“Aw, they look like a lovely couple,” said the captain, standing the wallet on the table to his left.
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you. I know things tend to get crazy from time to time, what with the stupidity and the dying and all, but I do value your opinion.”
“I’m glad I can count on you, ‘Nerts. Seems like a lot of the crew here just sort of put up with me.”
“No!”
“I know, I know. I may be overreacting, but you can never be too sure with space pirates.”
“Sir, we’re not space pirates.”
“Right,” said the captain. “So, like sports?”
“A little. Never really got into them.”
“No?”
“Nah, tried in high school for a while, but, you know.”
“You throw like a girl?”
“No, I… Well, yeah actually,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” said the computer, “but First Lieutenant Duknerts is needed on the bridge. Private Redshirt is nude and straddling the command console. We all figured you’d know how to remedy the situation.”
“Sounds like I’ve got to go, sir.”
“Sometimes, ‘Nerts, you just have to bang the ever loving shit out of your woman.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d put it –”
“In the butt? Oh, you have to! Really jam it in there.”
First Lieutenant Duknerts sighed slightly, stood up and walked out of the captain’s quarters.
“Atta boy! Plug that hole!” cried Captain Tyler, before noticing that Duknerts left his wallet on the table. The captain picked it up and started leafing through.
“Space bucks, credit cards, nude picture of Private Redshirt... nude picture of Private Redshirt... a picture of ‘Nerts’ sister... picture of his parents... nude picture of Redshirt... nude picture of his parents...” The captain paused. “Well, fuck me sideways. Think I need to get myself some of this.”
The captain turned back to his computer and pulled up the Zdravo’s enlistment records, looking for First Lieutenant Duknerts’s file.
“Hmm… ‘Mother: Mrs. Jennifer Wizardsleeve Duknerts.’”
Captain Tyler pulled out his satellite phone and dialed the number on the screen.
“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Is this Ms. Wizardsleeve?”
“Oh, I haven’t gone by that name for a long time. It’s Mrs. Duknerts now.”
“My apologies, ma’am. I was just wondering, what are you wearing?”
The call suddenly ended.
Captain Tyler hit redial.
“Hello,” said Mrs. Duknerts.
“Is it a thong?”
The call suddenly ended again.
Captain Tyler shrugged, programmed the number into his speed dial, and then went back to looking at porn.
Inspect the Toasters
Mission 58008 - 042
“And that’s why I see no better team for this task,” declared Marshal Orr, “than you, Captain Tyler, and the platoon of miscreants you call colleagues.”
The Zdravo was double-space-parked at the Space Federation Space Headquarters to receive her next mission. A few members of the crew had assembled in the space station’s dimly-lit Conference Room A for a briefing. The remainder were re-stocking the ship or using the station’s toilets. The ones on the Zdravo were... honestly, there’s not even a word for it.
“Just to clarify,” said Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler, standing up, “you want us to eradicate all stupidity and ignorance in the known universe. That’s the mission?”
“Correct. Where are your pants?”
“Right here,” answered the captain, holding his pants in his right hand. “You are aware that this mission could take awhile, right?”
“We’re prepared to carry on without you in the meantime,” said Marshal Orr. “Please put your pants on.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Against my religion to wear pants on a space station.”
“But you’re an atheist.”
“Recently converted.”
“To what?”
“Pantstheist.”
“That sounds like you just made that up.”
“How is that different than any other religion?”
Marshal Orr grinned. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on you, Tyler...”
“That’s what she said.”
“No, no,” continued Marshal Orr, reverting back to his nearly perpetual frown, “I’ve been exactly as hard as I should have been.”
“That’s also what she said.”
The marshal raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure these ‘ladies’ of the evening you’ve been seeing are actually ladies?”
“Pay them enough and they’ll be whatever you want,” replied Captain Tyler. “Are you, you know, interested? Because this one gal, Steve, hoo-wee, you wouldn’t believe what she can do with an egg beater.”
“Uh, no. No. I’m okay without Steve, Captain.”
“Your loss.”
Steve got up and ran out of the room in tears, shrieking, “Why doesn’t anyone love me?!”
“Why was she even in here?” asked the space marshal. “This is a highly classified meeting. She could know things. She could squeal to the media.”
“Oh, she can squeal all right,” added Tyler.
“Duknerts!”
