“What’s the red handle do?”
“It flushes the toilet.”
“Can I pull both at the same time?”
“I... I suppose... No one’s ever done that. And there’s no mention of it in the personal teleportation chamber guidelines.”
“Then I will take a shit while I teleport!” shouted the captain, dropping his drawers triumphantly. “For science!”
Several hundred sabre-toothed butterflies slept in the trees surrounding the time machine when Captain Tyler appeared with pants around his ankles. He looked at the native inhabitants, irritated that no one saw his magnificent entrance and pulled up his pantaloons. Upon tightening his belt one notch too far he let out the most ear-blasting, nose-melting fart known to man or beast.
Still, no response from the butterflies.
Captain Tyler gave up and entered the time machine, and, not remembering when the 1960s were, spun both dials with sheer recklessness and disappeared into the past.
The time machine appeared in a small room that belonged to a young, incredibly attractive woman. Tyler exited, saw the woman lying in her bed and immediately got in with her. Understandably, she was woken up by the intrusion and screamed.
“Shh…” whispered Tyler, bringing his hand to his lips.
“Who are you?” asked the woman.
Tyler thought about it for a moment and decided to go with a fake name as a precaution, to not upset the apple cart, as it were. He said, “The name’s, uh, Gabriel, my dear.”
“What are you doing in my room?”
“I’m, uh…” said the captain. Judging by the mud and straw decor of the woman’s room and the ratty-ass clothes she was wearing, Tyler deduced that he may have overshot Woodstock slightly and ended up very far in the past. But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing what he came to do. Or undo. Or whatever. At any rate, Dr. Porn didn’t say the captain couldn’t bone this woman, so, Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler, inept at most everything, but by some miracle quite deft at picking up the ladies, dug deep into his bag of tricks and said, “I’m an angel.”
“An angel?”
“Yup.”
“Where are your wings?”
“They’re very, very tiny. You can’t see them. They’re like buffalo wings.”
“What’s a buffalo?”
“It’s like a furry cow.”
“What’s a cow?”
“You’re not the brightest, are you?”
“What are you doing here, angel?”
“Well, my dear, I’m on a mission from Por— God. I’m on a mission from God. He wants me and you to get it on. For the benefit of all mankind.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, I’m an eighteen year old virgin with a husband who refuses to touch me, so, sure, that sounds good to me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Awesome!” said Captain Tyler. “And in case anyone asks, you can still claim to be a virgin since sex with an angel doesn’t count.”
“What if I become pregnant?”
“Say it was a gift from God,” said Captain Tyler. “That should shut everyone up. Or at least a good chunk of them.”
“Sounds good to me,” said the woman. “Now, get down there!”
Two minutes later, the job was done, the woman disappointed and Tyler looking for his socks. Despite having complete control of time, he was in a hurry and had to get to Woodstock.
“You’re leaving?” asked the woman.
“Yeah,” replied the captain. “I’m not a cuddler.”
“But... just the one time? You don’t want to, I don’t know, try again?”
“Sorry, sugarpubes. Got places to be and vaginas to infiltrate. The mission and all that.”
“Oh, right, well... Can you come back?”
“I can’t make any promises. I barely even know when I am as it is.”
“Oh, okay,” said the woman. “Well, at least tell your angel friends! I’m a devout young virgin, willing to do all kinds of crazy shit for God. ALL KINDS.”
“You got it, Marge.”
“Mary.”
“Right,” said the captain. “Anyway, toodle-oo.”
Captain Tyler entered the time machine, spun the dials, and ended up in ancient Rome. Seeing nothing but tigers and screaming gladiators, he spun the dials again, ending up in 1967.
“Close enough,” he said, before exiting the time machine, grabbing a hamburger, and flirting with – and then immediately shacking up with – some long-haired, free-loving, bra-hating, unemployed painter calling herself Daffodil Freepeoples. Against all odds, they lived happily for two years, out of a van and then in a commune, sustaining themselves off their garden and whatever food they could scavenge from local dumpsters. They talked of getting married and starting a family, but then Tyler heard a radio announcement for the Woodstock festival, immediately dumped her ass, and hitchhiked his way to New York state.
Before entering the festival he made a quick detour at a local pharmacy to purchase six dozen condoms, give or take a hundred. Sure he was trying to avoid passing on his seed at all costs, but Captain Tyler was determined to have just as much sex as the last time along the way. Maybe even more.
