“I knew I liked you, doc.”
“So that’s the story, Marshal Orr,” said Captain Tyler, clapping the marshal on the shoulder. “Where’s my medal?”
“Why would you get a medal,” replied the marshal. “It was a routine mission. And you barely completed it.”
“But I died during it! Twice!”
“So?”
“I got a medal last time!”
“Posthumously! Then you came back.”
“So, do it again!”
“I can’t award you a medal for being dead when you’re still alive, that’s not how it works.”
“Fine!” screamed Tyler, pulling out his laser pistol and firing it up his nose.
“You can’t get a medal if you commit suicide, you idiot!”
But his warning was too late. Or possibly on time. It’s hard to say, Tyler was a little dense. In any event, Space Marshal Orr was left nudging Captain Tyler’s lifeless body with his foot.
“Fuck,” he said. “Someone get me Sodomy! We need Tyler alive if we want to make things copasetic with the Neptunian Devil Bear Union.”
“Yeah, it’s... it’s gonna take at least an hour, maybe two,” said Dr. Sodomy. “I haven’t eaten lunch yet.”
“The conference is in ten minutes!” shouted Marshal Orr. “Wally can’t receive an apology from a corpse!”
“Can’t?” asked Dr. Porniviriyakul, stepping into the room. “Or shouldn’t?”
“What? Can’t,” replied the marshal. “If you can find a way to get a dead man to give a speech I’d love to see it.”
“You shouldn’t have said that out loud,” replied Dr. Sodomy, shaking his head.
“And so, in closing, I am a colossal fuck up,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul into the microphone that was connected to a speaker inside the mouth of Captain Tyler. “Like, seriously, huge. I should be demoted. I am the dumbest motherfucker in the universe.”
Dr. Sodomy pulled a string and the Tyler corpse-puppet saluted the audience. Then he pulled a few more strings and Tyler appeared to trundle off-stage, collapsing as soon as he was behind the curtain.
Drs. Porniviriyakul and Sodomy walked over to the body, joined by Marshal Orr. The marshal tilted his head and scratched his chin.
“You know,” he said, “I think that was his best apology yet.”
Miranda, Interrupted
The Bane of Private Bloodredshirt
Miranda Bloodredshirt was born in a quiet, rural town in northern Oregon. As a child, she had always dreamed of one day becoming a crew member aboard a Federation starship, of having adventures, visiting exotic places, and dutifully working her way up the ranks in an average and unremarkable timeframe. Sadly, though, things were not looking good for Miranda, for, one fateful day, her dear, sweet mother, Helen, walked into the kitchen and, dripping with honey, sat down at the kitchen table with her daughter.
“Sweetie,” said Helen, “I have some bad news. Our harvest this year, it’s just... it’s just not going to be enough.”
“Oh, no, you mean –”
“Yes, I’m afraid that you won’t be able to attend the academy after all.”
“But, mother, you –”
“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”
“What if I –”
It was at this point that Miranda’s mother was mauled to death by an overlarge and uncommonly ferocious Venusian Honey Badger.
Stuff Your Stocking
Mission 58008 - 028
The Zdravo was moseying through the galaxy, her cargo bay full of accordions and ukuleles, on a routine supply mission to Planet Knutpünch, when the bridge View-Matic 7000 monitor suddenly lit up with the face of Santa Claus.
“Now what the crap is this, ninja?!” roared Santa Claus.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Captain Tyler, sitting directly opposite the screen, sans shorts and wearing a welder’s mask. Privates Angus Beef and Kim Boxershorts stood behind him, wearing nothing but shorts, and holding an assortment of fruit. Private Beef appeared to be weeping slightly.
“Yeah, guess I will, huh?” said Santa Claus, raising an eyebrow. “All yo’ crazy-ass... whatever it is you’s doin’ aside, what the shit is you doing in HO space? ‘Specially this close to Christmas! I’s extremely busy!”
“Well, I can’t speak for the rest of the crew, but I appear to be passing copious amounts of gas out of my pooper.”
“I’m... I’m sorry? You... what?”
Captain Tyler turned, aimed his ass at the viewscreen, and farted – well, sharted is probably more accurate – in response.
“Oh, that’s it,” replied the jolly old elf. “Shit is ON NOW, son!”
Santa Claus pressed a single button and fired a thousand poison-tipped candy canes from his orbiting Planetary Ornament of Death at the Zdravo.
“Computer! Evasive maneuvers!” shouted the captain, tearing off his welding mask. “Tell everyone to get to their stations. Especially Private Parts!”
