[right][img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/f7/Flag_of_Texas.svg/255px-Flag_of_Texas.svg.png[/img][/right]
[b]Don't Mess with Texanis.[/b]
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[indent][indent][center][i]"We need troops that will not be swayed by the superior technology, more comfortable living conditions and better treatment that the Tau offer. People immune to reason."[/i] 
- Lord General Constantin Erectus

[i]"Planet offers little to the Greater Good. People completely immune to reason. Many Water Caste lost their lives and became dinner to bring us this report."[/i] 
- Tau survey of Texanis.

[i]"Dose hoomies have some right proper trukks, dey does."[/i] 
- The Orks[/center][/indent][/indent]

The day after they loaded on some big ole ship, a bunch of "Don't Mess With Texanis" stickers got put on every surface the troopers could find and the awful sight of the stuff they chewed being spat right back out, reverberating against bulkheads and other steel surfaces with a *CLANG* sound made it sound like a bunch of cowbells were going off. Somehow, sawdust wound up on the decks everywhere as these ferals made themselves at home. The Imperial Navy had unglamorous jobs for its screwup ships. Hauling Texans was like hauling Attilans; the swabbies had to actually hold onto the shit from all the animals, hound, horses, and whatever else, and deliver it up to an agriworld.

"Damocles? Is that where we're goin' Sarge? I'm spoilin for a fight, and not with some Texanis Tech candyasses." Of course, when they levied up the regiment, they cleared out the squads from University of Texanis, University of East Texanis and everyone except Rise University, who were a bunch of egghead pussies, and Taylor College, because their entire bloodbowl team was picked up on rape charges and were shipped off to a penal unit by the Adeptus Arbites.

The thing was, the entire 63rd was spoiling for a fight, but since they had some ball teams here, the Colonel figured, "Hell, let 'em play ball in the hold." This led to brawling, but it was among supporters on each team and not the Texans fighting the naval crew, which was considered a win. True to his alma mater, Clayton Robert had on a pair of khaki pants and a pair of big old riding boots, and looked particularly ready to get down there and open up a can of ass-whoopin' on the enemies of the the Emperor, take yer hat off when you say his name boy.

"By the Emperor," he took his hat off, "I hope we git us some Alien Space Communists, them Tau boys. Buncha snooty pinko hoofed sumbitches run around talking real fancy and think they're all slick. They want to come Texanis and take our planet? That dog just don't hunt!" 

He had a voice like a truck commercial; deep and manly. Listeners could just imagine him describing the stupid stunts a truck could pull in a commercial. Like the ones where a fella drives the truck through some insane contraption with flames and wrecking balls, just to show off how manly the truck really was, especially compared to those pussy aluminum trucks. Texans liked their trucks made robustly, to the envy of every Ork that'd ever seen one.

The truth was, Cleet-Bob's oratory made him notable in the Regiment; he could rile 'em up real good. That got the place yee-hawing. The commissars liked him; he was the dumbest sumbitch in the entire regiment, and that meant he was probably the bravest too. No worries about having to shoot him before the enemy did.