Max und Jens Projekts
Bunnies Rock



Diese Präsentation ist nicht mit Powerpoint sondern mit Word gestaltet worden.

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Meine Chaosarmee


Meine Armee besteht zum größten Teil aus normalen Chaosspacemarines aber ich habe auch eine kleine 1500 Punkte Chaos Imps Armee in meine Hauptarmee Eingefügt um mehr Masse einzubringen.

Den Kern meiner armee wird immer von Masse gebildet, das heißt große Trupps Impis oder zwei 10ner Trups  Chaosspacemarines und Khorne Berserker sind auf alle fälle immer in jeder Armee dabei!!! Die Stärke meiner HQs bestät darin das sie wenn sie Einem Trupp angschlossen sind viel schaden anrichten können ohne selber auf entfernund weggeschossen zu werden. Das eine HQ ist ein nomaler General mit E-klauenpaar und Termerüstung (mal des Khorne nicht zu fergessen). Das zweite HQ ist ein Chaos General auf Bike mit Plasmapisole oder Nahkampfwaffe(dieser wird allerdings nur in schlachten ab 1800 Punkten benutzt).


Unterstützung ist sehr wichtig vorallendingen um die gegnerische auszulöchen!! Daher habe ich einen Landraider zum transportieren aber auch um den Gegner die Panzer auszuschalten. Dieser wird von Kyborgs untersützt, die das ganze spiel lang den Gegener mit einer ihrer vielen Waffen plagen können! Um Schablonen noch in meine Armee einzufügen habe ich noch einen Leman Russ der Imperialen Armee(oder auch zwei gegen Space Marines). Wenn der Gegner Impis, Tau, Elder oder Orks spielt tausche ich den Landraider gegen einen Havok trupp mit Schwerenboltern aus.

In jeder meiner Armeen ist immer Platz für ein Trupp Raptoren, die mit ihren Granaten, Meltern, Plamapistolen, Plasmagranaten und E-klauen sogar Sturmterminatoren  in die  Flucht schlagen können!!!

Elite, hmmmm, da kommt für mich seit dem neuen Codex nur noch Besessene in frage, da diese richtig gut austeilen können(ich sag nur Stärke 5 und Panzerbrechen oder E-waffen).

Meine Armee von Max


Big Mouth & Ugly Girl

Review by Jens

Published in 2002 in the USA by HarperTempest and in Great Britain the following year by HarperCollins Children’s Books, the book „Big Mouth & Ugly Girl“ by Joyce Carol Oates is staged in Rocky River, Westchester County.

The first chapter opens dramatically with two police officers visiting the school in search of Matthew „Big Mouth“ Donaghy. They take him to the principal’s office for interrogation and accuse him of a bomb threat on the school. The outcome takes the form of a suspension for Matt and a certain degree of information ending up on the news.

Ugly Girl, Ursula Riggs, isn’t one for make-up and dating, but prefers contact sports, such as basketball. Getting wind of conspiracy theories revolving around Matt she knows aren’t true, she marches of to confront the principal, although her associations with Matt are minimal.

Despite an appealing opening scene, the tension quickly fades away, dissolving into a drab and long-handled storyline. The ensueing story unfolds colorlessly and displays a lack of suspenseful highlights to reawaken the reader’s interest.

The book’s message is obviously the promotion of morality, integrity and the readiness to stand up for people, who are in need of help. Although I deem this message important, I find fault with its extremely obvious presentation in this book. Therefore I am of the opinion that this topic could be better conceived in combination with a different plot.

The main characters are simply uninteresting. Especially Ugly Girl comes to my attention as an unconvincing and unrealistic character, due to her doubtlessly unusual characteristics, which strike me as somewhat exaggerated. All in all the characters have nothing special about them.

As a result, I come to the conclusion that the main topic is worthy to be included in a book, but not as exemplefied here.

Finally, I think that, lack of good plot, jokes and action leaves 268 pages of boredom with maximum tranquilizing capabilities. I suggest it as a bedtime story, because you are guaranteed to fall asleep after a page.



Die beiden Mächtigsten Tiere im Reich der Tiere

Diese angaben Sind wie immer ohne gewähr aber mit Pistole.


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News by Jens

Jack sat in front of the TV in his Belfast home. From the couch, where he rested, Jack watched the flickering screen, his feet propped on the small, round living room table. On screen the news reporter was saying,

“…and here are today’s lotto numbers: 2631738…”

Jack got up and walked into the kitchen, past the dining table and through a door. A plate with toast lay next to the fridge on the counter. Careful not to bump his head on the cupboard overhead he grabbed two slices and dropped them in the toaster, flipping the switch. Opening the cupboard, he looked for the jam. Finding the jar he opened it…it was empty.

