Have Ray Gun! Will Travel! Please Pay Me! (part 13)
The staff in the space diner fear me. I can't understand why. I am a man full of canniness, in need of a good laundering. But I am a mighty space adventurer! They should cheer my exploits! OH YES! Cheer me!
I have no space drugs, and I've drunk nearly all the rocket liquor. The world's starting to take on terrible shades at the edges. Sobriety brings the Outer Dark. That bastard Dirk Gradient was spawned in the Outer Dark. He was spawned from the filthy hole of a beast of darkness known as Mrs. Susan Gradient! Oh that woman will pay for the spawning that she committed!
The staff in the space diner fear me. I wave around my ray gun and demand service. But the service is too slow, so I started calling all their orders for them. This ensured that I was able to pick and choose the best meal in the house. I've terrified their chef into killing all his talking sandwiches before he sends them out, and my food no longer screams. My cup runneth over with rocket liquor. They've given me some for the road, but I can only carry what's in my belly. I am considering acquiring another belly. Then everywhere I go they will shout in fear of the man with the many liquor filled bellies! Fear the belly! The belly speaks, the belly knows!
As I fill my belly with rocket liquor and savage my silent meat sandwich, I consider my options. While I eat, the crew of the space docks of the space station that this space diner is in fill the heathen death phallus with the fuel that will lubricate the pleasured bits of the universe. They assure me that the heathen death phallus will be lubricated by this new rocket fuel, and that space will moan around me as I fly. I do not want space to moan around me. I like the silence of space. In the silence, all I can hear is myself and the Friendly Peanut's mad rantings.
I am so alone.
The only way to combat the loneliness is space drugs. I'm not sharp. When I'm dull, I'm lonely. When I'm sharp, I have my many friends! But...that seems to remind me that I have not called upon my friends. Many left me after that bastard Dirk Gradient made off with my rocket ship and Cindy the Girl Computer. But some must still love me. That should be my next move. I must acquire friends and influence people. Through that influence, I will acquire further space drugs. The space drugs will make me mighty enough to face the enemy head on!
I must consider my friends carefully.
1) Officer Buzz Bradsky, Officer of the Space Police! Buzz is the only space policeman who doesn't carry a sissy pistol. He carries a pirate ray gun. It is set to "ZOT!", which is an inferior setting to my mighty ray gun, but he tries. Buzz will help me, but he cannot know of my use of space drugs. This could be problematic. I cannot trust a man who cannot trust space drugs. He is clearly a pawn of the Outer Dark.
2) Kassidy Kazam, Space Pirate. More promising. Kassidy will sell me space drugs. Many, many space drugs. But he has been bested by Dirk Gradient many times, and so will be wary of him. I cannot count on Kassidy for revenge. He has been beated by that bastard too many times. His spirit has been crushed when it comes to challenging Gradient. What use is a space pirate who gives up after losing a kidney, a lung, eight fingers, and two eyes? He is an Laphamata Centaurion! He has six kidneys, ten lungs, fourty fingers, and four eyes! So what if he can only see in three dimensions now? I can only see in three dimensions (except when I take Super-Orange space drugs...), and I do fine! I am a picture of health! Besides, Kassidy is green, the color of the optimal human being. My green veins attest to this. I am the mightiest mortal alive.
3) B'zing'zam'zot'zoom'zowie, The Onamanopoetic Man. Despite having a name that I cannot pronounce, B is alright. He is a man of action! He shoots, he slices, he fights, he burns, he breaks, he hits, he shoots....all to his own sound track! B had speakers built into his arms hooked to a sound nullifier field so the universe would make the proper sounds when he hit things. He can be depended upon for abject violence and mayhem. He is also a man of few words. And fewer questions. And he knows where I can get space drugs. Space drug dealers throw their space drugs at B. If they do not shower him with their glorious narcotic ejaculate he becomes irate and proceeds to insert sound effects onto them. No man survives B's mighty sound effects. He would make a good Chief Security Officer aboard the Mighty Rocket Ship Heathen Death Phallus! But...would he take orders from the Friendly Peanut? This I do not know. It makes me question.
Three friends. Three different star systems. One will help me find Dirk Gradient. One will give me the space drugs I need to hold back the Outer Dark. And one will strike soundly upon anyone I come across who so much as thinks funny.
I must put down my note pad. I must finish ravaging my already murdered sandwich. Then I must drink up. I need another few for the road!
* * *
The space station housing the space diner has a dry cleaners! I have had myself laundered, again, which has cleaned off the last of the goo left on me by the green noodles, as well as the dust raised by the gigantic aliens. Those people are weird, and their dust smells of wet moose and burnt whale blubber. I am a freshly laundered man, my brittle exterior hiding the Fear. The Fear has come upon me as the Outer Dark yawns, and even the rocket liquor from the space diner will not hold it back.
But...what is this? A shop selling strange powders...this must be one of the few legal black market space stations! Their range of illegal products is innumerable! They have space drugs. Not many, not many enough, but they have just enough to get me Kassidy Kazam without falling into the Outer Dark and the yawning maw of Mrs. Susan Gradient, the Great Space Whore, Mother of the Bastard! I can see you, madame, legs spread wide across the starry void! I will not allow the filthy bastard spawn of your loins to take me! I will take these space drugs and I. Will. Like THEM!
