you’re in there, sir,” Bannerman said, coming back. “I never actually know if it’s me you’re talking to.”

“I do apologise, Dick. I’m only the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, who am I to address my underlings in the manner of my choosing?”

“What is it, sir?” said Dick, wisely changing tack.

“Can you explain to me the function of Lyman’s ear?”

“Er, no, to be honest. Do you still want that toilet roll? Only, Milo and I are organising a Forza tournament -”

“The Lyman’s Ear, you great blasphemous tit, allows me to hear everything you say within a football field’s radius, even above the constant, squeaking, gaseous emanation of my ablutions. So the next time you accuse me of wasting toilet roll, get ready for the nerve glove, pain level ‘Listening to the theme tune of classic British sitcom Dear John through headphones, on constant repeat, for five hours, without alcohol or other anaesthetic’.”

“Anything but that!” Dick cried. “My apologies, Lord Calgar. I’ll attend to your toilet roll emergency at once.”

TOOT! replied the Lord Calgar’s arsehole. It echoed for some seconds, trapped between a clogged u-bend and Calgar’s fat, spotty backside.

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[40K] The Rising Tide of Filth (40K version)

27/09/2013 in Warhammer 40K

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057.M36 Founding of the Angels Vigilant

Positioned towards the galactic north-west, defending an obscure approach into Imperial space from the Eye of Terror, a thousand brothers were born into ignorance and fear. The forges of the False Emperor provided us with fine wargear with which we pursued a hopeless mission: to stem the wrath of the Gods themselves.

066.M36 The Order of Carrion

Traitors attacked our Chapter’s recruiting worlds. Plague began to break out among the human populace. This was no physical illness. This was a contamination of the will, of the spirit, which turned great men into hateful wretches and devout warrior-priests into faithless prophets of doom. Great indeed was the shame of this time. Yet our Chapter endured.

We did not know it at the time but we were marked for greatness by a Power older and more wicked than the False Emperor of Terra. Not a single Angel Vigilant fell to the plague. We seemed, to the hopeless, embattled populace, to be upright, untouchable warriors of vengeance as we blazed bolter fire into the hordes of plague zombies. Little did the civilians know of our desperate, miserable battles against daemons, or the Great Unclean Thing that killed half a battle company, along with two of our treasured Predator tanks, on its own.

We remembered this display of might and later we would view our lost brothers as a sacrifice to the Grandfather… an appeasement… a downpayment on immortality for those of us who survived.

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[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: A Christmas Calgar (2012 Xmas Special)

09/12/2012 in Warhammer 40K

5.00 avg. rating (98% score) - 4 votes

“Confound this fething thing,” grumbled the Master of Ultramar as he struggled to retain his dignity. “I shall have to get that bodge-jobber of a Tech Priest to look it it. For the wages I am paying him, I should prefer him to be looking at my armchair rather than Necron porn. MILO! Come hence and clean up this mess forthwith.”

It was then the reality of Milo’s death hit him.

“Bollocks, now I must employ another wretch to do the cleaning,” Calgar mused. “Servitors! Fetch me a new Tanith!”

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[40K] FORGED IN FAITH: A story of the Imperial Hammers

05/12/2012 in Warhammer 40K

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“Arkus Prime was once a shining beacon of hope, in the dark endless void of space. It was a shrine world, and every inch was sacred and devoted to ‘Him on Earth.’ It was once one of the most sacred places one might ever make a pilgrimage to, apart from Holy Terra herself. As brightly as it once had shined,  it was now as equally desecrated. Blighted and fouled, Arkus Prime is now a charnel house. The world’s population down to the last man, woman and child, lay slaughtered in the defiled temples and chapels throughout the single continent of ArkusPrime…sacrificed in an orgy of death and blood in the name of Khorne.”
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[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: 2008 Xmas Special

16/08/2012 in Warhammer 40K

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the base

Not a xenos was stirring, nor warships in space;

The banners were hung from the halls with care,

In hopes Father Christmas would soon would be there;

The Ultras were nestled all snug in their cells,

To visions of dancing nuns tugging their bells;

Milo in black kecks, while Dick in his cap,

Had just settled down for a read and a crap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Dick banged his head seeing what was the matter.

Away to the window Brin flew like a flash,

His nostrils and bare chest were speckled with hash.

The moons on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave t’lustre of mid-day to the Smurf base below,

When, what to their upgraded eyes should appear,

But Marneus Calgar, pissed on cheap beer.

“It’s f*****g Christmas, lads! MERRY CHRISTMAS ONE AND ALL! Haaa-up-burrrrrp!”

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Dreaming in Ceramite

10/06/2012 in Warhammer 40K

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Countless gas lanterns high in the rockrete and plasteel rafters flickered lazily and heavy incense burners thumped into life as they gave out thick plumes of rich smoke into the hall of bay 13. The great bell thundered in its wooden housing deep within the ships cavity to mark the passing of six standard solar months. The metallic clang rolled around the massive chamber causing imperceptible stirring amongst the ancient occupants.

In the silence that marked the bell’s passing, static crackled and expanding metal ticked. Great constructs of machine fused with ancient men on the fringe of a great abyss bobbed gently as they fell once more into sleep. Save for one.

Battle Brother Drusillus strode through the bay, his black carapace gleaming as it caught the occasional light of the lanterns he passed. His bare feet patted on the cold floor as he passed acres of ordnance lying dormant: belts of bolter rounds stacked high were carefully inscribed with the blessings of ignition, flight and penetration, power vials trembled with dormant plasma, promethium canisters lay in tanks of viscous retardant and finally, behind a stasis shield reaching high into the dark, stood a venerable delivery system from millennia ago. Inside it, suspended, a strain of world eater virus slept.
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The Forgotten

20/04/2011 in Warhammer 40K

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It is with bitterness that I bid you this farewell, for my body lies smashed and broken and my brothers have left me behind.

My name is Astarian. It was my honour to serve a Lieutenant of the Second Great Company. I am XIV Legion.

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Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: 2009 Christmas Special

24/12/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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“What do you think about that weird Christmas song, ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’?”
“I think it should be illegal to write Christmas songs while on drugs, sir.”
– Marneus Calgar and Dick Bannerman

*

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth, waiting for Gran Turismo 5 to come out. He is the master of mankind by the will of the Prophets (or should that be Profits?), and master of a million worlds by the might of Andy Chambers and Jervis Johnson. I mean, JERVIS, for feth’s sake? That’s not even a real name, it sounds like something from Dungeons and Dragons, no offence.

The Emperor is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from technology invented during NoPoet’s forthcoming 20K series. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. (2015 edit: Although the latest fluff kind of craps on that last part.)

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Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army – part 2

20/11/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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(PART TWO)

The Long March where Calgar gets into a sticky situation and Brin Milo complains of carbuncles! (The big joke being that Calgar doesn’t in fact get into a sticky situation. He just gets sneezed on for no reason. And I can’t remember why Milo never complains of carbuncles – I think I just forgot to add it in.)

Originally posted on Imperial Literature 19/12/2001 at 20:42

“There are times when the lights of our glorious civilisation seem destined to go out. To be a man in the forty-first millennium is to endure pain and sacrifice in the hope that one day, in some distant glorious time, our species will be free. Rawlins, I’m not gonna tell you again mate, put that magazine away or it’s the nerve glove. Our beloved Emperor and his favoured son, our Primarch Roboute Guilliman, decreed that the Ultramarines should stand firm in the face of all opposition. We have done so for ten thousand years. I know what you’re doing, son, you’re deliberately angling your watch so the light is reflecting onto my head. I might have white hair but I’m not thick you know.

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