Angry Marines

Angry Marines. Always angry, all the time.

Name
Battle Cry	ALWAYS ANGRY! ALL THE TIME!
Number	Unknown
Founding	None.
Successors of	Unknown
Successor Chapters	None.
Chapter Master	Temperus Maximus
Primarch	Unnamed.
Homeworld	Unknown
Strength	More than 1000 marines.
Specialty	All forms of close combat and assault.
Allegiance	Imperium
Colours	Bright yellow with a blood-red trim.

GODDAMMIT!!

Basically what would happen if /tg/ could somehow form their own chapter of Space Marines and express how they feel towards parts of the canon that are (rightfully so) complete shit.

The Angry Marines are a popular /tg/ homebrew Chapter of the Space Marines, and by far the most famous homebrew to gain fame outside the realm of /tg/. They are angry for the Emprah and skittles. All the time. Angry Marine tactics focus on getting into melee as quickly as possible, and proceeding to open up several crates of FUCK YOU in the direction of the enemies of the Imperium. Due to this, Angry Marines tend to have low BS (by low, we mean Ork boy low), but has terrifically high WS/S/I, that anyone getting into CQC would figuratively, and probably literally, shit brix.

There is even a Codex: ANGRY MARINES detailing the special rules required to adequately represent their rage.

The Angry Marines employ a variety of weapons notably different to the standard Space Marine arsenal. This includes dual power fists, power feet, power bats, power wrenches, and even the Predator Angrinator, a modified version of the Predator Whirlwind artillery tank that fires the Angry Marines themselves directly into the enemy ranks. They are also the only Space Marine legion to possess a Titan Legion, which is fully composed of Angry Marine titans. These items are detailed in Codex: ANGRY MARINES. They also think that pistols are for faggots who can't hit a dam, and so these marines rarely go into battle with the traditional pistol+CCW combo.

Even when not in combat, the Angry Marines are so goddamn angry that their attempts to communicate sound like they are directed by Quentin Tarantino. They are sometimes disparagingly referred to as "Tourettes Marines" when FUCKING RETARDS are unable to differentiate between seething anger and lolrandom cursing. The people who do not understand this are DOING IT TERRIBLY WRONG and are the real faggots.

You've probably seen how Space Marines feel emotions with a strength that normal people cannot even comprehend, right? Well, the Angry Marines feel rage to an extent that leaves other Space Marines entirely speechless. You think you've ever been angry? The most rage you've ever felt is like a minor annoyance compared to what the Angry Marines feel all the time, at the very minimum.

Some believe the Angry Marines to be loyalist World Eaters, but this is merely one of many theories floating around. Another theory is that they are the missing 2nd or 11th Legion, but it is not known what the Angry Marines think of this statement.....or anything about their founding history as every time we try to ask them, they give the one asking the question a kick to the balls with a power foot and subsequently pummel said person to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.

There are some pretty cool guys out there that believe an old meme is old. Others disagree, using the argument memes have no expiration date!

Also, pray to the Emperor that if an Inquisitor finds the planet you live in to be rife with HERESY that the nearest Chapter Fleet isn't one from the Angry Marines.. because the last time the Angry Marines were called upon to do the Exterminatus they not only blew up the planet but destroyed every planet and sun within a radius of 10-sub-sectors.....and the Exterminatus performed on those planets weren't from the traditional means of orbital bombardment, ohh no, they sent down entire companies of Angry Marines to commence the purge and it was brutally fucking awesome.

Like the faggoty ass Pretty Marines the Angry Marines are a first founding chapter and used to be the Eleventh Legion. However, due to Robot Gullyman accidentally hitting the backspace key when he meant to copy and paste something while typing up the Codex Astartes, the Eleventh Legion was stricken from official records, as were the Second Legion. Thus most of the Imperium and indeed the Galaxy at large doesn't know about them even though they are not classified as any kind of secret in any way shape or form.

The most astonishing thing about the Angry Marines is that they need no testosterone to be in as foul a mood as they are. Despite the fact that like all other Space Marines their ability to produce sex hormones is completely removed as part of their introduction, they are still very much able to act as if their blood was all replaced with testosterone.

Someone's trying to make a more serious version of them called the Desert Fangs, via Deathwatch materials. It's pretty cool.

Background

"Lo, in the histories of the many Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, every Primarch listed that has ever come across my sage and learned eye has found root and home upon a planet, which hath shaped and set in stone the character of that warrior of the Emperor that he would become.

Therefore, one must give pause to the Primarch of our brothers, the Angry Marines, that great warrior of rage for he hath never fell upon a planet. Nay! But he was borne upon the ethers and drifts of space, alone in his capsule save for a discarded copy of Battletoads III that the Emperor had thrown out, a legendary artifact that had fueled research into vast weapons of war that it might be unmade and erased from history.

When the capsule had finally been rammed into a drifting hulk of an old Imperial battleship, it is said that the Primarch was so enraged and frustrated with the vile game that he headbutted out the Adam's apple of the first survivor that he encountered, and thereafter killed every inhabitant with the remnants of the dying initial combatant."

-Historian Nwabudike
Histories of the Ill-favored Chapters

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From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents".
Section #511: The "Friendly" Fire Incident of Klaxus XII
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The records of this dire moment in Imperial history were (until I came upon them) known only to the two Space Marine Chapters that took part in the skirmish. However, only by putting the two records together is the truth found.

The Pretty Marines tell of a conflict fraught with glory against the odds, and of dire betrayal: "Before the sortie against our enemy our glorious Chapter Master graced us with a speech, before the resplendent lines of Brother-Marines sparking under the twin suns he told of beautiful victory, of the fates of our enemies. As one we cheered, then awaited his inevitable dance number. From the skies fell a drop pod, smashing into our forward lines and engulfing the area with thick dust. It took us only a moment to clear the air with our blow-dryers, but it was a moment too late as we saw the Chapter Master fallen..."

The Angry Marines tell the other side of the story, though in far less words due to a lacking in vocabulary beyond many four letter utterances. Hastily inserted into the annals of their Chapter, glory is simply a picture with the words "OWNED" across it, and the image of the Pretty Marines' Chapter Master unconscious on the ground, a crude mustache drawn on his face with paint, and what appears to be a set of testicles on his forehead.

