by Mr Tex
Howdy there, folks. Tex of the Black Pants Legion here.
Be honest: How many times have you heard that? Better still, how many times have I said it?
Pre-Hack, the answer was conservatively around 2,500 videos—each one a little window into the madness of my so-called creative space, framed with those exact words. Before the credits rolled, you always knew I had fun making whatever it was.
Some of the longer-form content like Tex talks history or Tex Talks Battletech is obviously the product of enormous investitures of time, numerous talented professionals, and an insane vision woven together for hopeful entertainment value. Yet, there are other stories to tell, and circumstance compels me to share one of them today.
First, a bit of necessary context. I may pause or go on tangents to explain particular lexicon, concepts, and history so that everyone can keep a grip on what the hell I’m talking about. All of these detours are relevant to the larger picture: a story spanning almost two decades of my adult life, the interesting people I’ve met, and the experiences we’ve shared along the way.
Before we begin, acknowledge that feelings color experiences. My perspective naturally carries the biases and lenses of someone deeply passionate about a particular subject.
So, This is the story about spess.
When I say “spess” or “spessman,” I’m referencing Space Station 13, Space Station 14, or the players who inhabit them. That specific spelling and pronunciation stems from an intentional typo once common in the community. While it has somewhat fallen out of favor, to me it remains core to the game’s identity—reinforced with every new group of players, every new concept, and every new station just waiting to burn down.
In recent years, an influx of new players has arrived without knowing where many of these memes, concepts, and foundational ideas originated. While some view the game as a passing fad or the flavor of the week, many others genuinely want to know its roots. It is for them that I’m sharing my experiences, observations, and documented history.
I’m in a somewhat unique position in this community. I’m behind a few of the more popular memes and concepts, I was present for much of its history, and I have video recording to prove those things actually happened.
As for why that’s relevant? I come from an ancient era of the internet where “pics or it didn’t happen” was the golden rule. To be fair, back then the internet wasn’t the center of everyone’s life; it was for most internet people, a digital speakeasy, an elaborate and strange escape from the mundanity of everyday life. It was a weird place for weird people to express themselves, rant at clouds, or share crazy creative ideas. Clout, influencers, and fragile egos hadn’t taken over yet. Nor had corporate interests yet gentrified it.
And the roots of this game are from that same era of the internet.
Accordingly, most people in spaceman land are delightfully deranged, wonderfully weird, and utterly unique. So much so that, I’ve been here for 18 years and recorded for 15 of them.
I first discovered it around the fall of 2007 or more likely, 2008.
From first exposure, the basic premise was fairly simple: a station run by the Nanotrasen corporation, populated by recognizable Star Trek archetypes—Captains, Doctors, Security, Janitors, Bartenders, and . . . yeah . . . Clowns.
Every round started as a normal shift, and then for one reason or another: entropy took over.
Traitors executed covert missions, or external forces attacked, or bored crewmates simply broke things until the shift ended. Sometimes someone would figure out a novel way to die that broke the server and got them yelled at.
It was a good time.
Servers were fairly low-population back then; a busy round meant 20 or 30 people. And despite the lag of that era, and the game’s clunky controls, I was hooked all the same by the human element. In this game, you’d meet the same players shift after shift, build friendships, and roleplay together before all hell broke loose. Sometimes you even got to live.
I will say that Space Station 13 has a unique system of legacy: you become part of the lore simply by participating. You don’t have to be exceptional; you just have to play your role.
At its core, the game is an endless game of sandlot baseball. Round after round, you play with friends. The score doesn’t matter, winning or losing doesn’t matter. A magnificent triumph or a horrific disaster simply ends, the server reboots, and it starts all over again. Players leave, new ones arrive, and the game goes on. Seemingly forever. It’s a living shared history of burning space stations and the people who set them on fire.
Even In those early days, legendary players were shaping the game. One was named Cuban Pete.
Pete would routinely annihilate the entire station—every wall, tile, and crewmate—within five minutes using homemade explosives. Eventually, his mere presence on the server signaled the end of the round. He was so proficient that once he logged in, the admins would play the song “Cuban Pete” over the server audio to warn everyone that the end was near.
Pete’s deadly knowledge forced the development team to alter the game code, implementing a “maxcap” (maximum capacity limit) on explosions to prevent server-crashing detonations. And even though he stopped playing long ago, his legacy remains embedded on every server to this day in the form of “Cuban Pete Spiced Rum” stocked in nearly every codebase’s bar.
If you’re out there listening, Pete: Bless you. You were terrifyingly brilliant. And I forgive you for the bomb you built in my kitchen.
By 2011, I began recording regularly as a form of therapy—a way to create when a depressed brain said nothing mattered. On YouTube, I began sharing my weekly (and eventually daily) adventures to showcase the unscripted magic of the game.
Around that time, fellow players encouraged me to pick a permanent name instead of rolling random characters. I had about two minutes before the server rebooted to create an RP character:
A
Role Playing
Character
Randolph P. Checkers, Esquire.
While many hundreds of those early videos were lost to the YouTube channel hack years ago, nearly a thousand episodes remain. Knowing those videos made someone laugh on a difficult day or brought new players to community servers is what has kept me going.
Over the years, I’ve left my own small mark. I’m largely credited with popularizing “Cargonia”—the concept of the Cargo department seceding from an oppressive Captain to form its own sovereign state, complete with stockpiled weaponry (“Guncargo”). That descent into pixelated, Warriors-style street warfare wasn’t entirely my invention, but I certainly helped make it a mainstay. We even made a full music album about it. Check it out if you want.
But, beyond those few minor historical notes, correcting the history of the game’s origins, and along the way becoming known as the galaxy’s worst Quartermaster, please know that I’m no more important than anyone else who logs in, or who is yet to discover the game at all. That’s the beauty of it. In spaceman land, there No heroes, no villains, no gods, no kings. Just space, one round at a time.
And I think you should play.
If you want to play Space Station and see what a mix of veteran spacemen and fresh blood have built, join the Black Pants Legion Auxiliary (AUX) Discord and apply for our server. It doesn’t cost a dime. I encourage you to dive in, make a character, record your adventures, and embrace the madness. It is well worth the ride.
Until next time.
Hail Cargonia.
Miners don’t die.
Cargo Techs move freight.