The shop's owner stares at me now, and I realize that I have my notepad on dictation mode. I am shouting out my secret plans for all his shop to hear. Thankfully most of his customers are the Earless Folk of Vandervilk XIII, and they only know that I am vibrating oddly across the 9th dimension of smision!
Give me your wares, oh foul shop owner! Overcharge me, for I am a tourist! Don't bother with a bag, strap the space drugs to my great, mighty, manly green veins! They are manlier than your puny blue veins, for they are GREEN!
* * *
I was asked to leave the store after the space drugs had entered my system. They are neon back-lit black. The cheap space drugs cut with moon dust and jet fuel. They turn aside the Outer Dark and close the legs of Mrs. Susan Gradient. The sky is full of stars, not her great yawning space orifice. My pituitary gland bulges against my skull. This is the true insidiousness of neon back-lit black space drugs: They open up your pituitary gland and allow space radio stations to use your brain as a pirate antenna. Right now I am having extradimensional space pornography beamed across my temporal lobe and into the television sets of the unsuspecting public. I do not have to watch it, though. I do not want a forehead sphincter.
Now that I have space drugs, however, and am being followed by the local detachment of space police cadets, armed not even with sissy pistols but instead with MEGA-ULTRA-KILL-DEATH(tm) truncheons. They run whenever I turn to face them, gesturing emphatically with my ray gun to illustrate the direction my pituitary gland is pointing. It has become a homing device, a terrible space radar zeroing in on the location of Kassidy Kazam. It leers against my forehead, a meat gun that radiates the dreaded epsilon-wave, the truest form of television signal in existance!
Set pituitary gland to "murderfy!" and "enlaserate", Friendly Peanut! I am boarding the heathen death phallus. My next stop, Kassidy Kazam's pirate ship! I shall find my wonderful 5 kidneyed friend, and I shall wring all useful space drugs from him before having a brief fling with one or sixty of his space floozies.
I am coming for you, Dirk Gradient. Not even your great deific prostitute of a mother will be able to save you now. Ha ha! I laugh the laugh of the pituitarially deformed! I have new space drugs, Dirk Gradient, and a belly full of rocket liquor. My heathen death phallus slides through space, ribbed for the universe's pleasure! The moan of the engines cannot be heard over my screaming! I scream for glory! I scream for valor! I SCREAM FOR REVENGE!
I am travelling! Dirk Gradient, you. Will. PAY!
I have no space drugs, and I've drunk nearly all the rocket liquor. The world's starting to take on terrible shades at the edges. Sobriety brings the Outer Dark. That bastard Dirk Gradient was spawned in the Outer Dark. He was spawned from the filthy hole of a beast of darkness known as Mrs. Susan Gradient! Oh that woman will pay for the spawning that she committed!
The staff in the space diner fear me. I wave around my ray gun and demand service. But the service is too slow, so I started calling all their orders for them. This ensured that I was able to pick and choose the best meal in the house. I've terrified their chef into killing all his talking sandwiches before he sends them out, and my food no longer screams. My cup runneth over with rocket liquor. They've given me some for the road, but I can only carry what's in my belly. I am considering acquiring another belly. Then everywhere I go they will shout in fear of the man with the many liquor filled bellies! Fear the belly! The belly speaks, the belly knows!
As I fill my belly with rocket liquor and savage my silent meat sandwich, I consider my options. While I eat, the crew of the space docks of the space station that this space diner is in fill the heathen death phallus with the fuel that will lubricate the pleasured bits of the universe. They assure me that the heathen death phallus will be lubricated by this new rocket fuel, and that space will moan around me as I fly. I do not want space to moan around me. I like the silence of space. In the silence, all I can hear is myself and the Friendly Peanut's mad rantings.
I am so alone.
The only way to combat the loneliness is space drugs. I'm not sharp. When I'm dull, I'm lonely. When I'm sharp, I have my many friends! But...that seems to remind me that I have not called upon my friends. Many left me after that bastard Dirk Gradient made off with my rocket ship and Cindy the Girl Computer. But some must still love me. That should be my next move. I must acquire friends and influence people. Through that influence, I will acquire further space drugs. The space drugs will make me mighty enough to face the enemy head on!
I must consider my friends carefully.
1) Officer Buzz Bradsky, Officer of the Space Police! Buzz is the only space policeman who doesn't carry a sissy pistol. He carries a pirate ray gun. It is set to "ZOT!", which is an inferior setting to my mighty ray gun, but he tries. Buzz will help me, but he cannot know of my use of space drugs. This could be problematic. I cannot trust a man who cannot trust space drugs. He is clearly a pawn of the Outer Dark.