So began the greatest feud in Imperial history.

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Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.
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From the personal diaries of Brother R.C. Mongler, 4th Chanian Combat Group.
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My Chapter had landed on a barren little ball of rock called Vesuvius. The Inquisition had ordered us to the planet on suspicion of Chaos corruption. Surely enough, we ran into a group of Chaos Marines within a day of landing. The fools, turning their backs on the God-Emperor for whatever sick rewards they received from the deceiving Warp fiends. The battle started the second morning. Their attack was especially fierce, and my brothers and I had great trouble keeping them at bay. It seemed that for every one of them we killed, three more showed up. Our own losses were of no small concern. In a rare moment of calm, Brother Captain Morgan confided in me that if we were not killed by these berserkers, we would almost certainly be killed by the Inquisition for failure. As our numbers dwindled, I grew concerned: surely we would all be killed, and the Emperor's work would not be carried out. We prepared for a final assault, one which had been coming for near a week of the most intense fighting I had ever seen. We surrounded a small hill, atop which stood our last Dreadnought, Brother Klarr. We saw their force coming from below. We knew this was our end. But suddenly, a shadow passed over us. Some great demon come to finish us off? No. It was a drop pod. Out of it stepped a small company of our brethren. They wore bright yellow armor, a bizarre crest upon their shoulders, unlike any Chapter I had yet heard of. A circle, with two lines crossing it and two dots in the middle - almost as if to suggest an angry face. They formed a line between us and the now charging Chaos Marines.

The Chaos Marines' bright red armor shone in the late afternoon sun, the spikes upon their shoulders menacing. The new arrivals stood fast. As the distance between the two forces began to close, there arose from these yellow warriors the loudest scream I had ever heard. It shook the ground. Even through my helmet, it made my ears ring and my skull ache. And it simply kept getting louder as their Captain's fist slowly rose into the air. As it rose to a nearly supersonic volume, I finally made out the words contained in the scream:

"ALWAYS ANGRY!!!"

In a chorus louder even than the Captain's scream, the soldiers returned:

"ALL THE TIME!!!"

Then it began.

...

Without a word, these Space Marines returned to their drop pod and were soon whisked away from the battlefield. There had been no more than a dozen of them, not a single word exchanged between our two Chapters. To this day, I have never seen any Marines fight with such rage and hatred. The mass of enemy berserkers was reduced to mere chunks, legs, arms, heads, and craters full of blood. Bits of red armor lay strew about the field. We had not even had the chance to advance by the time the screaming - both theirs and the enemy's - was through. I turned to my Captain and asked, "Who were they?"

"I had thought it was rumor, but no. Emperor bless us all, those were the Angry Marines."

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Thought for the Day: The Emperor protects.
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Loading excerpt from Tales of Valor: Reports from the Ork Invasion of Calamitis Prime.
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The PDF sold their lives dearly to stop the greenskin advance upon our primary Hive, but on the horde came. There would be no escape but for the Planetary Governor, whose escape shuttle was prepped to leave before the attack began.

As our leader left us to die we prayed to the Emperor for deliverance while we sold our lives to protect his works. Glory be to his swift answer.

A yellow Thunderhawk, identified as Necrogoth Fuckshit, descended like a falling star, the much larger transport vehicle crushing the smaller one as it landed on the same pad, and through the fire and smoke the mighty figure of a Space Marine strode forth. I will never forget the seething expression on his face as he looked upon us, upon the Hive, upon the xenos.

The Marine did not pause, he drew his chainsword and charged down the stairs with a battlecry upon his lips, screaming "FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-" or something of the sort, a cry with no end. Even as he disappeared into the Hive we heard him clearly, even as we saw the small yellow figure leap from the Hive into the throng of green below we heard him. Drop pods followed as more Marines smashed into the horde, more yellow armored Marines echoing the endless cry.

The xenos were crushed utterly, and still screaming in rage the Space Marines ran up the Hive once more, to where the Governor still stood staring at the crushed wreckage of his escape shuttle. The Marines poured into their Thunderhawk, but the Marine from before ran right up to the cowardly official, and ended his warcry at last, his finger pressing painfully against the man's forehead.

"-UUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOU!"

Rather unceremoniously, the Governor was then pitched off the top of the Hive, with his underwear pulled up over his head.
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Thought for the Day: To question is to doubt.
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From the records of Governor Tamel of Pathos Secundus.
File #34476A: Captain Asshole
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A boy was born in the year 895.M38, on Pathos Secundus. Little is recorded of his parentage. His father was a Guardsman, known only to be missing and presumed dead. His mother died in childbirth. The pregnancy had no complications, and so an autopsy was conducted. Wounds throughout the mother's uterus and all along the birth canal indicated extreme trauma. Video of the birth confirmed the medical examiner's suspicions: he had come out cuntpunching.

The child spent his youth in and out of various orphanages and foster homes. Several of his caretakers attempted to name him, but whenever anyone asked him his name, he responded only by punching them in the throat. He was regarded as mad and dangerous at the very least; many believed he harbored some mutation or the mark of Chaos. At the age of ten, however, he finally found a home. An Angry Marine Quartermaster had made planetfall to procure supplies, and the young boy happened to be in the area. The Marine shouted to him, "HEY, ASSHOLE, BRING ME THAT FUCKING HANDTRUCK IN THE CORNER."

When the youth approached the hardened battle-brother and kicked him squarely in the groinplate, breaking two of his toes without making a sound or shedding a tear, the Angry Marines had found a new recruit.

At the time Asshole was inducted, the Chapter Master of the Angry Marines had decreed that new recruits should become standard Codex scouts. The issue was put to a vote, and the chapter at large declared this decision to be "COMPLETELY FUCKING FAGGOTROCIOUS," however the decree stood for a time on the basis that the Chapter Master did it "JUST TO PISS YOU OFF, YOU WORTHLESS TWATS."

