My Boss is Now a Snake and Other Reasons I am Quitting Cobra

By: Andrew Thomas Prenger

I regret to inform you that I am tendering my resignation. This is my two-weeks’ notice from the Cobra organization.

I do this with a heavy heart as I have given my all and dedicated so much time and effort to Cobra. I admit that these feelings have existed for a while, but it is only after certain events that made me realize, perhaps, it is time to sever my relationship to this organization.

First and foremost: our leader and founder, Cobra Commander, is now a God damned snake. Sorry for the strong, unprofessional language, but I feel this is an important point to reiterate. My boss is now a snake. I joined Cobra because I believed in the mission. I, too, was fed up with the corruption of the American government and I wanted to make a stand, make a difference.

Now I have found that I’ve been lied to the entire time?! That, in fact, Cobra was formed by a race of snake-like creatures who would love to see me, my family and all my friends in chains? Or dead? I say no!

Even were it not for finding out everything I believed in was a lie I still have a variety of complaints about the Cobra organization and how it was lead.

I’ve been a “blue shirt” going on five years now. I’ve come to realize that I will never rise above this position. Cobra, despite claiming to be for the people, does not actually care about those who make things run. I took pride in my work, managed to survive all these years by jumping out of my vehicle right before it exploded and I’ve actually managed to kill at least two of the G.I. Joe ground soldiers. This may not sound impressive, but with the laser rifles we’re issued I am surprised they even fire in the direction I aimed them.

This means I am qualified and competent, but I will forever be stuck in my job. That tends to breed disillusionment. I will never be promoted since Cobra seems dead set on trying everything else instead. Recently two platoons were let go because they’ve been replaced by Battle Android Troopers. We’re losing our jobs to machines like common factory workers.

Are these B.A.T.s any better than us? No! They’re built by the same guy who designed our laser rifles. What’s the point of replacing us with robots who are inferior? Are they less expensive? No, they require much more maintenance. Are they more effective than us on the battlefield? Hell, no! They’re using the same poorly made laser rifle without having the ability to compensate for the aim being off by fifteen feet.

Further up the chain of command, which I will never reach, is no good either. The majority of the people who hold (held) the Commander’s ear are less a military organization and more a carnival sideshow.

I’ve found myself being ordered around numerous times by members of a motorcycle gang named the Dreadnoks. This is very infuriating. They get run of the base because their boss, Zartan, actually has a useful skill of deception. The rest all ride his coattails, hanging out. They do not have to wear a uniform and get to wear normal (well, normal for them) clothes and they treat all the “blue shirts” like their servants.

Those are the people in charge. A bunch of miscreants. I would have a better chance to get ahead in Cobra if I quit, bought a motorcycle, affected a fake British (Australian?) accent, strapped a rocket launcher to a chainsaw then rejoined. Suddenly I’d have better pay, a bigger bunk and I wouldn’t have to wake up at five A.M. for P.T.

What follows next will definitely read as treason, but I no longer care.

Serpentor is a slap in the face to all the hardworking men and women in the service of Cobra. It shows that no matter how hard they work they’ll never get ahead because the higher-ups will simply clone a new supervisor.

Within a short time he instigated a coup-de-taut and turned our rightful leader into a snake monster, followed by the threat of the same happening to us if we didn’t fall in line. As if I didn’t already have enough safety dangers in this job.

I am trained for two vehicles that Cobra has designed. I’ve been begging for months to be moved to a H.I.S.S. tank division, but as that position is always full up with a waiting list as long as my arm I never received training. You know why? It’s the safest and most normal vehicle Cobra uses.

The vehicles I can pilot seem to have been designed as jokes. One is the Buzz Boar. This monstrosity is basically a rolling wheel with guns on the side. There is no windshield, so you have to lean out the sides to see. The handy things is that there is no armor plating so it is quite easy to lean out.

The other vehicle I am certified to operate is benignly called the Flight Pod. The name most of the grunts call them is “The Trubble Bubble.” And it is “trubble.” For the pilot. It’s nothing more than a jet with a chair strapped to it with only a glass dome for protection for the top half of your body. The glass isn’t bullet proof, or even tempered, just normal glass. As far as I can tell these “assault vehicles” only serve to provide a distractions for G.I. Joe’s superior aircraft. Then those lucky jerks in the H.I.S.S. tanks can do their job without fear of aerial assault!

I don’t appreciate being cannon fodder. I don’t like being replaced by a machine. I hate being commanded by drunk bikers and a genetic clone of the world’s greatest monsters! I am highly disturbed by the images Dr. Mindbender keeps implanting in my brain!

I am turning in the mask and leaving Cobra for good. Don’t bother looking for me. I’ve already deleted all personnel files regarding my identity. I know that after doing that I could’ve easily slipped away without anyone knowing, but I felt I must share some of my grievances. Maybe, just maybe, after G.I. Joe has cracked open your bunkers and you are on trial for war crimes you people will understand how it all went wrong.

Feel free to kill the man who delivered this to you since I know Cobra is a big fan of shooting the messenger. I would feel bad, but Trooper Pat is a bit of a prick and deserves whatever fate you have in store for him since you can’t punish me.

Have fun and I’ll see you on the news.

-Blue Shirt Trooper #27413

Abacus Jones, Soulless Cowboy vs. The King of the Spiders

By: Andrew Thomas Prenger

It was the little boy, Shadrach, who found his sister’s body first. At eight-years-old it was almost a miracle that he made it that long before seeing his first corpse. Shame that it had to be his one-and-only kin. What made it worse was how he found her. Continue reading

Every Cowboy Sings a Sad, Sad Song- A SVHU Vignette

By: Andrew Thomas Prenger

Dana Devastation exited from the parking garage to the street. There was a bounce in her step as she walked to the door of her house. It was a good day. The rucksack slung over her shoulder was stuffed with hundred dollar bills. She and Black Hat pulled off a very successful bank robbery and gotten away clean. All she had to do now was take it to her guy who would wash it and deposit in her account and then she could use it. Continue reading