Editing Angry Marines (section)

===Briefing the Pussies from 3rd Company===

Thirty Marines assembled. Only thirty, to face fucking shitloads of Nids. The company used to be 100 strong plus some Dreadnoughts and shit, but whatever happened to the others is not in the Angry Marines databank for some reason, and the last time an Inquisitor tried to check it, she was found hanging upside-down from a 600-foot-tall bastion by her undercrackers. The Angry Marines are equal opportunity psychos. 

Twatsplasher appraised the men. 

“SEEMS THESE 'MILLENNIAL FALCONS' ARE FAGGOTS, CONTAMINATING OTHERS WITH SAID FAGGOTRY, WHILE EATING LENTILS AND TOUCHING EACH OTHERS' FUCKING BUMS! IT'S BECOME A WORLD OF SELF-RIGHTEOUS THUNDERCUNTS ABOUT TO GET CHEWED!”

“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT, SIR,” Sergeant Dammiel said. “THEY'VE GOT 35 MILLION PDF WANKERS FACING OFF AGAINST A HIVE FLEET AND THEY'RE SENDING BLOODY  COMPLAINTS TO THE EMPEROR AND EXPECTING US TO FUCKING DIE FOR THEM?!”

“THAT'S ABOUT THE SIZE OF IT, CUNTYBAWS! IT'S A CLUSTERFUCK OF GRIMDARK PROPORTIONS, TOO MANY LAZY WANKERS ABOUT THESE DAYS!!!”

“DICK-EATING FURFAGGOTS!!!!!” yelled Brother Hammerhead. He was in a fine fury. Spittle flew from his vox-grille. “I'LL KICK THEIR BOLLOCKS UP INTO THEIR THROAT!” 

Terridyne the Techmarine had recovered from his wedgie, exhibiting only a slightly shocked look and a yellow smudge on his head. 

“MY FUCKING LORD,” he said. “I WOULD NEVER GAINSAY YOU, FOR WE HAVE SERVED TOGETHER THROUGH MANY PERILS, BUT YOU MUST HAVE WRITTEN OUR BATTLE-PLAN WITH YOUR FUCKING COCK OUT! HOW IN THE NAME OF CALGAR'S CRACK DO WE STOP A SODDING HIVE FLEET WITHOUT THOSE PDF WANK-BISCUITS COVERING US?!” 

Twatsplasher headbutted him with the force of planets colliding.

“LIKE THAT, CYBER-EMO, HOW DO YOU FUCKING THINK!!!” 

“BUT THIS IS BOLLOCKS, BROTHER-CAPTAIN!” said Dammiel. “WHY ARE THOSE INBRED COCKS ALLOWED TO SIT ON THEIR ARSES? IT'S FUCKING TREASON!!!!!”

“THEY'RE NOT FUCKING ALLOWED, YOU WASTE OF SPUNK! AS SOON AS WE'VE RIPPED THE BOLLOCKS OFF HIVE FLEET AMEMASU, WE'RE GOING AFTER THE MILLENNIAL FAGGOTS, AND MAKING SURE THE PUSSY GOVERNOR IS REPLACED BY SOME BASTARD WITH A FUCKING SPINE!”

He looked to his men. The briefing had lasted over three minutes, surely a Chapter record, and they were ready to rip each other to pieces in frustration. 

“WE'VE GOT A FUCKING TASK AHEAD!!!” said Twatsplasher. “BUT WHO ARE WE???”

“THE ANGRY MARINES!” the men replied.

“ALWAYS ANGRY!!!”

“ALL THE TIME!!!” his men roared in one voice. 

Captain Twatsplasher might have been a horrible cunt, but he was also noble:

“REMEMBER YOU FUCKING BUNCH OF PRATS! BETWEEN US, THE TYRANIDS AND THESE MILLENNIAL TOSSERS, THERE ARE SIXTEEN BILLION CIVILIANS WHO DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK'S GOING ON! LAST ONE IN THE DROP POD'S A FUCKING ULTRAMARINE!”