This did not prove advantageous to young Asshole. The one thing they could never teach him to do was aim, and he spent far longer than normal languishing in the 10th Company. Finally, in 176.M39, during the Scouring of Erhlinger Prime, he proved himself. After emptying an entire magazine into an Ork horde with no effect, Asshole abandoned his cover, howled madly into the sky, and broke his sniper rifle neatly in half across his knee. He charged the band, tearing limbs from any greenskin that stood in his way, until he was standing face-to-face with the Boss Mek. Asshole took the two halves of his ruined rifle and spitted the Ork from both ends of his digestive track, right through his flash kustom 'ardpantz. The rest of the mob turned tail and ran. For his heroism, Asshole was immediately inducted to the 5th Company and promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Shortly afterward, the Chapter Master judged that the newbies were pissed off enough, and reinstated the Angry Gangs.

Asshole rose quickly through the ranks, finally becoming Brother-Captain of the Battle Barge Killfuck Soulshitter in 722.M39. During his career, he developed a special hatred of Eldar, and would often be heard to claim that "THEY MAY AS WELL BE GODDAMN PRETTY MARINES FOR ALL THEIR FAIRYASSED PANTSHITTERY." In 756.M39, the Killfuck Soulshitter was called to push back an incursion on the Coluphid Sector by Eldar. The campaign was a terrifying success, and in its last moments, Captain Asshole confronted the Farseer Turiel and her daughter Sorith, one of the Seer Council, personally. Breaking Sorith and casting her blithely aside in one swift blow, the Captain approached the Farseer, shaking with rage. Before she could react, he slammed her to the ground, removed his groinplate, and raped th Eldar psyker with a brutally she no doubt never imagined in her 424years. As he finished, he rose, readjusted his armor, and looked Sorith in the eyes, saying "I FUCKED YOUR MOM." He turned and left as the two witches stole into the Webway. A Marine in Asshole's retinue, puzzled, asked "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THOSE DYKES GET AWAY, YOU RETARDED COCKMONGER?" In an astonishing display of restraint, Asshole replied simply "THOSE SPACE WHORES AREN'T THE ONLY ONES WHO CAN PLAN AHEAD, YOU DICKWEED."

In 989.M39, Captain Asshole received a pizza with mushrooms instead of pineapple, and suffered an aneurysm while plummeling those responsible. Perhaps as part of some arcane experiment, he was cybernetically mounted in one of the Chapter's Belligerent Engines. Thirty years later, the Chapter met the same Eldar again on the field of battle. The carnage played out much the same as before. All that remained were Farseer Turiel, and Sorith -- and the Belligerent Engine in which Captain Asshole was fused. A terrible din was heard, and after some time, it could be seen that Captain Asshole's turgid member had punched right through the armor plating of the Dreadnought, with the Angry Marine himself in tow, and lodged itself between the buttocks of the Farseer with the force of 10 supernovae. He turned to Sorith and spoke his last words to her before slaughtering them both.

"EVEN IN DEATH, I STILL FUCK YOUR MOM."

Captain Asshole, victorious, then breathed his last on the field of battle.

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Thought for the Day: Hatred is the purest expression of love for the Emperor.
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From the Flames of Furfaggotry
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A synopsis of the events preceding the destruction of all heretic forces on Tertius Gamma follows.

And so it was that the planet of Tertius Gamma was besieged by furry abominations committing the hideous blasphemy of wearing sacred power armor as if in service to the God-Emperor; leveling city after city, they advanced on the last bastion of humanity...the capitol city.

Little did anyone know that the incursion had been noticed by one of the greatest Chapters of all Space Marines, whose mighty Battle Barge was even now entering orbit around the planet...the Angry Marines.

Unknown at the time to their "brothers", another Company had set their sights on the grim scene below. "GODDAMMIT, WHY AREN'T WE ON THE GROUND YET?" screamed an armored visage, what little there was left of his face was twisted in unspeakable rage.

"Sir, we can't enter the atmosphere that quickly, we'd burn u-" The voice of the Servitor was cut short as he was crushed beneath the sheer weight of the Marine's armor as he jumped into the pilot terminal.

And soon it was that the Battle Barge, the Litany of Litany's Litany, screamed towards the besieged planet. You could almost hear the sickly sound permeating from the murky planet below.

"Yiff...yiff...yiff...yiff..."

It was maddening, a lesser man would of taken his life but it had no affect on the stalwart Marines of rage. Always angry, especially now.

High above Tertius Gamma the Battle Barge Maximum FUCK sat in a ready position over the city's capital, a terrible quiet hanging over the bridge as the payload of Adeptus Astartes Angry Marines prepared to make planetfall.

Captain Temperus of the 3rd Company watched and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens showing a wave of mutants overrunning the planetary defense force positions. He felt his blood boil as he looked upon the livery adorning their armor, their mockery of everything they stood for. Their faces an abomination. The fact they thought themselves so fucking smart well fuck them.

The comms-servant gave a silent nod, and although it seemed as though he hadn't seen it, Temperus was well aware. It was time...but no deep strike would do this time.

"COCK KNUCKLES!" He bellowed with rage. With the full force of his forehead, Captain Temperus struck the large red button on the console in front of him, destroying it in the process. Great shields on the side of the Battle Barge turned into place over the front of the craft, forming a giant battering ram shaped like a middle finger.

The Maximum FUCK began its nose-first descent into the atmosphere.

The fighting around the capitol city was growing more and more fierce as the furred invaders continued to send more of their number to die beneath the walls of the city; each one attempting to use their bladed weapon to try and chip away at the hardened rockrete. At first the defenders jeered at the pathetic attempt; but as more corpses piled up against the wall, the more cracks began appearing.

"KEEP UP THAT HEAVY BOLTER FIRE!" the Commissar screamed over the din of the gun placements. "BRING UP THE FLAMERS! WE'LL SHOW THESE ABOMINATIONS THE CLEANSING POWER OF THE EMPEROR!" Just then a Servitor scuttled up to the Commissar's side.

"Milord, crafts from offworld are making planetfall. It appears to be the Adeptus Astartes."

"Ah, at last. Now we shall TRULY turn the tide against this filth!" beamed the Commissar.

In revelry and decadence the mutants fought and slaughtered, in their vile mockery of mankind's saviors. The city was almost in range to be taken, there was none alive on Tertius Gamma who could stop them now.

However, all heads were turned skywards with the sounds of a terrible noise, as two Space Marine Battle Barges collided sides-first against one another as they plummeted towards a single target. The mutants realized that target was them.