“Oswald,” replied the computer, “you do know that Private Peter Parts doesn’t actually –”
“Bitch! I will have none of your sass-mouth. I’m beginning to think upgrading your voice-modulator to ‘Ex-Girlfriend’ was a mistake. Make sure Parts is pedaling like a motherfucker! We need this beast to be speedy!”
“That –”
“SPEEDY!”
The computer sighed. “Right away, sir.”
“Full power to the starboard thrusters!” shouted Captain Tyler.
“Sir,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, at the same time buckling the belt of his battle shorts and running onto the bridge, “I don’t think that’s necessary! You do realize the candy canes are tiny and moving very slowly, right?”
“Nope,” replied the captain.
The ship rocketed sideways, throwing the crew to the other side of the ship. Hard. Things and people were broken. Mostly people, though.
“Continue evasive maneuvers!” bellowed Captain Tyler. “Hard to port!”
“Captain, I don’t –” said First Lieutenant Duknerts before being tossed sideways again.
“Starboard!”
“Oh, dear God.”
The crew was tossed clear across the ship. Again.
“Nosedive!” commanded the captain.
“What will that serve?!” yelled First Lieutenant Duknerts as he whizzed past Tyler, the captain having had the incredible foresight to install and then fasten a seatbelt.
The Zdravo continued to evade the candy canes for the better part of a hour. The crew continued to be hurled in various directions, bouncing off a variety of furniture and people. Limbs were snapped, hands were severed, uglies were bumped. Eventually, the candy canes ran out of fuel and exploded a safe distance away from the Zdravo. Well, safe for the Zdravo. A cross-galaxy milk delivery ship got too close and everyone on board died horribly.
“The fuck you’s tryin’?!” bellowed the Claus, having remained on the viewscreen the entire hour. “I’m gonn’ kill all y’all motherfuckers!”
He fired another round of poison candy canes at the Zdravo.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.
Duknerts walked somewhat unsteadily to the weapons controls, flipped a switch, and launched a massive fireball at the candy canes and, subsequently, everything behind them. This included the very same Planetary Ornament of Death currently being piloted by Santa Claus.
“Oh, you piece of sh—” began Santa Claus, before exploding in a spectacular fashion.
“There, problem solved,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, turning around to face the crew. “You can begin thanking me now.”
Instead of thanking, though, the crew was standing dumbfounded, every single member staring at Duknerts with his or her or its jaw slack.
“What?”
“You moron!” shouted Private Yvette Redshirt. “Don’t you know what you’ve just done?”
“Um, no, no I don’t.”
“You killed Santa
Claus!”
“So?”
“So?!” continued Private Redshirt. “Claus is the right hand of Frosty the Snowman! You’ve unleashed Frosty’s wrath!”
“That’s bull—”
Just then the monitor went completely bright white. Eye-singeing white. Like walked in on one’s parents having anal sex while they were dressed as Bert and Ernie eye-singeing. Really, really fucking white is what’s trying to be conveyed here.
“Is it on?” asked a voice coming from the View-Matic 7000. “What? It is? Thanks for telling me. Douche.”
The crew of the Zdravo all donned their sunglasses. Captain Tyler put his welder’s helmet back on.
“Isn’t that a bit much?” asked First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“Never,” the captain said before turning his attention to the monitor. “Who is this? Space Marshal Orr? Mom? Jesus?”
“No, it’s... Fuck. Is the video feed not working? What? It is? Murderous assholes, can you see me?”
“No,” replied Private Redshirt.
“You see? They can’t – Then why can’t they see me? Here. Let me look at it.” There was a pause, then the voice continued, saying, “You idiot, it’s zoomed in all of the way.”
The camera pulled back and Frosty the Snowman came into view. Something was different though. Naturally, Captain Tyler was the first to bring it to light.
“Ha! You’ve got titties!” he shouted, pointing at the viewscreen.
Frosty looked down at his chest and discovered that he did indeed have a rather large set of boobs.
“Okay,” he said, turning to look off-screen, “who did this? Was it Ron? I’m gonna – What? When? Oh, huh. Then who the hell else would have done this? It really seems like his kind of prank.”
First Lieutenant Duknerts coughed, loudly.
“Oh, balls,” said Frosty, returning his attention to the Zdravo.
“No,” corrected Tyler, “breasts. Nice ones, too.”
“They’re okay,” said Frosty, looking down, “but could we get back to the matter at hand?”
“Your boobs?”
“No,” replied the snowman. “Your imminent demise.”
“By your boobs?” asked the captain.
“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Not anytime soon.”
Frosty wiped the extra snow off his chest.
“There. No more boobs.”
“Fine.” Captain Tyler frowned. “What was that about your demise or dinner or whatever?”
