You know what Mission Control? I've had enough of your ♥♥♥♥. So what if we kick some ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ barrels around? Have you ever heard of PTSD you fat
slovenly ♥♥♥♥? We go into mines on an alien planet infested with voracious ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ bugs with acid powerful enough to melt gromril and teeth sharper than my grandmother's pick-axe. Meanwhile, YOU sit there on your fat arse and moan about the difficult job you have "oh woe is me, I have to tidy some barrels up" ♥♥♥♥ off you grobi-lover. Have you ever had to defend a refuelling pod from a bulk detonator? Have you? No, you haven't, yet being the UTTER WAZZOK you are you feel the need to shout down the comms at us to get back into position like there isn't 200 tonnes of exploding ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ bug squatted down on top of the ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ fuel cells eating the scout. I hope management make you personally collect every single barrel I've jettisoned into ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ space, you Umgak Gobboe worrier.