The Commissar turned his eyes skywards as the enemy fell silent and a great shadow fell across the lands.

"What the f-"

"FUCK YOU, I WAS HERE FIRST!!!" screamed the commander aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany as he attempted to pilot his barge directly into the large army of deviants below.

"NO FUCK YOU, I DEPLOYED THE FINGER!!" Captain Temperus cursed back.

Traitors fled, mutants hid, deviants cried out for their dark gods to save them. As one the two Battle Barges slammed into the enemy lines, and with a terrifying roar the earth itself was torn asunder, and Tertius Gamma was no more.

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Thought for the Day: Suffer not the Furry to live.
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Tempting Rage
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The aspiring Champion of Khorne called out to the Angry Marines before him just as they prepared to charge his host of daemons and World Eaters. "Can you not see the similarities between your battle prowess and ours? Khorne fills you with his wrath in battle, but you do not take time even to notice. Join us, and together we can destroy all within our path! Sink deeper into your anger with the full blessings of the Blood God!"

The assembled Angry Marines took pause, and considered the words of the World Eater Champion. It wasn't until Chaplain Brusiarch stepped from the front ranks of the Angry Marines' line, turned, and backhanded the closest Angry Marine that the yellow-clad battle-brothers turned their gaze towards him. Brusiarch turned towards the aspiring Champion and pointed to the bolt pistol in his left hand. The Chaplain then shouted to his brother Marines, "YOU DON'T LISTEN TO FAGGOTS, YOU COCKSICKLES, YOU FUCKING KILL THEM!!!"

The previously backhanded Space Marine then stood up, his faceplate shattered from the force of the blow, and shouted the battle cry of the Angry Marines, "ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!" The Angry Marines then realized their folly at listening to a faggot who dared consider himself as angry as they, yet arm himself not with a second chainsword or power fist, but a pussified bolt pistol. The next few seconds witnessed the roar of the Cocknocker's jump packs, the whoosh of battle-brothers being launched at the daemonic host from the Predator Angrinator's, and Brother Chaplain Brusiarch's battle cry of "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-," as he charged the World Eaters' line.

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Thought for the Day: Zeal is its own excuse.
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Acclimating to the Angry Marines - as lived by Brother-Sergeant Kollon, Mentor Legion
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I, Brother-Sergeant Kollon, of the Mentor Legion have been attached to the Angry Marine Chapter. In my first week training with our brothers, I had the privilege, of sorts, to encounter none other than their chapter's Reclusiarch, Mofo. After completing the morning firing rights alongside the Angry Marines, I made for closest lavatory to relieve myself before battle practice began. The firing rights, as dictated by the Codex Astartes, involve squads honing their skills with ranged weaponry. While my fellow Mentor Legionnaires attained perfect accuracy and precision with our bolters and sniper rifles, our less restrained Battle-Brothers spent most of the time missing their targets with the few bolters they had on hand. After expending his ammunition, each marine would charge down the firing lane to smash the pristine target with his bolter, his hands, and anything else within reach. We began to suspect that this non-codex treatment of ranged weaponry was the cause of the shortage of bolters in the Angry Marines' armory aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany.

I had deactivated and removed the appropriate sections of my power-armor, noticing the raised dais in the center of the lavatory chamber about which all the commodes faced. Many copies of the legendary Codex Astartes lay upon this dais, and I found it odd that the Angry Marines would partake in the custom of reading while relieving oneself like so many of the Imperium's cultures do. I had just sat down upon one of the commodes along the bulkhead when Reclusiarch Mofo entered the chamber.

He wore his full set of armor, not even having removed his helm. He is larger than the average Space Marine, and carried his signature Crozius, Fag-Basher. It is platinum, and shaped like a great fist holding an Imperial Aquila token with the middle finger extended.

The Reclusiarch tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of my presence and sat himself down upon a commode near the one I was seated upon. I quickly expelled the contents of my bowel, and experienced another tortured minute while the Reclusiarch violently did the same with much loud swearing and oath making. It was then that I realized that the commode's in this lavatory did not have a bidet function like most toilets of the modern Imperium. I had just turned to ask the Reclusiarch how his Chapter went about cleansing themselves when I saw him reach out to one of the copies of the Codex Astartes. He opened it, and Emperor preserve us all, he ripped a page out of it and began cleaning his backside with it! "This...THIS IS HERESY!!," I cried.

The Reclusiarch became a blur, a lightning strike of motion. Instantly his crozius was alight in his hand, its power field sending blue energy flicking out from its surface. "HERESY!!! WHERE!!?? WHERE IS THERE HERESY, YOU MENTOR ASS-STRUMMER!!??," he shouted at max vox amp. He stood there, his head rapidly scanning the entire room for any taint of heresy, with the soiled page of Guilliman's life's work still wedged in his backside. It was the most astonishing sight I have ever seen in my centuries of service. Before my gen-enhanced senses could even register it, he had planted Fag-Basher in the bulkhead just centimeters from my head. "DON'T FUCKIN' STARTLE ME LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING SHITBREATHED, CUM-ENCRUSTED, HEMORRHOID!!!!!!" he roared right in my face. Mofo then turned back to his toilet, and angrily finished cleaning himself with the torn codex page. He closed his armor, and ripped Fag-Basher back out of the wall causing me to duck. As he walked through the portal to the lavatory, he turned and shouted, "BATTLE PRACTICE STARTS IN THREE MINUTES FUCKFACE, SO BREAK IT OFF AND GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!!! IF YOUR LATE, IM GONNA REPLACE ALL OF THIS TOILET PAPER," as he gestured to the copies of the Codex Astartes "WITH YOUR HANDS!!!"

He then stormed down the hallway, leaving me stunned on the toilet. I looked at the copies of the Codex Astartes, a holy work written by the Emperor's own loyal son and the basis for everything I have lived my long life for as a Space Marine. I had the choice of defacing the codex, or undergoing the foulest penance I had ever been threatened with. This was only the first week of a decades long deployment with this Chapter!! Had the Emperor abandoned me?