“Yes, Space Marshal?” said First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts, stepping forward from behind where Steve had been.
“Why is he here?” asked Tyler.
“Chase her down and bring her to the memory-erasing lab,” continued Orr.
“Right away, sir,” said Duknerts, running from the conference room.
“Okay, now, before we continue, who else is in this room?”
Private Yvette Redshirt, Private Heather Naughtyplaces, and a clown all raised their hands.
“You’re going to have to speak, out loud. I can hear you moving, but that’s it.”
“Maybe you should turn the lights on, Marshal,” suggested Private Yvette Redshirt.
“I was trying to cut down on the electric bill.”
“You could try limiting the arcade’s operating hours. I don’t think it needs to be open 36 hours a day. There aren’t even that many hours in a day.”
“I’m afraid I simply can’t do that,” replied Marshal Orr. “Lights! On!”
The lights came on.
“Right, so,” continued the marshal, surveying the conference room, “privates, you can go. But first, escort that clown to my dorm.”
“Why?” asked Private Naughtyplaces.
“What?” asked Space Marshal Orr. “Are you questioning me?”
“No, I was just curious as to —”
“Shh!” interrupted Private Redshirt. “You don’t ask those sorts of things here. Especially not when a clown is involved.”
Naughtyplaces looked over at the space marshal, his face aching with anticipation.
“Oh...” she said. “Ohhhhh!”
“The Federation hierarchy is based on sexual deviancy,” whispered Redshirt. “So for Marshal Orr to be a marshal, he’s gotta be even more fucked up than —”
“Hey!” said Captain Tyler, listening in on the conversation. “Don’t you speak ill of my boss.”
“But he is!”
“Shut your hole, private! Say another falsehood about that beautiful man and I’ll punch you in the gooch.”
“The cooch?”
“GOOCH!”
“What the hell’s a gooch?” asked Private Naughtyplaces.
“A taint,” said Private Redshirt.
“Damn right,” said Marshal Orr. “And with that kind of knowledge, you’ll go far in this Federation.”
“Thank you, Marshal,” said Private Redshirt.
“You’re welcome. Now get that clown to my dorm!” he barked. “And if you’re in the mood for a Promotion, you’d be wise to
stick around too.”
“A promotion? For taking part in a three way? With a clown? Is that even legal?” said an increasingly befuddled Private Naughtyplaces.
Private Yvette Redshirt sighed. Grabbing her crewmate and the clown by their respective arms, she began leading them down the hall.
“In this Federation, yes, it’s legal,” explained Redshirt. “But more importantly, by ‘promotion,’ he didn’t mean promotion. He meant a Promotion. It’s a sex act.”
“I’m so confused.”
“It’s simple. The marshal mounts the clown, and the clown’s on a chair, so you...”
Private Redshirt’s voice faded away as she turned the corner.
“Right, so, back to the mission,” said Marshal Orr. “There’s been an influx of stupidity coming from the forbidden region in Sector 1.987123 of the Dogg Dhou Nebula.”
“What?” asked Captain Tyler.
“Morons! Lots of them. I need you to eliminate all of them before they spread to other areas of the universe.”
“Sounds pretty time-consuming.”
“We’ve already gone over this.”
“Have we?”
“Yes, right before Steve made his exit.”
“Ah, Steve,” said the captain, his mind drifting off.
“Keep your head in the game, Tyler.”
“That’s not the only place I plan on keeping my head.”
“All in due time. Now, gather up the your crew and do my bidding without asking any questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Zdravo had been traveling for the better part of three arduous months, en route to the Dogg Dhou Nebula, before First Lieutenant Duknerts realized Captain Tyler was reading the map wrong. The Zdravo then began the long, arduous task of turning around and schlepping back across most of the known universe.
When questioned by Duknerts as to why she allowed them to travel several billion miles in the wrong direction, the computer simply replied, “Fuck you guys!” and murdered three of the ship’s dockworkers, as well as Engineer Poopypants. Sadly, Engineer Poopypants was the only one who might have been able to override the ship’s mood swing algorithm. With him vaporized, they simply had to wait it out.
It took nearly three weeks of ducking, hiding, and getting cursed at in every language of the known universe – including binary – before the computer apologized and stopped trying to kill everyone. She bought them all ice cream and set the ship on the right course.
