“This is a strange sensation...” said Captain Tyler, before blacking out and falling to the floor.
Space Marshal Orr’s angry, wrinkled face appeared on the bridge viewscreen.
“TyLER!”
“Mom?” asked a groggy captain.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The maternity tests came back clean.”
“Oh, okay,” said the captain. “In that case: What?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What the shit is going on, Tyler?!”
“We’re having a conversation.”
“On the Zdravo!”
“Well, I am...”
“What is going on on the Zdravo?! What are you and your idiot crew up to?”
“Oh. Uh... I don’t know?”
Captain Tyler tried to turn to see what his idiot crew was up to, but found he was still pinned to the floor. He only managed to get himself a glimpse up Private Beef’s shorts. Private Beef appeared to be freeballin’ it.
“Let me catch you up on things, Tyler,” began the marshal. “You stole the Zdravo, murdered Santa Claus, mouthed off to Frosty the Snowman, and now you’re both trapped in his ice fortress and glued to the floor of the Zdravo.”
“How did you –”
“Facebook,” said the marshal. “Your private is very good at his job.”
“Yes, yes he is,” replied Captain Tyler.
“You’re talking about your penis, aren’t you.”
“Yes, yes I am.”
Space Marshal Orr closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a slow breath, then said, “Consider this official notice that, should you and your crew survive this, you’ll have to fill in for Santa Claus this year.”
“Oh, come on!” shouted Private Redshirt. “I didn’t murder him!”
“Well, you can figure that out amongst yourselves. Our contract with the GHC only stipulates one of you has to do it.”
“Can you at least help us up off the floor?”
“Sorry,” replied the marshal. “I’m legally bound to let you die.”
“This is such a shitty Federation.”
The viewscreen went black, though you could still hear the space marshal’s voice coming through the speakers.
“To be honest,” said a distant voice that most certainly belonged to Space Marshal Orr, “I hope they all die.”
“You motherfucker!” shouted Private Boxershorts.
“What? Who said that?”
The crew could hear some kind of rustling sound coming from the monitor.
“Shit, you mean it’s on? Well, how do you... This one? Did that...? Zdravo, can you hear me?”
“You suck!” yelled Private Morgan Crimsonshirt.
“It’s not that one,” Marshal Orr told... someone. “The yellow one? Which yellow one? This –”
The sound switched off.
“What a dick,” said Private Redshirt.
“I’ve never liked him,” added Captain Tyler.
“You’ve got his photo on your mirror in your cabin,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“I mean I’ve never liked him since now.”
“Who cares?” yelled Private Beef. “HOW THE FUCK DO WE GET OFF THE FLOOR?!”
“I don’t know,” said Captain Tyler. “Do you think this ‘Heavy Gravity’ switch on my chair might fix it?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Duknerts. “Is it on or off, Captain?”
“Uh, on, it looks like.”
“Turn it off.”
The captain, using all of his strength, raised his hand and flicked the switch. Miraculously, the heightened gravity was turned off.
“I’m a hero!” shouted the captain.
“You’re a fucking moron,” replied Private Redshirt.
“That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it. But it’s also insubordination, so I’m entitled to one pair of your used panties.”
“Not again...”
“You know the rules, Private.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled.
“First Lieutenant!” shouted the captain, settling back into his chair. “Tell engineering to get us going and then let’s blow this testicle stand.”
“You mean popsicle stand,” replied the First Lieutenant.
“What? Where? I thought we were out?”
First Lieutenant Duknerts grumbled, then flipped on the intercom to the engineering bay.
“Engineer Poopypants?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get us the hell out of Frosty’s ice hole.”
Ten minutes later, Frosty the Snowman appeared on the Zdravo’s bridge viewscreen. He appeared to be talking into his iPhone. At the movies. That fucking asshole.
“Where’s Dickface?” he whispered.
“Dr. Porn?” asked Tyler. “He’s probably in his lab.”
“My engineer! Irma Dickface.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Irma Dickface!” roared Frosty, as quietly as he could.
“Heh.”
“Ha ha, yes, very funny,” said the snowman. “Look, she just sent a text and said she was leaving with you. Never mind the fact that she lied to me about you being dead, if you don’t turn around and bring her back I will fucking kill you. You know, even more.”
