Editing Angry Marines (section)

===Fucking Warp Travel===

The Angry Marines strike cruiser Cackumbabo roared through space at maximum realdrive. Its machine spirit was too pissed off to allow the Techmarines to engage its warp engine; fuck that Chaos crap, Cackumbabo was going into battle the old-fashioned way, even if it took 2000 years.

“COME ON YOU FUCKING LUMP OF WORTHLESS ORKSHIT!” roared Captain Twatsplasher, whacking the sacred warp engine with his power-wrench. “WE'VE GOT FACES TO RAPE!!!”

“DON'T FUCKING DO THAT, MY LORD!” cried Brother Terridyne, their chief Techmarine, trying to wrestle the weapon/tool/phallic symbol from Twatsplasher's white-knuckled grip. “FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WE'LL END UP GETTING BUMMED BY DAEMONS! BALANCE YOUR BLOODY HUMOURS!!”

“NO-BOLLOCKS WASTREL!!! IF YOU DON'T GET THIS SHIP INTO THE WARP IN FIVE SECONDS FLAT, I'LL BLAST MYSELF OUT OF THE NEAREST FUCKING AIRLOCK, SWIM BACK TO YOUR HOME PLANET AND BALANCE YOUR WHITESHIELD-SUCKING MUM ON MY RAMROD YOU FAGGOT!!!!”

The techmarine began to unclasp the front of his power-trousers.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BITCH?!!” screamed Twatsplasher.

“INSTALLING MY SACRED MECHA-PENIS, THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING! I'LL GIVE THIS MECHANICAL CUM-GOBBLER ALL THE THRUST IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE!!”

The ship panicked and threw itself into the warp with a jolt. Terridyne fell into Twatsplasher's arms.

“ISN'T THIS FUCKING ROMANTIC!” the Captain yelled. “ALL FUCKING YIFFERS KNOW THE PENALTY FOR HUGGING A COMMANDING OFFICER!”

He turned Terridyne around and delivered the sacred punishment of pulling the Techmarine's undergarments over his head. If Terridyne suffered a broken neck or choked to death on his own knicker-elastic, that meant he was heathen scum who deserved it. If he lived, then he was redeemed and would have an opportunity to start fixing some shit around here. 

“TWATSPLASHER TO THE FUCKING CIRCUS ROUSTABOUTS CALLING THEMSELVES 3RD COMPANY,” the Captain voxed while the tech-marine stumbled around, arms flailing. “YOU EXCREMENTAL CUNTS CAN STOP TUGGING YOUR BELL-ENDS AND MEET ME IN THE FUCKING BRIEFING ROOM! WAR IS IMMINENT, BITCHES!!!”

“YES YOUR FUCKING MAJESTY!” his men responded as they ran to the briefing room, pulling on helms and loading bolters as they ran. Twatsplasher was a singular Company Commander. His men didn't have to show the reverence he fucking deserved, as he wasn't some Slaaneshi faggot who lived on praise. Besides, the constant exchange of insults kept him sharp.