Cursing, Jack strode back into the living room to check the TV. But the news reporter was only pointing out the weather in Ireland.

“…will be clouds coming up from the south. There will be little to no sunshine for the next few days. In Northern Ireland we also have heavy rain clouds coming in…”

Jack turned away and made his way back to the kitchen when there was noise at the front door. Jack stopped in his tracks, peering around the whitewashed corner. A key rattled in the lock. Then the oak wood swung aside on its hinges, creaking in protest.

“Oh, hello, mum”, Jack said as an elderly lady stepped over the threshold. Her whitening hair fell to her shoulders and a thick coat hung to her knees, where it was met by high boots.

Handing Jack her wet umbrella, she hung her coat in a closet and walked into the living room. As she moved, she addressed Jack.

“Jack, could you go fetch some water from the supermarket? We’ve nearly got none left.” Jack put the umbrella in a corner and followed his mother.

“Ok. And I’ll go get some jam on the way. We’ve run out of that, too.”

He quickly ran up the stairs to his small bedroom. His bed stood opposite the door and to his right Jack could see a shelf with CDs and a closet. He snatched a warm jacket from a drawer, pulled it on and hurried back downstairs. At the foot of the wooden steps he met his mother. She produced a thick leather wallet from her hand bag and procured some pound notes, handing them to Jack.

“Bye”, he said and jogged out the door.

The hallway was dark and gloomy. Dust covered nearly every available surface. Coughing, He continued down the stairs, which groaned at every step. At the bottom, Jack stepped out of the door. The freezing air out side chilled Jack to the bone, making him shiver. The fierce wind touched his skin with icy tendrils, regardless of his warm clothes.

Running to get warm, Jack proceeded in the direction of the supermarket. A light rain prattled down on the asphalt, falling down from the unchangingly grey sky. Jack frowned up at the mass of clouds with out breaking stride.

He passed the car wash, the cinema, the ice-cream store (now closed because of the season), the paper shop, the – BOOM!

Jack felt a searing hot fist punch him in the back, throwing him five yards forward. The pavement rushed towards him… He pulled his arms up in front of his face. Then came the inevitable crash. The impact made his teeth clatter; his hand had sprained when he had broken his fall. Jack opened his eyes upon a scene of destruction.

The pavement was shattered and cracked, debris littered the floor and on the side of the devastated street stood the remaining ruins of the of a store front. Flames licked at the broken material, they devoured various paper products, hissing like dying snakes as they touched the falling rain drops.

Jack only had seconds to register these observations before another thunderous explosion sent debris flying towards him. He rolled away, but a large chunk struck him on the shoulder from which emitted a ghastly crack! Pain exploded from the wound on his broken shoulder, adding its screaming to the scratches and bruises already on his body. To avoid more serious injuries, Jack rolled up into a ball and covered his head with his good arm. Small rocks followed their big brother, pelting Jack all over.

Jack looked around to see if the barrage had stopped and his eyes fell upon two burning, charred pieces of wood; the remains of a sign. There were letters engraved on them; they read: fast rap. Even as he watched the flames ate their way through the blackened wood.

The paper shop was blazing, black smoke gathering in the sky to join the rain clouds. Already Jack could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, lying there in the street, helpless and soaked. His whole body hurt. He closed his eyes with the assurance that help was on the way.

Jack’s mother was watching a TV series as the screen suddenly skipped to a different one. It was an emergency announcement. A man appeared on screen.

“Good evening, I am police officer John Hill. It is my sad duty to inform you of a tragic occurrence on Trinity Street at 6:22 half an hour ago. The Belfast Telegraph paper store was bombed and completely destroyed. The police are chasing two suspects right now and are investigating the crime scene. The fire department is struggling to contain the inferno. Anybody within the proximity of 20feet of the fire should evacuate.

“At the moment we cannot say how many died or were injured, but we believe there are terrorists on the loose so we caution everyone not to venture out of their homes…”

Jack’s mother wasn’t listening anymore, an expression of horror and worry on her face.

What happened to Jack? she thought.

Diese Angaben sind wie immer ohne gewähr aber mit Pistole!!


A life in the Troubles by Jens

Jack stepped out into the street. The damaged front door of his apartment groaned as if bearing the weight of the entire world as he closed it behind him, stepping over the threshold. He wrapped his coat tightly around him as the biting cold wind tossed his hair and penetrated his clothes with icy tendrils. Looking left and right, Jack continued along the dark empty street.