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Thought for the Day: Heresy must be met with hatred.
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Ruination of Black Legion Warband on Tormus Octavion
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Mofo, Reclusiarch of the Angry Marines, finished his oaths to the Emprah. Promises, made to his God, as to just how badly he would RIP THE FUCKING COLONS RIGHT OUT OF THOSE NIGGERS! The thunderhawk he rode in jinked and swerved, flying close to the ground to avoid detection. The enemy had made the very serious mistake of taunting Brother-Captain Raeg.

"Come and get us, striplings!" Their leader had said, his fat metal ass humming and whirring even through the pict feed. "You cannot penetrate our void shields from your precious battle barge, and your ground forces will not stop our ritual in time. The warp portal is nearly complete, and soon this whole planet shall be consumed by Chaos!" Then the faggot went on and on about how great he is and how he has such a FUCKING HARDON FOR HIMSELF!!!! "IMMA FUCKING RIP THAT COCKSUCKER IN PIECES, THEN EAT THOSE PIECES AND SHIT THEM OUT!!!!" Raeg had shouted. So loud was his exclamation, the techfags in the engine rooms had heard him. "FIRE UP THE ENGINES, WERE RAMMING THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SHIELD WITH THE WHOLE SHIP!!!"

"BROTHER CAPTAIN, FUCK THAT SHIT, IVE GOT A BETTER IDEA," Mofo had interjected. The Captain was having none of it. "FUCK YOU, THAT FAGGOT IS GONNA REGRET THE DAY HE FIRST BELEIVED IN THOSE SHITEATING CHAOS GODS ALMOST AS MUCH AS HE IS GONNA REGRET THE DAY HE FUCKING CALLED ME!!!" It had been difficult to convince Raeg of his plan, but the chapter had already wrecked two battle barges in recent years during the course of just one campaign. The techno-cockgoblers on Mars said they were not gonna make any more for his chapter if they kept on wrecking them every time the enemy used a void shield. Mofo had been his most diplomatic, "WITH RESPECT CAPTAIN, FUCK YOU AND THE OBSCURA THAT BURST FROM THE CONDOMS YOU SWALLOWED!! IMMA GO DOWN THERE, WRECK THAT FAGGOT'S SHIT, THEN OPEN THE SHIELDS SO YOU CAN LAUNCH THE DROPODS AND QUIT YOUR BITCHING!!!"

Much back and forth arguing had occured, but Mofo's plan was agreed upon. Soon the Reclusiarch was thundering down through the atmosphere with a techmarine and cockknocker squad in tow. "REMEMBER THE PLAN, FART CATCHER?" Mofo inquired. "FUCK YEAH I REMEMBER, YOU GO HAVE FUN, AND WE DO ALL THE FUCKING WORK!!!" Techmarine Indignatus replied. "YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IM GONNA HAVE FUN!!!" said Mofo.

The thunderhawk closed in on the void shielded city. The Chaos Space Marines and logic engines detecting their low flying craft entirely too late. The pilot servitor aimed just above the wall surrounding the fortress as it had computed were its instructions from the screaming and shouting the Reclusiarch had done before takeoff. The top of the walls had a thin slot where the void shields did not extend, but this space was not big enough to permit passage of an aircraft the size of a thunderhawk. Facts like this did not deter Angry Marines. The thunderhawk smashed against the lowest extension of the void shield, the uppermost sections of the craft being sheared off from the collision. The flaming remains of the craft shot over the parade grounds, and into the crenelated walls of the fortress proper.

"GET TO FUCKING WORK!!! THERE IS MUCH ASS TO BE BEATEN FOR THA EMPRAH THIS DAY!!!!" roared Mofo as he and his fellow Angry Marines removed themselves from the wreck. The Techmarine and cockknocker squad moved off to disengage or sabotage the void shields, whichever came first. Mofo had a different target.

Thragarkis, the twice living, great servant of the Chaos, Warlord Triumphant of his warband of the Black Legion, gloated to himself in his throne room. "Oh this will be a mighty victory against the weak Imperium" he chortled. "Yes master," said Aruel, his mortal savant. Thragarkis addressed him, "I have heard a report of intruders in this fastness, go and watch over the ritual. Insure that no mistakes are made. I would be very angry should a mistake be made over worries about a single crashed thunderhawk." "As you desire master, your great work shall be completed, the gods shall be honored!" Aruel hurried from the throne room to carry out his master's orders. Thragarkis looked through the fortress layouts in his tactical display, and compared them to the reports he was hearing over the vox channels his fellow Black Legionaries used. There was much fighting going on in the lower levels, and out upon the walls. Perhaps the rumors were true about this...'Angry Chapter'. No matter, there was no reports of violence in the passages leading to his sanctum or the ritual chamber beyond. He couldnt afford to let the psykers worry, they needed all their concentration for this. He would not allow his greatest work to be undone now, not when it was so close to completion. Suddenly, he heard a blast from the side of his chamber. He turned to see a black armored Space Marine approach him through a ragged hole in the wall, a chaplain, and yes, there was his Crozius alight and ready as well. Bizarre that the Crozius, normally a vaunted and holy relic to his loyalist 'brothers', be shaped to form so crude an insult rather than some divine symbol of his chapter. This was a different chapter indeed. "YOU, MECHANICAL DICKSUCKER, IMMA FUCKING BREAK YOUR METAL ASS!!" the figure roared. Yes, very different indeed.

"Unlikely, little Chaplain. Soon, daemons will pour out from this fortress, you cannot stop them without getting through me, and I am Thragarkis! The twice living, ender of worl-". "OH SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!!" The figure charged! Most approached his unholy sarcophagus with some trepidation, but not this one!

Mofo let loose a horrid string of obscenties as he charged toward the pretentious faggot. Thragarkis fired off several rounds from its twin linked autocannons, but Mofo was so angry he nimbly dodged them, hellbent on getting at the metal bitch and letting him know just how much the Emprah hated him. Mofo dodged inside the dreadnoughts guard, and planted his Crozius, Fag-Basher, into the front armor of the fucking thing. Thragarkis balled up his powerfist, and smashed Mofo solidly. Mofo was thrown back by the blow, but no sooner had he touched the ground than he was charging again. As the dreadnought launched another punch, Mofo leapt over the powerfist and threw himself on the front of the sarcophagus so he looked eye-to-eye with the vision port.