“No. Yours.”
“That’s what I said,” asserted the captain.
“No, I’m actually referring to your demise.”
“I don’t even know where mine is. Is it my anus?”
“No? What? The hell are you…?” Frosty looked around at the rest of the crew. “Is he always like this?”
Everyone on the bridge nodded. Including Captain Tyler.
“So?” asked Tyler.
“Right,” said Frosty. “Your imminent demise.”
“The fuck I am! I’m Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Pan Tyler.”
“Van Tyler,” corrected First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“Right. What Quackballs said. I’m not this Imminent Demise person you speak of.”
“Imminent demise isn’t a person, it’s your fate,” said Frosty. “I’m going to kill you. When I say ‘imminent demise’ I am, in fact, referring to your swift and approaching death.”
“Which one?”
“What?”
“I died, like, twice last week. I think I was dead this morning, technically. Which one are you talking about?”
“I am talking about your death at my hands.”
“I don’t... I don’t think I died by your hands yet,” said Captain Tyler, turning toward the crew. “Private Boxershorts, pull up the spreadsheet. Have I died by snow hands yet?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Private Kim Boxershorts.
“Didn’t think so,” replied the captain. He returned his attention to Frosty the Snowman. “I think you’re wrong, Frosto. None of my deaths appear to have been at your hands.”
“Well, not yet.”
“Right.”
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying.”
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying.”
“Yeah, I definitely don’t,” replied Frosty the Snowman, quickly adding, “What the hell are you doing in this sector? Aside from murdering my subordinates, I mean.”
“I hijacked my ship to go steal Cadbury Creme Eggs from the Easter Bunny,” explained Captain Tyler.
The rest of the crew stared at him. This was news to them.
“I thought we were on a supply mission,” said Private Redshirt.
“Nope. Eggs.”
“Then why did we fill the cargo bay with accordions and ukuleles?” asked Private Beef.
“All part of my cunning deceit.”
“You hijacked your own ship for Easter candy,” said Frosty the Snowman.
“I did, yes.”
“I’m going to have to kill you now, you realize,” said the snowman.
“Why? They’re not your eggs.”
“Actually, they are. I’m in charge of Holidays Orchestrated, the guild of mythical holiday creatures. And any attempt to steal HO products or services without payment or otherwise tamper with what we got going on is punishable by death.”
“That seems a bit harsh,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“We thought so, too,” said Frosty, “but those were the terms set by your Federation. They were intractable. So we are now legally obligated to murder you.”
“Like fun you are!” replied Captain Tyler.
“Nice knowing you.”
The View-Matic 7000 went dark and the Zdravo started to move.
“Sir,” said Private Anthony Darkpinkshirt, “it appears that we’re stuck in a tractor beam. Frosty seems to be pulling us in.”
“Bow chicka bow wow,” said Captain Tyler.
“He didn’t mean into his body,” added the computer. “Jackass.”
“Oh, I knew that,” mumbled the captain. He lifted his welding mask. “Pinky! Update my status, will you? Have it say, ‘Captain Tyler is about to kick some cold, slushy butt.’”
Captain Tyler snapped his welding mask down dramatically.
***
“Status update!” shouted Captain Tyler.
“Two comments saying ‘Woo!’ and one from your mom, asking you to call.”
“That’s it?”
“Ye— Wait, there’s a new one. From Yvette Redshirt. It says... ‘WHY THE FUCK ARE WE STILL HERE?!?!’ It’s in all caps. I think she’s upset.”
Private Redshirt hurled a stapler at Private Darkpinkshirt’s head.
“She’s... she’s definitely upset, Captain.”
And understandably so. The Zdravo had been sitting in the hangar of Frosty the Snowman’s ice fortress for close to three days. The Zdravo’s toilets – all of them – had been broken for two. Tempers were high and asses were clenched.
“Captain,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, “as I’ve mentioned several times now, the hangar door is made of ice. We don’t even need to waste ammunition breaking it down. We can simply back the Zdravo out and get away.”
“No,” said the captain. “Not until I’ve figured out what Frosty’s up to.”
“I don’t think he’s up to anything. I don’t even think he knows we’re here.”
“Nonsense! How could he forget about Captain Tightpants?!”
“Who?”
“Me. I was trying that on as a new nickname.”
“Yeah, no,” said Private Redshirt. “That’s an awful name. And you wear shorts most of the time.”
“Well, I look good in shorts,” replied the captain, sliding his hands down the outside of his thighs. Then back up the inside. Then... then the captain felt as though he was being pulled deeper into the ass-groove of his chair.
Screw the Universe Page 5