2) Kassidy Kazam, Space Pirate. More promising. Kassidy will sell me space drugs. Many, many space drugs. But he has been bested by Dirk Gradient many times, and so will be wary of him. I cannot count on Kassidy for revenge. He has been beated by that bastard too many times. His spirit has been crushed when it comes to challenging Gradient. What use is a space pirate who gives up after losing a kidney, a lung, eight fingers, and two eyes? He is an Laphamata Centaurion! He has six kidneys, ten lungs, fourty fingers, and four eyes! So what if he can only see in three dimensions now? I can only see in three dimensions (except when I take Super-Orange space drugs...), and I do fine! I am a picture of health! Besides, Kassidy is green, the color of the optimal human being. My green veins attest to this. I am the mightiest mortal alive.
3) B'zing'zam'zot'zoom'zowie, The Onamanopoetic Man. Despite having a name that I cannot pronounce, B is alright. He is a man of action! He shoots, he slices, he fights, he burns, he breaks, he hits, he shoots....all to his own sound track! B had speakers built into his arms hooked to a sound nullifier field so the universe would make the proper sounds when he hit things. He can be depended upon for abject violence and mayhem. He is also a man of few words. And fewer questions. And he knows where I can get space drugs. Space drug dealers throw their space drugs at B. If they do not shower him with their glorious narcotic ejaculate he becomes irate and proceeds to insert sound effects onto them. No man survives B's mighty sound effects. He would make a good Chief Security Officer aboard the Mighty Rocket Ship Heathen Death Phallus! But...would he take orders from the Friendly Peanut? This I do not know. It makes me question.
Three friends. Three different star systems. One will help me find Dirk Gradient. One will give me the space drugs I need to hold back the Outer Dark. And one will strike soundly upon anyone I come across who so much as thinks funny.
I must put down my note pad. I must finish ravaging my already murdered sandwich. Then I must drink up. I need another few for the road!
* * *
The space station housing the space diner has a dry cleaners! I have had myself laundered, again, which has cleaned off the last of the goo left on me by the green noodles, as well as the dust raised by the gigantic aliens. Those people are weird, and their dust smells of wet moose and burnt whale blubber. I am a freshly laundered man, my brittle exterior hiding the Fear. The Fear has come upon me as the Outer Dark yawns, and even the rocket liquor from the space diner will not hold it back.
But...what is this? A shop selling strange powders...this must be one of the few legal black market space stations! Their range of illegal products is innumerable! They have space drugs. Not many, not many enough, but they have just enough to get me Kassidy Kazam without falling into the Outer Dark and the yawning maw of Mrs. Susan Gradient, the Great Space Whore, Mother of the Bastard! I can see you, madame, legs spread wide across the starry void! I will not allow the filthy bastard spawn of your loins to take me! I will take these space drugs and I. Will. Like THEM!
The shop's owner stares at me now, and I realize that I have my notepad on dictation mode. I am shouting out my secret plans for all his shop to hear. Thankfully most of his customers are the Earless Folk of Vandervilk XIII, and they only know that I am vibrating oddly across the 9th dimension of smision!
Give me your wares, oh foul shop owner! Overcharge me, for I am a tourist! Don't bother with a bag, strap the space drugs to my great, mighty, manly green veins! They are manlier than your puny blue veins, for they are GREEN!
* * *
I was asked to leave the store after the space drugs had entered my system. They are neon back-lit black. The cheap space drugs cut with moon dust and jet fuel. They turn aside the Outer Dark and close the legs of Mrs. Susan Gradient. The sky is full of stars, not her great yawning space orifice. My pituitary gland bulges against my skull. This is the true insidiousness of neon back-lit black space drugs: They open up your pituitary gland and allow space radio stations to use your brain as a pirate antenna. Right now I am having extradimensional space pornography beamed across my temporal lobe and into the television sets of the unsuspecting public. I do not have to watch it, though. I do not want a forehead sphincter.
Now that I have space drugs, however, and am being followed by the local detachment of space police cadets, armed not even with sissy pistols but instead with MEGA-ULTRA-KILL-DEATH(tm) truncheons. They run whenever I turn to face them, gesturing emphatically with my ray gun to illustrate the direction my pituitary gland is pointing. It has become a homing device, a terrible space radar zeroing in on the location of Kassidy Kazam. It leers against my forehead, a meat gun that radiates the dreaded epsilon-wave, the truest form of television signal in existance!
Set pituitary gland to "murderfy!" and "enlaserate", Friendly Peanut! I am boarding the heathen death phallus. My next stop, Kassidy Kazam's pirate ship! I shall find my wonderful 5 kidneyed friend, and I shall wring all useful space drugs from him before having a brief fling with one or sixty of his space floozies.
I am coming for you, Dirk Gradient. Not even your great deific prostitute of a mother will be able to save you now. Ha ha! I laugh the laugh of the pituitarially deformed! I have new space drugs, Dirk Gradient, and a belly full of rocket liquor. My heathen death phallus slides through space, ribbed for the universe's pleasure! The moan of the engines cannot be heard over my screaming! I scream for glory! I scream for valor! I SCREAM FOR REVENGE!
I am travelling! Dirk Gradient, you. Will. PAY!
posted by Derek the Bard at 9:03 p.m.
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