"JUDGEMENT, MOTHERFUCKER, ITS COMING!!!" Mofo swore. With all his gene-enhanced strength, Mofo punched the vision block of Thragarkis's sarcophagus. Punch after punch, blow after blow he rained upon the dreadnought's vision port. All the while the dreadnought fired off autocannon rounds at random, his powerfist desperately trying to grab the chaplain and remove him from his chassis. "YOU" *punch* "PIECE" *punch* "OF" *punch* "SHIT" *punch* "GET" *punch* "OUT" *punch* "HERE!"

At last, the vision block shattered, and Mofo's fist drove forward into the amniotic tomb of Thragarkis. Foul liquids gushed out around Mofo's arm as he fished around inside the tank. At last he found Thragarkis' mortal form squirming around at the bottom. He grasped the fucker by the neck, and pulled his head out of the hole he made in the sarcophagus. It was a disgusting thing, like a wet white turd with the gratuitous number of 8 pointed fag marks carved and tatooed here and there. Thragarkis looked through hazy eyes at his killer, and trembled. How could the dark gods forsake their loyal servant like this?

"I GOT A MESSAGE FROM THE EMPRAH!!!" said Mofo. He then reared back his free arm, as if to throw another punch. Like lightning his arm shot forward into an accusing finger pointed right in Thragarkis' face, "FUCK YOU!!!" Then, grasping the fuckers neck with both hands, Mofo headbutted him repeatedly, his hardened helm smashing into Thragarkis' skull, caving in his head. When the turd's face looked like a cereal bowl. Mofo stopped. The last neural stutters of the heretic's dying brain caused the dreadnought to stutter, and fall onto its back.

Mofo neatly flipped forward, grabbing Fag-Basher on the way, and landing upright next to the dead faggot. Just as he landed, the set of doors leading into the adjoining ritual chamber opened. "My Lord, the void shields are down! Drop pods rain upon us. Your legion brothers await your words...Ohhhh-." "TELL THEM THEY ARE ABOUT TO GET THEIR SHIT PUSHED IN!" Mofo roared, as he sprinted towards the stunned savant.

+++++ Thought for the Day: My Armor is Contempt, my Shield is Disgust, my Sword is Hatred. In the Emperor's name, let none survive. +++++

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A day in the life of an Angry Marine.
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0400 - Morning INSULTS - Led by the Company Chaplain the Space Marines BETTER GET THEIR PUSSY ASSES IN ORDER BEFORE I STICK A POWER FOOT SO FAR UP SAID ANUS THEY WISH THEY WERE A SQUAT.
0500 - Morning Firing Rites - The Space Marines engage in target practice with their personal and squad weaponry, awards and punishments are dispensed FOR BULLSHIT OR A LACK THEREOF AND IF ANY FUCKING SHIT FUCKER THINKS OTHERWISE TOMORROWS PRACTICE WILL BE A ROUSING GAME OF LICK THE CATACHAN BARKING TOAD.
0700 - Battle Practice - BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH YOUR POWER BAT, OR, BARRING THAT, JUST BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH WHATEVER'S AVAILABLE. AND IF YOU'RE TOO PANTS ON HEAD RETARDED TO FIND SOMETHING TO HIT THEN YOU BETTER FUCKING START BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF THE GROUND BECAUSE LAST TIME I CHECKED THIS PLANET HASN'T CONFESSED ITS SINS AGAINST THE EMPEROR.
1200 - Midday Prayer - ANY ONE NOT TOO STUPID TO HIT THEMSELVES PRACTICES SCREAMING AT SHIT. EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO SUCK THE APOTHECARIES DICK BECAUSE YOU DON'T NEED ANY MEDICINE FOR THAT TINY LITTLE BOLTER WOUND YOU FUCKTARD.
1300 - Midday Meal - Normally local wildlife killed during the morning activities. AND BELIEVE ME WE KILL A LOT OF FUCKING BUNNY RABBITS AND PEPPERS AND SHIT AND EAT ALL OF IT AND LEAVE NONE FOR YOU. BOO-HOO, BITCH.
1315 - Tactical Indoctrination - THIS USUALLY DOESN'T TAKE THIS LONG. I'LL JUST PUT UP A BIG PICTURE OF THE NEXT THING WE'RE GONNA SHOOT AND SAY "SHOOT THIS YOU FUCKERS" SERIOUSLY, WHO THE FUCK NEEDS AN HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES TO DO THAT. PUSSIES, THAT'S WHO.
1500 - Battle Practice - SEE ABOVE IF YOUR NOT WEARING A NECKBRACE YOU INCOMPETENT LITTLE NIPPLE LICKER. WE HIT MORE SHIT WITH LARGER OBJECTS.
2000 - Evening Prayer - I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA. I'M NOT GOING OVER THIS AGAIN. FUCK YOU.
2100 - Evening Meal - A feast (by normal human standards) is provided by the Chapter serfs, and some Chapter Masters may allow alcohol to be consumed. FUCK YEAH IT IS. WE'LL ORDER LIKE A THOUSAND PIZZA'S TO THE PRETTY MARINES HOME WORLD AND THEN WE'LL STICK IN THE DVD'S OF BLOSSOM OR 7TH HEAVEN OR...REALLY HARDCORE PORN. FUCK YOU, LITTLE FAGGOT SHOW WATCHING SHOW WATCHERS. GO WRITE IN YOUR LIVE JOURNAL.
2130 - Night Firing Exercises - WE SPEND MORE TIME. HITTING MORE THINGS. WITH LARGER OBJECTS.IN THE DARK, FUKKEN DUH.
2315 - Maintenance Rituals - FIX YOUR SHIT OR I'LL GRAB A TECH-PRIEST AND MAKE HIM FIX YOUR SHIT. ONE OF THOSE CLAUSES IS LITERAL.
2345 - Free Time - Space Marines are permitted this time to reflect upon their duty to The Emperor, however many Chapter Masters regard free time as a frivolous waste, and a dangerous distraction in the extreme. EXCEPT WATCHING BLOSSOM. FUCK YOU.
0000 - Rest Period - BUT YOU BETTER NOT SPEND FOUR WHOLE HOURS SLEEPING. IF YOU DO YOU ARE NOT ANGRY ENOUGH AND TOMORROW YOU GET THE FIRST CHANCE TO PLAY PIN THE TAU ON THE CARNIFEX.

