Friday, October 03, 2008

Have Ray Gun! Will Travel! Please Pay Me! (part 8)

The "non-gigantic aliens" section of the rocket ship was full. I am stuck with the gigantic aliens. These people are weird. They are also, however, afraid of my ray gun. I sit in an empty row, smug in my ability to atomize them should they anger me. The giddiness continues. I love space drugs.

I have taken out the little cards in the seat in front of me. They tell me what to do in the event of an emergency. For such little cards they fold out a lot. This is space. There are many emergencies. I am right now reading what to do in the event that my organs should become sentient lifeforms bent on universal destruction. I'm in *that* part of space.

The card is useless. It does not say what to do in the event that your rocket ship and girlfriend are stolen by an evil space agent. It might, but I do not wish to unfold its thousands of layers. I have already skimmed past what to do if a Friendly Peanut escapes from its bag and attempts to conquer your clothing. There were only two words. "BE AFRAID". These made the Friendly Peanut happy.

The Friendly Peanut has become placid since entering my mystery pants. It sulks out its exile. It is rapidly becoming a Sad Peanut. I suspect this may void its warranty.

There is something strange outside my window. There are men in space suits, on space bikes, with space guns. Either my rocket ship is being robbed, or I have degenerated into space madness. That or I am having a space drug flashback.

God I hope I am having a space drug flashback.


I have been captured by space pirates. More specifically, my rocket ship has been captured by space pirates. I was canny, and stowed away in the bathroom. The Friendly Peanut has gone quiet. But I have taken more space drugs. And drank more rocket liquor. My nerves hum. I can see through walls.

Dirk Gradient sent these space pirates. That is the only explanation. They cannot have come across this rocket ship by chance. That bastard is trying to kill me. He knows. HE KNOWS. But I am canny. I am fully of canniness. He will not catch a canny space adventurer such as myself.

The bastard Dirk Gradient must fear me to send such fearsome troops. Paying space pirates is risky business. Sometimes they come back once the job is done and cut you into the pieces to sell over the intarweb. They have ways of stuffing your parts down the many mighty tubes. But I will let him think that I am dead. Then his fear will wane. And then I will unleash the microwave of hate.

But to do this I must shoot the space pirates. If I stun them they will tell me where Dirk Gradient is hiding. He must be hiding. In a damp, dark cave with only my great rocket ship for company. The Friendly Peanut has begun to giggle softly. He knows who these space pirates are. There will be no reprieve.


Well. I failed at stunning the space pirates. Their space suits were stun-proof. So I had to purify the lot of them. Those space-guns of their's might have been dangerous, after all. I still do not know if my stun setting works.

I have been given a special upgraded seat. On the space pirate rocket ship. It is a sad patch job. But it is *my* rocket ship now. Filled with space pirate booty. Strangely, the other rocket ship's crew did not want their new hero and savior aboard. I was not tempted by nude women, nor was I offered free rocket liquor. This may be because I accidentally reduced a few gigantic aliens to radiant light. Accidentally. They were very hard to shoot around. Those people are just weird.

I had to ride a space bike to get to the space pirate rocket ship. I hate space bikes. I also had to wear a space suit, but the rocket crew were all too happy to give me one of their's. I also demanded a small one, for the Friendly Peanut. It is having a wonderful time.

The microwave of hate purrs into life. A rocket ship of my own brings me ever closer to killing Dirk Gradient and recovering my one, true rocket ship. Not this horrible heathen death phallus I am piloting.

Death to the heathen death phallus. Death to Dirk Gradient. Long live the microwave of hate!


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