“Seriously?” said Private Redshirt.
“Yes. Dickface and I... kinda... have a thing. It’s been rough, though, for all the usual reasons things don’t work out between a snowman and a woman...”
“What do you mean?” asked Private Heather Naughtyplaces.
“There’s only so much you can do with a carrot,” answered Private Redshirt.
“Anyway,” said Frosty the Snowman. “Prepare to die.”
“Seriously, Snowy, you’re going to have to speak up. I didn’t get a word of that,” said Captain Tyler. “Oh, hey, shiny! What’s this do?”
Tyler pushed a bright blue button on his control panel labeled “LAUNCH.” The bridge crew braced itself for something terrible. They waited... and waited... but nothing happened.
“What?” said Frosty. “What’re you guys –”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said the computer, “but there’s now a giant hole in the ship, plus our engines have been compromised.”
“What?” asked Captain Tyler. “How’d that happen?”
First Lieutenant Duknerts lunged at his commanding officer while Frosty looked on in confusion.
Thirty minutes later, Engineer Irma Dickface walked onto the bridge to find Captain Tyler strung up against the wall by his testicles, the rest of the crew taking turns throwing knives at him. So far, no one had missed. It was safe to say that Captain Tyler was dead. Again.
“Guys,” said Engineer Dickface, “what the hell?”
“You’re not dead?” asked Private Boxershorts.
“Why would I be dead?”
“Because the engine room and all the engineers were launched into space,” said Private Naughtyplaces.
“Yeah, no,” answered Engineer Dickface. “You guys – the bridge – took off for some reason. We followed you and re-docked.”
“What?” said First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Computer!”
“Yes, Acting Captain Ducknards?”
“What the hell, computer?! You said there was a hole in the ship! And the engines had been compromised!”
“Correct. There was a hole in the Zdravo where the bridge had been. It sealed itself off, as it should have. And the bridge engines were compromised. The captain had them drained of fuel and has been using them as storage for his pudding. That’s why you didn’t actually go anywhere after the initial launch.”
“Why would the bridge even have engines?”
“For use as an emergency escape pod,” answered the computer. “It’s in the owner’s manual.”
“Oh,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Huh.”
�
��So, uh, we murdered Tyler for nothing then?” asked Private Redshirt.
“I don’t know,” said Frosty the Snowman from the viewscreen. “I thought it was pretty entertaining. And now I don’t really feel like killing the rest of you anymore. If anything I feel like hiring most of you.”
“Would you?” asked Private Naughtyplaces. “Really?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to work for this sackless ball of slush,” said Engineer Dickface. “He’ll just sleep with your sister and lie to you about it!”
“Baby, I can explain!” shouted Frosty the Snowman.
Engineer Dickface slammed her fist into the control panel, firing every weapon on the ship. Including the Emergency Inside Laser. The EIL caught Private Boxershorts square in the nuts.
“My cashews!” he shouted, watching his snack disintegrate in his hands.
“Why do we even have that thing?” asked Private Redshirt, head tilted and staring at the EIL.
“We had it installed after the last mission. In case we had to keep Captain Tyler from doing something stupid,” replied First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“Well, it’s the thought that counts.”
It was at this point that the View-Matic 7000 turned a horrendous shade of exploding snowman.
“Acting Captain Duknerts,” began Space Marshal Orr, “I’m not sure how you did it, but you managed to worm your way out of HO’s crosshairs. Blowing up Frosty and exploiting the double murder clause of their Federation contract was ingenious.”
“Yes,” said the acting captain, “yes it was. And completely on purpose, too.”
“But, uh, what about that whole ‘we accidentally killed Santa Claus’ thing?” asked Private Naughtyplaces. “Does Duknerts still have to do it?”
“Man, fuck that,” said the first lieutenant. “I’m Jewish.”
“Christmas has been 100% secular since 2012,” added Private Redshirt.
“You’re all right, actually,” said the space marshal. “We’re not off the hook for that. As acting captain, Duk—”
“Actually, I was thinking we get someone else to do it,” said Acting Captain Duknerts.
“And why can’t you do it?”
“My bone-crippling hatred of children.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense.”
“I hate them so much.”
“I think that’s why I love him,” said Private Redshirt, clutching Duknerts’s arm.