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Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.
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Excerpt from the diaries of Lieutenant Pretentiousness, beautiful servant of the Emperor and amazingly good looking soldier of the Pretty Marines

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The beautiful sun rose high above the glorious desert planet and I looked in wonder at the beauty the Emperor had graced us with. I turned to Brother Starr, his microphone held high as he prepared to give a beautifully arousing speech to all the brothers gathered there. I turned quickly to brush a speck of dust off that had landed on my armor, and breathed a sigh of relief that no one had seen that. As Brother Starr gave his address I looked into the sky and beheld a yellow thunderhawk streaming toward the planet. It landed a few meters away kicking dust in all directions.

"Brothers, evasive action!" Each member of the chapter pulled out his industrial strength hair dryer, the flashes of purple lighting up the terrain below as the brothers tried in vain to keep the dust from dirtying their armor. It was of no avail, I heard wails of despair... there would be much washing tonight. I looked out over the landscape to see several yellow glints rushing toward the lines of our chapter. I looked closer and saw the figures of five yellow-clad Space Marines rushing toward us. Three of them held what looked like glorified wrenches, and the fourth carried a horrible looking banner. The fifth marine was hidden behind a mass of cardboard he carried with him. I heard their scream as they drew closer, drowning out all other sound, a horribly insensitive scream that rose above all other noise. "SUCK ON THIS YOU PANSIFIED FAGGOTS!!" The one carrying the cardboard dropped all of it and the five stood for a second.

"ALWAYS ANGRY!"

"ALL THE TIME!"

The five turned and ran back the way they had come, and as their ship lifted off I saw several middle fingers on the side of the ship, still wet with new paint. I turned away in disgust, gracefully raising my chin.

I stepped down toward the mass of cardboard, helping brothers remove dust from their hair on the way.

I approached the mass of cardboard that had marred our beautiful desert landscape. Lying next to it was a small piece of paper. I knelt down and gingerly picked up the paper and turned it over.

Printed on the paper was a receipt for 1001 pizzas with anchovies and pineapple, upon which was scrawled a crude imitation of my own signature. On the bottom one word was written in red ink, barely legible:

OWNED

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The following is an extract from Hidden Imperial Histories by Adept Voliusnius Brouyt

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Of the many Space Marine Chapters that protect the good citizens of the Imperium none are as well respected, nor as admired the warriors of the Ultramarines. Such is the greatness of their deeds their stories are told on innumerable worlds, their reputation as the saviors of the Imperium of Man is both well deserved and proven, time and time again. Indeed such is their martial prowess that even other Astartes can only but compare themselves forlornly inferior to those that hold Guilliman's geneseed.

This however occasionally leads to friction amongst some of the more bellicose chapters of Astartes that still stubbornly refuse to yield to the wisdom of the blessed Codex Astartes. Such antagonism is best summed up with an anecdote from when the Ultramarines encountered an obscure and ill-recorded chapter whom records merely identify as the [Angry??] Marines.

This chapter had apparently chased a Tyranid splinter fleet into Ultramarine space. Impressed by their sheer ferocity the blessed Calgar offered an invitation to their Chapter Master, a man known to history only as Temperus Maximus. However the invitation to meet their spiritual liege was responded to only with the head of the hive tyrant on which was crudely scrawled an insulting cartoon of the Ultramarines 1st Company's defense of Macragge and images of male genitalia.

Infuriated by such a blatant and insulting Snub, Calgar personally took it to on himself to demand an apology from the arrogant Temperus Maximus, traveling to the offender's battlebarge's throne room in person. Unfortunately he little expected the animalistic rage that would greet his justified demand for obeisance from the vile lesser chapter's Master and the argument between the two soon came to blows.

Sadly the clash between the two occurred behind closed doors, with no clue exactly what words were exchanged. Yet when the doors opened again it was Calgar that was bloodied and bruised, with the sacred Gauntlets of Ultramar torn from his shoulders. Only the wise counsel of the Inquisition prevented him from declaring immediate war against his unruly brethren, a war that would no doubt have cost the Imperium greatly before the Ultramarines' inevitable victory. The story stands as a clear example of how refusal to follow the Codex only promotes discord and strife between erstwhile brothers.

As to what occurred in the Angry Marine chambers, few can know, the only clue perhaps the jeering cry raised by the Angry Marines whenever they meet Ultramarines during campaigns. A nonsensical mantra of "STOP HITTING YOURSELF STOP HITTING YOURSELF", repeated ad infinitum. What such an idiotic phrase could mean a scholar can only guess at, perhaps it is merely an indication of the less than exemplary mental nature of non-codex Astartes.

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From the historical records of Inquisitor Seros, investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents".

Section #7193: The Green-Hands Heresy "Incident" of Kickass Prime

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I was sent to the planet of “Kickass Prime”, a planet claimed by a chapter of Battle Brothers known as the “Angry Marines”. This particular sector of the Marines had referred to themselves as the “Brawndo” sector of the Chapter due to their love of a energy drink from the Dark Age of Technology. This love of a drink, Emperor knows how they obtained some of the original in the first place, had caused them to complain to various sources until the item in question was mass produced. The drink spread across the Chapter like a Tyranid swarm and the sector was allowed to keep the name due to the drink being “ULTRA FUCKING SWEET!”

The problem I was sent to solve, however, did not involve the drink. Rather, there were claims of Heresy amongst the ranks of the Angry Marines. It seems sometime during a cleansing of Ork, the Angry Marines took upon the “choppas” of the fallen Ork horde. While this itself is slightly Heretical, for they have slightly shunned the holy weapons of the Emperor, a larger injustice occurred within this sector. One of the sergeants of the sector took great pride in felling a particularly large Ork and wanted its “Big Choppa” as a trophy. Unfortunately, the death-grip of the beast was too strong, even for a mighty Space Marine, and so the weapon remained in the clutch of the Ork. Not to be denied his prize, the sergeant proceeded to cut the hands off the Ork at the wrists. Afterward, when the beast was be-handed, as the case would be, the sergeant again tried to remove the hands to no-avail. This infuriated the already wrathful sergeant further. The sergeant subsequently summoned an apothecary to chop off his hands, and replace them with the Ork’s. This was Heresy beyond simply taking a fallen weapon; this was denying the hands given to him by the holy Gene-seed!

