Screw the Universe
Page 12
Oswald’s father, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found.
At the ripe old age of six months, Oswald, a bright young lad, spoke his first word.
“Titties!” exclaimed the infant, when feeding time came around.
His mother looked on in horror. His father, knee deep in daytime strippers and several planets away, found himself smiling for reasons unknown, and completely unrelated to the bullet-scarred booty in his face.
Prudence would often tell little Oswald bedtime stories of the Federation and its adventures in space exploration and forced colonization. Grand, sweeping tales of far off worlds and majestic planetscapes, of endless oceans of stars and valiant space battles, of strange alien races and undocumented genocides.
When his mother fell asleep midway through telling these stories, young Oswald would gently cover her in a blanket and quietly make his way upstairs to his room. Then he’d flip on his holo-vidscreen and watch all the channels his mother was unaware she was paying for.
As a teenager, the future illustrious captain enrolled in many extracurricular activities. Among the ones officially sanctioned by Trouser Snake High School were co-ed Greco-Roman wrestling – which led to many, many sexual harassment suits – and co-ed gymnastics – which led to many, many, many sexual harassment suits.
Oswald was breastfed until he was fifteen. And not just by his mother. He would usually try to get his girlfriends pregnant and then…
Maybe this is better left unsaid.
Oswald attended the Federation Space Convoy Academy with the dream of one day becoming captain of his own vessel. His instructors were less hopeful. But, all the same, Grand Super Marshal Marshall Steelballs saw something in Oswald.
A six-foot, double-dong dildo.
Impressed by Oswald’s girth capacity, Grand Super Marshal Steelballs quickly promoted the cadet to first lieutenant and assigned him to the Federation’s newest two-manned ship, the Pussywillow.
“So what’s this do?” asked First Lieutenant Tyler of his commanding officer, Captain Forge Ironthrust.
“That button, right there?” asked the highly decorated captain and war hero.
“Yeah, the one that says ‘Don’t Press. Ever!’”
“That one blows the back hatch and we both die.”
“Ah, so I shouldn’t press it.”
“No. Never.”
“But I really want to.”
“We haven’t even finished our mission. Hell, we’ve barely even started it!”
“What are we supposed to be doing again?”
“You don’t know?”
First Lieutenant Tyler shuffled the papers resting on his lap and said, “Uh, I think it had something to do with... destroying an entire galaxy… or feeding the children. Something like that.”
Captain Ironthrust pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Those... are two vastly different missions. Are you sure you know how to read?”
“No.”
“No?!”
“I guess I could look in the back and see if there are any other documents. You know, with pictures.”
“Right, you do that. I’ll keep us on course.”
First Lieutenant Tyler, without actually opening them, rearranged some boxes in the rear compartment of the Pussywillow, then returned to the chair next to the captain.
“Anything?” asked Captain Ironthrust.
“Nope,” said First Lieutenant Tyler, whistling.
Ironthrust looked over to find Tyler equipped with a spacesuit and a jet pack.
“Oswald?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Any reason why you’re decked out in those duds?”
“I’m a huge fan of The Rocketeer.”
“And the reason you turned the oxygen on? Despite being firmly within the confines of the Pussywillow?”
“Oh, that. Well, you see, I was thinking... I’m getting pretty bored on this mission and we’re probably still close to headquarters, so –”
Tyler pressed the “Don’t Press. Ever!” button. Captain Forge Ironthrust was sucked out of the back of the Pussywillow along with Tyler and the rest of the cargo.
Space Marshal Phil Orr sat across the table from First Lieutenant Tyler in the Federation’s debriefing room. He did not look pleased.
“So, run this by me again,” requested Space Marshal Orr.
“Okay, so Ironcock –”
“Thrust,” corrected the space marshal.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Tyler, standing up and shoving his pelvis into his superior’s face.
“Right,” said the space marshal. “Well, go on.”
“The captain was all like, ‘Let’s just fly around a bit and bang alien chicks.’ And then I was like, ‘No! We must think of the children!’ To which he replied, ‘Fuck those needy bastards, no one ever gave me shit when I was a kid. Hell, if we had nukes on this shithole of a ship I’d bomb their entire galaxy.’ So then I distracted him, put the spacesuit and rocket pack on and thwarted his devious plan.”
Space Marshal Orr was dumbfounded.
