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I hate the Saurus auto-resolve meter. I hate it because it lies to me. It says I have a 50-50 chance of victory. This is patently false, because I have twenty units of spearmen who are held together with faith and steel. I do not have twenty units of eight foot tall geckos constructed out of pectoral muscles and galvanised coffin nails.
I hate their morale. I hate that surrounding them simply prompts one of them to pull out a US general's helmet so he can make a speech about 'now we can attack in any direction'. I hate that their reaction to a devastating rear attack is to become somewhat peeved. I have looked a Saurus in his smug scaly face as an encirclement that would shatter any other early game infantry closed in.
I have resolved to shoot every Saurus dead. Every Saurus. All of the Saurmen and the Saurdren too. I hate them. I no longer see battlefields because they're covered by a thick blanket of gunfire trails. I hate that it barely stops them. I hate that they keep coming while shouting about the Bristol orienteering klub, or the Bank of Oklahoma or the 1983 Bok asteroid. I hate that they made me google bok so I could write down ways in which I hate things that have it as a name. Bok is also a lunar crater and a martian crater. It is also a village in Iran. The IATA code for Brookings Airport is Bok. I will never go there because it would give me palpitations.
I hate that there are another ten Lizard factions. I hate that they will be in end game by the time I reach them. I hate that while I was writing this Kroq Gar picked up Franz and smoked her like a cigar.
I hate Saurus.
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