Invent a memory of me and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something that's never happened. Then post this in your journal so that people can invent memories for you.
I remember when the aliens landed in front of us as we were walking and asked for your autograph. You calmly signed a copy of Traveller for them and after they left, commented to me that that was a very long way to travel just for a signature.
I'll never forget those hectic days during the Mississippi River Valley campaign during the Conquest of Terra, when we both served as squad leaders in E-2/311th Blackleg Infantry. Just before we hit the Normal-Springfield district, I remember telling you "First Platoon will make the hole; I'm counting on your boys in Second Platoon to make the most of it."
My last sight upon Earth was of Second Platoon advancing through the gap I'd opened when I took out that Solomani heavy laser position, while my fellow troopers from First Platoon laid down covering fire....
It was after finally meeting you, at that Dead concert, that I understood. I finally understood why your name was spoken with such hused reverence backstage. You were the man behind the phenomenal popularity of The Dead. It was you who brokered the deal. It was you who spiked Bill Graham's 7Up. And you were instumental in teaching Jerry to play.
It would probably be that weekend you swung by Eugene on the way to the Corvallis shoot (or was it on the way back?) and we spent an afternoon just hangin' out and TravGeeking (in person for once).
My second to last night in Santa Clara and we stayed up late drining way too much sangria while forming new theories on multimensional calculus and how it relates to the hottest salsa you ever put on a chip.
There was that night that we delivered pizza to Hunter S. Thompson and he got mad at us becuase the pie had the wrong kind of mushrooms on them, so you went down to the corner and got the right kind of mushrooms and he tipped us $5000 each for being so customer-service oriented.
That amazing conversation with Spider and Bob Heinlein at BayCon. Why you insisted the dedications for the novels we inspired with them be dedicated to us with aliases, I have no idea, but I guess in some circles, it's better that way.
For me, it was that evening spent discussing the latest gossip of the Imperial Court, and how revolvers were in fashion over small swords this season, all over cigars and shots of tequila at the Circus-Circus's rotating bar.
Well, I was actually thinking of the black op I first met you on.
I was just a junior intel dweeb who opened his mouth at the wrong meeting, and got dragged along for the ride. (I think my boss was trying to get me killed.) You were TDY'd to us and were clearly uncomfortable without your fatigues.
You certainly didn't listen when they said, "No personal weapons." I've still got scars from the powder burns on my legs from the M-60 you fired while carrying me out slung across your back. I really suck at pistol shooting while hanging upside down and backwards, but I saved your life twice.
You only saved my life about thirty times or so, so that doesn't even come close to making it even.
It'll be an interesting story to tell if we're both alive in 2043 when it all gets declassified.
And I'll never forget how you kept screaming "Die bastards die." Were you screaming in Punjabi, Farsi or Arabic? Or maybe all three?
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My last sight upon Earth was of Second Platoon advancing through the gap I'd opened when I took out that Solomani heavy laser position, while my fellow troopers from First Platoon laid down covering fire....
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I'll never forget that concert.
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;-)
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Ahh....
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I was just a junior intel dweeb who opened his mouth at the wrong meeting, and got dragged along for the ride. (I think my boss was trying to get me killed.) You were TDY'd to us and were clearly uncomfortable without your fatigues.
You certainly didn't listen when they said, "No personal weapons." I've still got scars from the powder burns on my legs from the M-60 you fired while carrying me out slung across your back. I really suck at pistol shooting while hanging upside down and backwards, but I saved your life twice.
You only saved my life about thirty times or so, so that doesn't even come close to making it even.
It'll be an interesting story to tell if we're both alive in 2043 when it all gets declassified.
And I'll never forget how you kept screaming "Die bastards die." Were you screaming in Punjabi, Farsi or Arabic? Or maybe all three?