Six months later, the Zdravo and her crew were finally nearing the Dogg Dhou Nebula. The computer alerted Captain Tyler of this news as he lounged in his quarters. Nude.
“Sir, we’re approaching our destination.”
“Good news! Send in Duknerts and Dr. Porn.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Sure.”
There was an exceptionally long pause.
“Why do you need them?” said the computer, giving in to Captain Tyler’s stupidity.
“I want to tell Archie that we’re almost there.”
“And Dr. Porniviriyakul?”
“I want him to see my junk.”
“He may attack you, sir. He has been on edge recently. Ever since you yelled at him for bringing that tiger on board.”
“That Plutonian Snow Tiger is illegal!” replied Tyler. “And he won’t let me ride it.”
“All the same, sir. He will probably punch you.”
“In the…?”
“Gooch, sir? I would doubt it. Something tells me he doesn’t want to have anything to do with that region.”
“Well, that’s my new goal in life.”
“Sir?” asked the computer.
“To have Dr. Porn slave away on my junk for days.”
“Wha— Why — You know what? No. I’m not going to ask.”
“Your loss. Now send my servants in!”
“They’re not your servants.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“But I can still have them sent for?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then I care not for your semantics! Fetch Misters Archibald and Siriporn!”
“I hate you. I hate you so hard.”
First Lieutenant Duknerts and Dr. Porniviriyakul arrived at Captain Tyler’s door simultaneously. Duknerts lost the impromptu game of Rock, Paper, Scissors and entered first. The good doctor waited outside.
“Testicles!” said Captain Tyler, harnessed and crouched, naked, against the ceiling. “Ah, First Lieutenant. Thought you were Dr. Porn.”
“It’s alarming how little I care that I’m seeing your testicles again.”
“I like you, you’re a go-getter.”
“There a reason why you summoned me, sir?”
“We’re almost at our destination. Send a transmission to Space Marshal Orr and see if he has any more intel.”
“Yes, sir,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, actually swelling with pride. It seemed as if the captain was taking this mission a little more seriously than in the past. Despite still being nude and hanging from an apparatus attached to the ceiling, that is.
“And on your way out, be sure to send in that coward, Dr. Porn. I’ve got a couple growths I may need him to take a closer look at.”
“Shouldn’t Dr. Sodomy… Oh, I get it. Your nuts.”
Captain Tyler smiled and pointed his fingers at the first lieutenant like two pistols.
Duknerts walked to the door and nodded at Dr. Porniviriyakul.
“Captain –”
“Yes, I know, I was standing right here. Heard the whole thing.”
“So you’re aware –”
“Yup.”
“And you’re going in anyway?”
“I am.”
First Lieutenant Duknerts felt that swelling of pride again. Apparently even Dr. Porniviriyakul was taking his responsibilities seriously for once.
Duknerts marched down the hallway, humming to himself. Dr. Porniviriyakul went into Captain Tyler’s room.
“Testi—” began Captain Tyler.
Dr. Porniviriyakul punched the captain, as hard as he could, square in the balls.
“Captain,” said the computer. “Call coming in from Space Marshal Orr.”
“Put it up on the viewscreen,” said Captain Tyler, sitting at the helm, icing his lap.
Around him, his crew pretended to be busy in order to impress the boss. Private Redshirt pressed some buttons, Private Darkpinkshirt stared intently at Captain Tyler’s Facebook newsfeed, Private Crimsonshirt studied maps of nearby planets and Private Naughtyplaces cycled through sexy poses in front of Tyler.
The captain liked this because she was pretty. The private, on the other hand, hated it, but, due to the rather vague wording of the restraining order, and the even vaguer wording of the Federation sexual harassment policy, Tyler was legally allowed to order her to do it.
Well, not to “do it.” That was illegal. Usually.
“How goes the mission, captain?” asked Space Marshal Orr.
“The what now?”
“About as I expected then.”
“Sure?”
“Anything to report?”
“What have you heard?”
“That’s... that’s what I’m asking YOU. How is the mission going?”
“Oh, it’s going,” replied Captain Tyler.
“Right, yes,” said Orr. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Toodle-oo!”
Space Marshal Orr pressed the button to end the call. Then he turned to the collection of important Federation people sitting behind him.
“As you can see, Captain Tyler is a moron. His crew isn’t much better. They’ve been in space, for months, on a fake mission, and have yet to realize it.”
Screw the Universe Page 7