The pavement was cracked and broken like black veins running across the charred ground. Everywhere were scorch marks and about thirty feet ahead of him, Jack could make out a large crater, about ten feet in diameter, blown into the black asphalt. As Jack neared the destruction, he saw a small fire burn in the heart of the crater, struggling to stay alight in the damp air.

Overhead thunder rolled through the dark, ominous clouds like a thousand trampling hooves of giant beasts. A bolt of lightning cut the sky, a white scar across the clouds, startling Jack and leaving an imprint in his vision. The ear-splitting thunder chased the light away, preceding the following rain by mere seconds.

Jack was level with the crater by now. The scarce warmth of the flames did almost nothing to help ease Jack’s discomfort before it was mercilessly extinguished by the ever increasing rain. Jack pulled his hood over his already wet hair, and proceeded into the next street.

As he carefully turned the corner, he laid eyes upon the next scene of devastation. Five cars were scattered across the street, upturned, smashed, burning or otherwise damaged and destroyed. The street was torn open by many previous explosions and bullet shells littered the floor. The four grisliest objects lay on the ground fifteen feet from where Jack stood.

Four bodies lay splayed there, bullet holes displayed on there chests and heads, debris and blood surrounded them. Jack stared at them for a moment, then walked up to the nearest body and picked up the man’s gun and ammunition. He also noted that the man belonged to a terrorist group by the look of his clothes. Many terrorist groups fought in the streets of the city.

Jack kept walking, keeping to the shadows and trying not to make any noise. Anywhere an armed person could be waiting for an unlucky by passer they could rob. His finger on the trigger of the gun he advanced to the next car. His heart hammering against his chest, he checked under, behind and in it for possible killers. Continuing with this procedure, Jack traversed the street after what seemed like an hour and strode down another road.

The fog was thick here, hanging in the air as if waiting for something to happen…holding its breath…. There were figures moving in the mist. He could make out a group of men. Jack stood stock still, not daring to move. Maybe, if he didn’t move, they wouldn’t see him?

He had no time for another thought, for another speculation of how he could die in seconds if the men detected him.

An explosion a few feet away ripped him off his feet, throwing him into an open doorway. Pain surged up his right leg. He touched it and felt a warm, sticky liquid on his fingers. He couldn’t panic; he wouldn’t. He had had similar injuries before. Trying hard to ignore the searing pain, Jack reached inside his coat and produced rolls of bandages. Hands trembling, he wrapped the soft fabric around his calf.

He stood up, leaning mainly on his left leg. Then he looked around the corner of the doorway to see what had occurred till now.

He didn’t have time to take in much, however, as a machine gun roared and thirty bullets struck the cold stone inches from Jack’s head.

Panting, he made up his mind. Jack stepped out of his hiding spot and turned his gun in the direction of the men he had seen. One of them saw Jack and trained his weapon on him. Jack aimed…then three shots rang out… and three bodies dropped to the hard cracked earth with a bullet residing in their skulls. Jack was not among them. Shocked at his reflex and marksmanship, heart battering his ribcage, the survivor ran to the end of the road to take his mind of the grim scene now behind him.

Five minutes later he reached his destination: the grocery store. The whole rainy way Jack looked up and down the streets, left and right at every doorway or crossroads as if he was paranoid. But this precaution was necessary lest somebody take him by surprise and kill him. He encountered no one. The silence was absolute, heavy with death and past violence, threatening to drown him. The oppressive scenery was as dark as ever.

On arrival, he quickly retrieved food from the wreckage of the store, put it in his pockets and made his way back home. He hadn’t gone far when he heard footsteps…behind him. Not looking back he bolted, running at top speed, zigzagging across the uneven road.

Panic and fear made him oblivious to the pain in his wounded leg. The blood pounded in his ears. Bullets whizzed past him, missing him by inches. He was still alive when he was nearly at the next crossroads. This knowledge drove him to run faster; he wanted to make it. Adrenaline fuelled his sprint.

But then men appeared in front him, blocking the street. They were probably an enemy terrorist group of the one behind him, but they were still hostile to him, too.

Suddenly, Jack felt empty. Desperation filled his mind. Hope left him. He heard the wind like the last breath of a dying man, the gun shots around him like snapping bones, the thunder like a furious, raging animal, his heart beat like a war drum… What happy metaphors, thought Jack, grimacing. A man in front of Jack raised a missile launcher. A missile is grinning at my face… not good.

With all his might he jumped into a nearby doorway, into the house, just as the missile shot past him, exploding in a deafening boom! Then Jack ran up the stairs onto the roof, and, feeling the pain in his leg and in the rest of his body again, tried to look for a safe way home.

Diese Angaben sind wie immer ohne gewähr aber mit Pistole!!


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