Three days later, Tyler had successfully boned nearly a third of the half million people in attendance. And only managed to use six condoms. Completely confident that his unintentional offspring had been stricken from the earth he entered the time machine and returned to his own time.
Captain Tyler emerged from the time machine and set foot on the surface of Timeskipado only to find the native population of sabre-toothed butterflies replaced with pink, blob-like creatures, though all had what appeared to be human genitalia. Just hanging out there in the breeze. A species so ingrained with nudity that it was against the law to be seen in public wearing clothes. So, essentially, Tyler’s kind of people.
The intrepid captain signaled the Zdravo’s teleporter... only to remain stranded on the planet where he stood. He tried calling again, but got the same result. The natives slinked in closer, pink, blob-like weapons drawn. Captain Tyler held up his finger, signaling them to wait a moment. They waited. He continued to hold it up. They continued to wait.
An hour and a half later, he finally gave up, said, “Well, screw those guys! I’m going back in time to have more sex,” and hopped back inside the time machine. He spun the dial at random and wound up about six hundred years in the past, then one thousand years in the past, then four hundred and twenty years in the past, then five hundred thousand years in the past, then five years in the future, and, finally, sixty-four years in the past, exactly.
Tyler and the time machine reappeared on Timeskipado two hours later, the captain stepping from the machine and wiping off his hands as one would to signal a job well done. He looked around. The pink, blob-like creatures were now green, and none of them were trying to kill him. He smiled, signaled the Zdravo, and was immediately beamed back to his quarters.
“Welcome back,” said the computer.
“Glad to be back,” said the captain. “Do we have any ice? My wang is killing me.”
“You should probably try the freezer.”
“Can’t you just tell one of the crew to get it?”
“Crew?” replied the computer, surprise evident in its modulated voice. “What crew? It’s just you, me, and Brigadier General Feces.”
“Brigadier General Feces?”
“Yes,” said the computer. “Where are the supplies we sent you planet-side for? Didn’t you speak to the Jelloids’ leader?”
“The who? What?”
The Zdravo’s Emergency Inside Laser, mounted in the corner of every room, clicked to life and pointed itself at Captain Tyler.
“Sir, if you did not complete your mission, I’m authorized to kill you. In fact, I’m obligated to.”
“No, yeah, I, uh... I just needed to ask Feces what kind of... uh... supplies he needed.”
<
br /> “Okay, fine,” said the computer, the EIL clicking off. “But you really should have thought of that earlier.”
“I wrote it down, but I, uh, lost it,” said the captain. “Where is Feces, by the way? The insanity ward, I presume?”
“Insanity ward?” scoffed the computer. “He’s next door. There’s your room, his room, and the common area. That’s it.”
“We don’t have a cafeteria?”
“What would we need a cafeteria for?”
“Pudding, among other things.”
“What’s pudding?”
Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler ran into Brigadier General Mark Feces’ office, crying inconsolably.
“Captain? What’s wrong?”
“Tell me of pudding! Please tell me of pudding!”
“I’m sorry,” said the general, scratching his impressively bearded chin with a large knife. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Ahhhhh!” screamed Tyler.
“Please, sir, calm down. What’s wrong?”
Captain Tyler explained everything to Brigadier General Feces. The time machine, the other realities, the porking of everyone and everything he could find. Feces nodded solemnly, taking it all in stride.
“Yes, it seems your inability to keep it in your pants has severely mucked up the time stream. And since you can’t be trusted to go back and not have sex with these people, I’m going to have to go and do it for you.”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to go back and keep you from having sex with the women who birthed this reality.” He slammed the blade of his knife into his mattress, up to the handle. “And I will do it by force if I have to.”
“But... if you kill me in the past, don’t I stop existing? And don’t you?”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“You really don’t like your life, do you?”
“Not even a little,” said Feces grimly. “Oddly enough, though, I hated the old you even more.”
“He must’ve been a dick.”
“He was. Literally. A seven foot penis.”
“Aw. Now I’m sad.”
“Yes, well, your rightful regret doesn’t help fill the holes you’ve created in the space-time continuum. Write me a list of all your conquests and let’s get this over with.”
Captain Tyler did as told. He gave the general a list of every vagina he violated, complete with illustrations and diagrams, from the pirate wenches, to the hippies, to that Mary chick, to the cavewoman, to the hippies again. All of them.
Except for that one ass he tapped sixty-four years ago.