When I arrived on the planet, one of my main questions was: 'Why was this not reported by the sector and instead reported by another Chapter?'

I was given the same reply from everyone I asked: “BECAUSE IT WAS REALLY FUCKING AWESOME, ASSHOLE!” Apparently in the time after the sergeant had committed this deed, others followed his example, taking not only the weapons of the Orks, but also other body parts. I’m more than certain there was a marine with an Ork head replacing a pauldron. This I could not stand, I demanded to see the sergeant responsible for the mess. They lead me to the sergeant now known as “Greenhands”. The name was suitable, for there he was, the giant Ork hands looking ridiculous attached to his comparatively normal marine arms. He had the Choppa hung over his back when he accosted me, asking “WHAT IN THE SERIOUS FUCK ARE ONE OF YOU INQUISITORS DOING HERE?!! SHOULDN’T YOU BE OUT LOOKING FOR CHAOS OR SOME SHIT?!” I replied to him that I was indeed here due to claims of Heresy. In retrospect, I should not have said. From the moment I uttered "Heresy", the whole of the camp within earshot began frantically running around cursing wildly, looking for any sign of Heresy they could find so they could stomp it out. This did please me, somewhat. It could very well have been that these Brothers were not Heretical, merely... simple-minded.

After about half an hour and a few small mammals squashed and shot repeatedly at point-blank range with bolters, Sgt. Greenhands returned to me and assured me that any possible Heresy had been wiped out. I told him that the Heresy was due to his weapon and new appendages. He berated me and asked if anyone told him how “REALLY FUCKING AWESOME” it was. I assured him that his fellow Battle Brothers did indeed tell me this was the case, but carrying an enemy’s weapon instead of a holy weapon given to him by fellow servants of the Emperor and replacing his hands with an enemy’s is indeed Heresy. The sergeant thought on this for a minute before calling for one of the sector’s Chaplains. After explaining to him that I was here because of his new weapon and because I “WOULDN’T KNOW AWESOME IF IT BIT HIM[me] ON THE ASS” he asked if the Chaplain could do anything to “SHUT THIS PUSSY UP!” The Chaplain looked at me and commenced a verbal tirade that very possibly rivaled that of the sergeant's. At any rate, he then reached into his pouch for a Purity Seal. He took one out, wrote some words on the paper attached (which I can only hope were Holy Sermons of the Emperor), and then proceeded to place the Purity Seal onto the weapon. The Chaplain then stood before me and without looking back, pointed at the Choppa and said “SANCTIFIED, BITCH!”

I then proceeded to take my leave of the Angry Marines, assuring them they would be cleared of all Heresy charges as long as they continued to cleanse the Ork weapons of taint but this would not be excused if such matters were extended to Chaos Weapons. The Chaplain agreed saying, “WE KNOW NOT TO TAKE ANYTHING FROM THOSE CHAOS FUCKS, ASSHOLE!” He then pulled my undergarments over my head and kicked me onto my transport.

I have written this report standing up.

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Thought for the Day: Faith in the Emperor is the strongest weapon we have.

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List of things the Angry Marines hate with a passion

While Angry Marines pretty much hate everything, save for the Emprah, these are the things that would cause any regular Angry Marine to fly into a rage that would rival Commissar Fuklaw in mere seconds.

• The Eldar/Dark Eldar/Anything related to elves - The status-quo defenders are faggots, the drug-addled spehss elfs are a couple of prissy faggots and elves are dickish faggots. Ergo.

• The Tau - Weeaboos.

• The Ultramarines - They hate the Ultramarines for being a bunch of mary sues.

• Pretty Marines/Chaos Pretty Marines - They're a chapter of faggots and the ones who defected to Chaos makes them DOUBLE FAGGOTS.

• Emperor's Children - They're a chapter of faggots who defected to Chaos and still bear the name of the Emprah.

• Furries - They're daemonspawns of Slaanesh. Though they don't treat the Space Wolves like furries.

• Anything Slaaneshi - Slaanesh is the God of all that is faggatory in the WH40K universe. Ergo.

• Chaos as a whole - CHAOS IS FAIL AND GAY GET OUT, STOP TALKING, FUCKYOU

See Also/Notable Angry Marine personnel

• Commissar Fuklaw
• Inquisitor Badasious
• Some crazy ass Chaos Marines who fancy themselves as angry as the Angry Marines.
• Angry Marine-Bomb

Gallery

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FFFFFFFFFF- WHO THE FUCK UPLOADED THIS!? IT'S A FUCKING BELLIGERENT ENGINE, YOU FUCK!! In 1st Edition, ALL Marines were Angry Marines. The Angry Marines fuck up Tzeentch's shit. The Angry Marines attempt to fuck up Kharn's shit. FUCK YOU. WHERE'S YOUR GOD NOW YOU CHAOS FAGGOTS? This is why you don't try to make Angry Marines more so. SHITCOCKS!! FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF- Always angry, all the time. The Angry Marines know how to kill it with fire. POWER FEET ARE FOR KICKING THOSE FUCKS IN THE BALLS. RAAAAAAAGEEE! YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT WE'VE GOT A TITAN LEGION. Angry Marine haet LCB. ANGRY TABLETOP ASSKICKING TIME. Angry Marine haet Tau. I'M CONFUSED. CONFUSION MAKES ME ANGRY! There is also a shitty Rule 63 version. Masters of improvised weaponry. The core thought process of an Angry Marine. aka the ANGRY METER. The Spartans were almost angry enough for this, but not quite. DID YOU THIN YOUR PAINTS? YOU BETTER HAVE THINNED YOUR GODDAMN PAINTS. NOW I'M FUCKING PISSED OFF! The dreaded Predator Angrinator. Truth. Gah, they just won't stay dead! FUCK YEA! They hate playing against Necrons. /tg/ gets shit done HERESY Fucking up the Pretty Marines

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External Links

• ANGRY MARINES FUCK SHIT UP
• ANGRY MARINES CODEX UPDATED!