Saturday, September 13, 2008

Have Ray Gun! Will Travel! Please Pay Me! (part 3)

We are still in space. The crack has not widened, but my face has made intimate contact with it. I know its every twist. I can feel a slight edge of vacuum trying to remove my facial hair. And my face. In a vacuum, you cannot smell wet moose. This is how I know I am not dead yet. I smell wet moose.

The elephant woman beside me has begun eating. Her snacks scream for mercy before she masticates them between huge teeth. The package reads "Friendly Peanut Snacks". It advertises that they compliment you on your oral hygiene. They are snacks that will love you till you crush them between your molars. But "Friendly Peanut Snacks" do not work as they were meant to. In the night many snackers find their stomachs whispering horrible things. One man's chest was colonized by a cult of Friendly Peanut fragments worshiping his esophagus as their Savior.

I have curled around my liquor. It is almost gone. The flight attendants will soon inject us with more liquor, mainlining alcohol to our brains. This will render us susceptible to their terrible overtures. Many men will enter the bathrooms never to be seen again. But the flight attendants will feast well.

I should never have flown Cannibal Rockets.


We have landed. I have told the space police I do not know where the elephant woman beside me has gone. No, officers, I cannot account for why my window has been plugged by a great gray foot. I swear, it was like that when I got there. My, what shiny badges you have.

They know that a freshly laundered man full of rocket ship alcohol is not to be trifled with. They have let me stumble off into this brave new world, hundreds of light years from my departure point. It is only noon. I have begun to crave a sandwich ever since the single remaining Friendly Peanut in the bag crept into my pocket. It has begun to tell me about the glories of the Old Ones, and the tentacle horrors that were birthed in ancient nebulae. It tells me about how it is the sperm of an old god, waiting to inseminate a living host.

Friendly Peanuts are pathological liars. I have seen Friendly Peanuts made. That is why I will not eat them. Nothing produced from the droppings of a nanotech rabbit can possibly be good. I do not like my food to speak.

I write this as I wait for my sandwich. A man pressed himself against the window of the diner when I arrived. He stared at me. He wore a large, floppy hat and a bright purple coat. I didn't recognize him at first. It was when he pulled his great purple ray gun that I recognized him as Kazzzz'ort: The Conquerer.

Kaz was an old enemy. I take him out for drinks every time I stop him from blowing up the universe. I beat him many times. I have bought him many drinks. He owes me money. But that was before Dirk Gradient stole my rocket ship. I have no time for men like Kazzz'ort: The Conquerer! That is why I shot him. My draw is very fast. It helps that I try to never let go of my ray gun. Ever. Not even in the shower.

I shot Kaz through the window. My sandwich is free because I transformed a man into radiant energy. I am beginning to wonder if my ray gun has any setting other than "Purify". It seems that everything I shoot turns to light. I will have to test this problem at some point in more secure surroundings. Until that time I should be careful. Dirk Gradient may know I am onto him if reports keep coming in of a freshly laundered man turning his opponents into sunshine.

I eat my sandwich as I write this. I know this planet well. It is Antarus IV. It is where I shall begin looking for Dirk Gradient.

You know what I will do when I find him. Then I will no longer have to ride rocket ships beside elephant women and cannibal stewardesses. My sandwich is inviting. It speaks to me. I have lost my appetite.

In my pocket, the Friendly Peanut begins to croon out a prayer to an unpronounceable god.


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