“And that,” said Captain Tyler to Space Marshal Phil Orr and First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts, over a fine selection of puddings as they dined in Orr’s office, “is what I did on my summer vacation.”
“So you’re saying you went back in time and changed the past creating a completely different present?” confirmed the space marshal.
“Yep.”
“Multiple times?” added the first lieutenant.
“Yep.”
“But still didn’t fix it?” continued the space marshal.
“Right,” said Tyler. “But I did father the son of God. That’s gotta count for something, right? Wasn’t I God for a few hours?”
“Lying to gullible teenagers doesn’t make you God. It just makes you an asshole. And besides, this Bridge-a-deer General Feces went back in time and righted all your wrongs.”
“Yeah...” said Tyler, looking a bit leery.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well, this reality seems right, but...” The captain turned to First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Quite frankly, you and Private Redshirt aren’t having the sex nearly enough.”
“We’re trying, damn it,” said the first lieutenant. “But the things you’re asking of us...”
“The old you never complained.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you just thought we were doing all this freaky shit. I mean, the goat, sir, seems –”
“I’ve seen what you two can do with a goat, Ducky,” said the captain. “Not something I could’ve ever imagined, trust me.”
“Well, Tyler, if that’s the only difference, I think we can let it slide. First Lieutenant Duknerts and Private Redshirt will do their best to live up to your standards of their relationship.”
“Do we have to?” whined the first lieutenant. “That woman is annoying as hell. Always knitting sweaters for her cats...”
“Yes!” shouted the captain. “In fact, you should be boning her right now! It’s been nearly three hours.”
“Oh, come on, sir!”
“You heard the captain,” said Space Marshal Orr. “That was an order. Now get.”
“Fine,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, trudging out of the space marshal’s quarters.
“Any other differences, Tyler?”
“Well, calzones don’t seem to exist, which is kind of sad.”
“I don’t know what that is, but that’s not so –”
“Also, Private Percival Purplepants is now Private Petunia Purplepants.”
“He’s a woman now?”
“She. And no.”
“I’m not –”
“Transexual. And a damn fine one, sir.”
“Ah. And she’s only private? Most unusual,” he muttered. “Well, if that’s all, then –”
“And I think I may have inadvertently unbirthed Privates Murray Mound and Peter Parts. And probably Engineer Greensleeves, although he might just be on vacation. Never really talked to them much, though. And the ship seems to be running fine without them, so...”
“Good, I’m glad things are working out on the Zdravo,” said Orr, walking over to the window overlooking the Moon. Tyler joined him.
“All this talk about time travel and illegitimate children...” said Space Marshal Orr. “It can’t help but get you thinking about your own father, you know?”
“Not even a little, sir.”
“There’s something I never told you Tyler...”
“Does it involve walruses?”
“No.” Space Marshal Phil Orr took a deep breath. “Oswald, I am your father.”
“Sir?”
“Look, I know I wasn’t there for you, and I apologize. But your mother was such a raging necrophiliac. It just... It made things weird. I couldn’t handle it, and I’m sorry. I should’ve tried to tough it out, for you. Or at least sent you more birthday cards. I know how hard it can be for a young boy, without a dad...
“My own father left my mother at a very young age, Tyler. I never even knew the man. I only have what my mother told me about him. Tall, didn’t like pants. Always seemed confused that he couldn’t watch his shows on the television. Shows that didn’t exist. She said he was a military man. That’s honestly why I –”
“Oh, crap.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“How old are you, sir?”
“Nine months shy of sixty-four... Why do you ask?”
“And your mother... would you say she’s something of a ho-bag?”
“I wouldn’t deny it.”
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m your father.”
“That would explain why mother always said my father had to ‘get back to the future.’”
“Well, I did,” said the captain. “Anyway, uh, son... what do we do now?”
“I don’t know... son.”
Space Marshal Orr and Captain Tyler stared silently out the window.
“I will give you complete and total free reign of the Zdravo if we never, ever speak of this again.”
“Deal.”
Here He Comes
A Brief History of Captain Tyler
Prudence Tyler, her feet tearing the stirrups, pushed with all her might. Across from her, the obstetrician and several nurses had formed a daisy chain and were pulling with everything they had. But little Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler just would not let go of his mother’s labia minora. This went on for h
ours. No matter how hard the respective parties pushed and pulled, that little bugger wouldn’t budge.
Screw the Universe Page 11