“I had no idea Captain Ironthrust had this hidden side to him. Allow me to commend you on your heroic efforts to save all those children on Orphanaria 7. If they only knew how close they weren’t able to be to not being not destroyed they’d probably give you a parade… or at least a pat on the back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, I know Super Grand Marshal Steelballs usually handles these types of things, but he’s in the can. Meatball sub night and all. Myself, I’ve had nothing but Vicodin and ice cream so I should be good for a while. How about you? How’s your pooper?”
“Emptied out, sir.”
“Excellent. Where was I?”
“Talking about feces.”
“Was I?” said the space marshal quietly. “Huh. I thought we’d decided on... But, then, if I offered you the position... I did, right? Offer you the position?”
“Uh... yes?”
“Well, okay then. Congratulations, Tyler. Until Commodore Feces is less crazy enough to be around people again, you’re in charge of the Zdravo... Captain.”
Screw the Universe
Mission 58008 - 069
The Zdravo made it back to Federation headquarters safely. The trip had been without incident: no casualties, only minor damage to the ship’s lavatory, and a number of alien species had successfully been wooed by Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler. Condoms would need to be replenished, but that was to be expected. It was simply the price one had to pay en route to banging the entire galaxy.
“The Earth is running low, sir,” radioed Senior Dockworker Hugh Johnson as he received the latest batch of extra ribbed condoms into the ship’s inventory.
“Running low on what?” Captain Tyler radioed back.
“Condoms, sir.”
“How is that even possible? They never use the damn things. I mean, seriously, have you seen Tokyo? They’re living on top of each other.”
“Sir, we’ve talked about your penchant for exaggeration. Now, do you literally mean they’re walking around on top of each other? Feet on heads and what not?”
“Did I say Tokyo or India?”
“Tokyo.”
“Then, no, I didn’t mean it literally.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said the ship’s onboard computer. “I believe I found a couple planets that you have left, uh, ‘unboned.’ As you like to put it.”
“Oh, I like to put it,” replied Captain Tyler.
“Yes, yes you do,” said the dockworker.
“That is why we’re out here,” said the computer.
“Oh, I’m out here all right,” said the captain.
There was a silence.
“Were you trying to imply that you’re... visibly extended?” asked the computer.
“You know it.”
“I’ve seen you naked, in the showers,” said Senior Dockworker Johnson into his headset. “There’s no way your ‘extension’ would be visible through our
battle shorts. They’re really thick and you’re really—”
Captain Tyler hit a button on the console before him and emptied the entire cargo bay into the vast, airless vacuum of space.
“The rubbers!” shouted the dockworker, his voice fading as he and his oxygen were sucked into the dark nothingness.
“Damn the rubbers!” exclaimed Captain Tyler. “I’ve got a new mission.”
“Oh, Jesus,” said the computer.
“I’m going to impregnate the galaxy.”
“But that means…” said the computer.
“We have to re-do – ha! – all of planets we already did.”
The computer sighed. “That is a terrible idea, Captain Tyler.”
“Yes, but it’s my idea.”
“Was that a defense?”
“Are we being attacked?”
The computer sighed again.
“Get Dr. Porn up here, ASAP,” commanded the captain.
“He hates it when you call him that.”
“The man’s name is Siriporn Porniviriyakul. What else am I going to call him?”
“Siri? Dr. Porniviriyakul?”
“That’s just stupid.”
The computer called for Dr. Porniviriyakul over the ship’s PA system. The doctor appeared shortly after, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. White boxer shorts with little red hearts on them.
“Yes, Captain Tyler?” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Dr. Porn, glad you could make it.”
Dr. Porniviriyakul sighed, much like the computer.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, my name is…”
“Poppycock! I’ll call you what I want to call you. It’s my ship. If you don’t like it you can go join Johnson.”
“Who’s Johnson, sir?”
“He’s a dockworker, currently floating out there in the ether,” said the captain, thrusting his hand toward the bridge’s side window. “Hey, look! You can still see him!”
Captain Tyler waved at Senior Dockworker Johnson. Johnson continued floating through the vast nothingness.
“He always was a bit of a dick,” explained Captain Tyler.
“Why am I here, Captain?” asked Dr. Porniviriyakul.
“Because, Dr. Porn, I need your assistance. Due to a recent change in inventory, we’ve been granted a new mission. Our priorities have shifted.”
“You’re no longer going to fuck your way across the galaxy?”
