Who Doesn't Like Pie?

"Tell us," said the thin, pale-faced Krikkiter who had stepped forward from the ranks of the others and stood uncertainly in the circle of light handling his as if he were just holding it for someone else who'd just popped off somewhere but would be back in a minute, "do you know anything about something called the balance of nature?"
--Douglas Adams

I've discussed in the past my reasons for not posting Killmails.  All those reasons still apply to my thought process, but they recently led to an interesting conversation with an old friend of mine in EVE.  For whatever reason, he was looking at my Killboard on Battleclinic and, seeing all my recent kills were against Pirates, he convoed me in game to ask if I'd turned Anti-Pirate.

The Capacitor Is Empty

It feeds on brainwave energy received not from its own carrier but from those around it. It absorbs all unconscious mental frequencies from this brainwave energy to nourish itself with.
--Douglas Adams

I've joked before about the notification that you've run out of Capacitor being my least favorite phrase in the English Language.  While I was joking, just as with any good joke, there is some truth to the statement.  Having said that, a mistake I often see new PvPers making, especially after coming from EVE's PvE content, is placing undue importance on the notion of Cap Stability on their ship.  Now, as a case in point, I present the following fights which I lost horribly.

Clearing the Cobwebs

The layer of dust had clearly not been disturbed in some time when the door opened and a gust of air sprinkled the air with thin particles.

"Oh man, what happened ta this place?" the plump man who had opened the door asked aloud.

"I heard the last owner lost his mind.  Kept screaming something about spreadsheets when he was dragged away.  Got committed to that place up in Arkham, " replied the tall slender fellow who was behind him.

"Arkham?  I 'erd they had some big breakout up there a couple years back, closed the 'ole place down,"  The rounder fellow spoke without looking at his companion.  Intent on his task at hand; cleaning the place up for the new owner.

"Nah, you heard wrong.  Some lunatic in a cape and pointy ears stopped it before it went too far, " shot back the other as he flipped the breakers on the wall.  Light finally illuminating the work desk covered with maps and diaries.  "So, are we just to throw all this out?"

"Nope.  The buyer was real specific about wanting anything left behind.  Somethin' about peering into the eyes of madness.  Gave me the creeps t'be honest.  Wore one a'those Amarrian hoods so you couldn't see his face when he talked t'ya.  I seen his type before.  We're just ta get the locks changed and fix the place up before he gets 'ere tomorra."

"Well, looks like some of the fixtures need replacing.  I'm heading down to the truck to see if we have a match while you start on the locks."  Both men nodded in agreement and went about their work.  By the time they finished, the transformation was nothing less than extraordinary.  No longer the dusty cave of a madman, this was now a right and proper work studio.