“Isn’t that sweet,” said Marshal Orr. “But we still need someone to be Santa.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul, striding boldly onto the bridge in a stunning example of excellent timing.
***
Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler came to, dressed in red fur and piloting a sled propelled by rocket-powered reindeer over Canada.
“What the hell?” he asked.
There was no one there to answer him.
A tiny viewscreen in the sled’s dashboard fizzled to life. It was a smirking Space Marshal Orr.
“What the hell?” Captain Tyler asked again.
“Congratulations,” said Marshal Orr. “You’ve been promoted to Santa Claus.”
“That’s a Federation position?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t appear to be able to move, Marshal.”
“Yeah, First Lieutenant Duknerts thought it would be better to restrain you, just tie you to the sled as tightly as possible.”
“The straps are crushing my boys.”
“That was Private Redshirt.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, apparently most of this is automated. You just sit back and let the sled do the work. Kids get their presents, parents don’t have to explain how we accidentally murdered Santa, and everyone’s stockings get stuffed.”
“As soon as I get out of here, I’m gonna stuff your stocking.”
“Was that a threat? Or a come on?”
“I... I really don’t know. I’m still a little woozy.”
“Right, well, just take a nap then. You’ll be a lot less likely to fuck things up if you’re asleep.”
“Twenty bucks says you’re wrong.”
“I’m going to go now, Tyler. Merry Christmas.”
“Up your mother, sir.”
The screen fizzled back out. Santa Tyler looked around at the stars flying past him. Then he shrugged and swung his bound-together legs up onto the sled bench so he could take a nap. In the process, his foot flicked a bright green switch.
“Huh, that was –”
The sled, and the reindeer, exploded.
What Have I Done?
The Dumbassedness of First Lieutenant Duknerts
Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler sat at his desk, browsing the seediest pornography websites the universe had to offer, when he got the sudden and uncontrollable urge to find out more about one of his bestest friends, First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts.
“Computer,” said the captain.
“Yes?”
“Send First Lieutenant What’s His Name in here.”
“Duknerts, sir?”
“That’s the ‘Nert.”
On the bridge, the crew was performing the same menial tasks they performed everyday when the computer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.
“First Lieutenant Duknerts. The captain would like to have a word with you in his chambers.”
“Really?” asked First Lieutenant Duknerts, full of dread.
“Yes. He sounded quite adamant about it.”
“He probably wants to become butt-buddies with you,” theorized Private Yvette Redshirt.
“I thought we were butt-buddies,” said the first lieutenant to his girlfriend.
“Oh, sweetheart. You have NO IDEA what I consider a butt-buddy.”
“Oh. Oh!” said a very curious, and now very aroused, First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Hold that thought, then, ‘til I’m done meeting with Captain Farthead. Someone else make sure that we don’t crash into something while I’m gone.”
“On it,” said the computer.
First Lieutenant Duknerts knocked on the captain’s door.
“Enter!” beckoned Tyler.
First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts walked in and sat in the chair directly next to his commanding officer.
“What’s up, sir?”
“Not much, ‘Nerts. Just thought we could have a chat. Get to know the inner you. You know, without the anal violation.”
“I’m touched, sir, that you’ve taken an interest. And I’m very glad you’ve decided to forgo the butt stuff.”
“Well, I imagine you get enough of that from Redshirt. How’s things working out with her, by the way?”
“Pretty well, actually. My parents don’t seem to be thrilled with her, considering they’re Evangelical Christians and she keeps giving me blowjobs at family functions. And, like you mentioned earlier, she does… things… that are technically illegal in my home state.”
“You don’t say. In front of your parents, too. That girl just gives and gives doesn’t she.”
“Until it hurts… or loses feeling.”
“Nice! So, what about your old fogies?”
“My parents? Well, my father’s a retired civil engineer and my mother used to be a Space Vegas showgirl until she met my dad and converted. Then she became a home maker. Tough work, especially doing it by yourself. Walls don’t go up easy.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of them?” asked Captain Tyler.
“I might,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, reaching for his wallet. “Wait. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Okay...” said the first lieutenant, hesitantly opening his wallet to a picture of his parents and handing it over.
Screw the Universe Page 6