“No, no. I am. I totally am.”
“Then how is that...”
“I am now going to knock-up every alien species in the galaxy.”
Dr. Porniviriyakul stared blankly at Captain Tyler for the better part of five minutes before saying, “What?”
“I’m going to knock-up every alien species in the galaxy.”
Dr. Porniviriyakul stared at him again.
“Why am I here, then?” he asked.
“Because,” said Captain Tyler, “your name is Dr. Porn. I figured you could help out, lend a hand, give me some advice, I don’t know. I mean, you’re Dr. Porn. ‘Doin’ it’ is your thing, isn’t it?”
“I’m a veterinarian!”
“So? I see no reason why that changes anything.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“You are aware that animals are different than people, aren’t you?”
Captain Tyler was beginning to get annoyed.
“Yes, I know there’s a difference here and there. What I mean is: Animals do it. People do it. Same thing.”
Dr. Porniviriyakul began to twitch, then turned and began to walk out of the room.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dr. Porn?!”
The veterinarian turned and lied, saying, “I’m going to work up an elixir that makes alien women succumb to your every whim.”
“Ah, cool. You do that then.”
Dr. Porniviriyakul returned to his lab — which also doubled as his bedroom — swearing uncontrollably.
“How is that motherfucker in charge?! Man’s got the IQ of a faulty toaster pastry! I’ll stab him in his fucking neck! And then I’ll fuck him in the fucking wound!”
Dr. Porniviriyakul stopped his tirade.
“Okay, no, that’s disgusting. I will not do that. I am not a murderer, nor a wound-raper.”
He looked around the lab, stopping at the cage of the rare Plutonian Snow Tiger against the far wall. The rare Plutonian Snow Tiger that was illegal in seven systems and had a death warrant, for the entire species, in two.
“However...”
Captain Tyler sat in his chair and looked at the stars off in the distance.
“Something on your mind, sir?” asked the computer.
“You ever stare off into the vast nothingness of the galaxy, contemplating just what exactly your role is in this ever-expanding void of stars and darkness?”
“No,” replied the computer.
“You ever look at the stars and try to connect them into a picture?”
“No.”
“I think I see a bunny.”
“Where?”
“Over there,” said the captain, pointing off into the blank cold dark.
The computer scanned the region.
“Sir, I’m pretty sure that’s Johnson’s frozen corpse floating out there.”
“But what about those huge ears?”
“Those are his arms.”
“Let me see.”
Captain Tyler walked over to the magnified viewfinder, found his rabbit and zoomed in. The computer was right. It was Johnson. His arms were raised above his head with middle fingers erect. Johnson’s face was angry and his lips were puckered as if he had just finished saying, “Fuck you!” And now he was stuck like that for all eternity, perpetually cursing Captain Tyler across the entire universe.
“Okay. Fine. So it’s not a bunny.”
The computer would have nodded in agreement, but it didn’t have a head. It was a computer.
“Say...” said Captain Tyler, “when was the last time we calibrated the weapons?”
“Records indicate that the weapons were calibrated just last –”
“Shouldn’t we calibrate them again?”
“Calibration at this time is –”
“I think we should calibrate them again.”
The computer sighed and said, “You want to fire a missile at Johnson, don’t you?”
“Oh, God yes. More than anything ever.”
“I really feel I should warn against this. We’re still docked at the Federation space station. Firing this close, without permission, would be frowned upon and incredibly reckless.”
“Fuck permission! I run the show now! How about we undock, fly around a bit and then ‘calibrate’ from a distance.”
“I don’t think that’s wise. We could hi—”
Captain Tyler – alone in the bridge since the rest of the crew was still loading cargo, restocking supplies, or pooping in the space station’s much nicer toilets – took the controls, muted the computer’s voice modulator, left port and piloted the ship toward the deceased dock worker. The captain positioned the Zdravo behind Johnson, putting the corpse between the ship and the space station. Captain Tyler switched the weapons systems to Manual, unmuted the computer and targeted Johnson’s frozen, angry cadaver.
The bridge viewscreen flickered to life.
“Captain!” shouted Major Heather Naughtyplaces. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to desecrate the corpse of a man I didn’t like,” replied the captain. “With rocket-powered explosives.”
“No, I meant undocking without clearance! You just killed a half dozen dockworkers!”
“Clearance be damned! They shouldn’t have been standing there.”