Monday, October 13, 2008

Have Ray Gun! Will Travel! Please Pay Me! (part 10)

I did not win the space race. Apparently they disqualify you for atomizing your competitors once the race has begun. Who knew?

I am ready to resort to hyper-pink space drugs. They are dubious looking. You never know what will happen on a hyper-pink trip. My eyes water even looking at them. I think that these space drugs have been cut with neutron star matter. And possibly space pirate feces. But a hyper-pink bender is better than my crushing sense of failure.

The heathen death phallus sulks its way across the space lanes in defeat. I have no new rocket ship. I am stuck in this horrible vessel that stinks of space pirates. I will have to stop for fuel soon. No good can come of that, space gas stations are notorious for their scum and villainy.

I think I will fit right in.


I was serviced by travelling love nuns while eager space attendants refueled the heathen death phallus and wrote horrible slogans on the star dust on its sides. This is only one of the many crimes that Dirk Gradient will pay for when I find him. The love nun has left me with a burning sensation. I know from experience this will only go away if I pray for forgiveness.

Foolish love nuns. Clint Corona never prays for forgiveness! I shall endure the burning as a sign of endurance. I am stronger than the burning. I will drown it out with rocket liquor (also provided free, in theory to disinfect the love nun) and hyper-pink space drugs. Nothing can be worse than the burning. Not even believing that my liver is a small Italian opera singer trapped inside my chest by the death elves who lurk beyond the boundaries of the shaving cream veil of creation.

I am salivating now at the thought of the space drugs. I believe I may have to begin attending space addicts anonymous. But the space drugs keep me sharp...although I am at times convinced that I am so sharp that I will dull the rest of the world. I slice, I dice, I have a ray gun.

However, after the detour of space pirates and space races I am back on course to find that bastard Dirk Gradient. So I shall tell you of the space race while the hyper-pink space drugs work their way throughout my system. I am already turning neon. I'm a pretty girl.


The space race began as they all do. The rocket ships gleamed. I foamed at the mouth. Other pilots also on space drugs foamed at the mouth. I am such a pretty girl. The command for the race to begin went off. We raced forward, surged into the black oblivion like sperm off towards the great ovum of the universe, shot from the tip of the heathen death phallus. Which is a surprisingly fast rocket ship. I was in the lead.

I did not mean to charge the atomic lasers of the heathen death phallus. They have a hair trigger which consists of a three stage switch, a joystick, and verbal commands. So very easy to activate by accident. Oh, and they require a key which I have jury rigged from a syringe and an empty bottle of rocket liquor. I am ever so resourceful.

I accidentally vaporised an asteroid with the atomic lasers of the heathen death phallus. This seriously detoured some of my opponents, who careened into nearby stars, planets, asteroids, other ships, space stations, and space terrors from beyond in order to avoid my hair-three-stage-trigger finger. The rest of the pilots were pretty girl on too many space drugs to care. End stop. Giggle.

The world became red in front of me and blue behind. This typically means that something bad is about to happen because I have angered the laws of physics. I have attempted to wrestle them into submission with the microwave of hate, but they are full of evil animal cunning. Also, they are naked and greased. Because the laws of physics do not play fair. They play favorites.

There was, in this state, obviously no way for me to tell that the strange black object rocketing towards my front viewer was actually another ship and not a black alien horror from the depths of the red-blue shift come to devour me. So I...might have accidnetally told the heathen death phallus to vaporise it with the atomic lasers.

FWANG! FWOSSH! BZZZZRT! Atomic lasers make a satisfying noise. Not as satisfying as my ray gun, but I cannot use my ray gun in space. Otherwise the purifying beam would just keep going until it hit something. That would be irresponsible. Irresponsibility is another sign of space madness. Just because I think I'm a pretty girl doesn't make me space mad. That's just the hyper-pink space drugs talking. Tee hee.

I shifted back to normal space after vaporising my evil opponent space beast...and found that I had actually vaporised the lead ship. Oops.

So that is how I was disqualified from the space race. And ended up with my repentant burning from the services of a love nun.

Oh, and the Friendly Peanut? It laughs at my pain. It mocks me. It is all my fault, it says. It is the master of my mystery pants. I have only my well fitting sadly colored space pirate pants. Yo yo giggle ho.

I am considering just ramming the heathen death phallus through any further obstacles that come between me and Dirk Gradient. Possibly including planets. They can't be that hard.

I am coming for you, Dirk Gradient, and I am undeterred by whatever space pirates you might hire to kill me. Die die die die DIE!


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