It’s the crack that did it.

You know, the one on the ceiling wall. Looks like Angelina Jolie.

The crack did it. Sent odd vibes into my brain, caused a superneuro spasmatic cyberattack. SSC , as Sarge fondly called them.

When the crack, the SSC took over, I lost total control of the implants you see. So it wasn’t me that did those things. It was the crack, and Angelina Jolie, and well..

Okay, okay. I had the hots for her. But she’s married like, kids, you know. Hey! A soldier’s gotta dream. I mean, what else do we get in this life, ‘cept a short, quick death on the end of a Photon Launcher, or sliced to pieces by an enemy’s Binary Laser.

So, like, that kinda explained why my confused cybercircuits decided to break into the women’s dorms.

Seriously, it wasn’t me. I have no memory of the event at all, or the horrendous stuff I did after.

Not to mention I think they overplayed the terrorism bit a little too much.

All I did was string a mile of ladies panties around and over the Whitehouse.

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