Oh, the Irony

So, I've been reading this highly hypocritical (in the sense of me reading it, not of her writing it) blog, entitled "From Atkins to Veganism" - a basic story of an omnivore's conversion.

(I know, I am aware of the name of my blog)

Anyway, I thought this fellow had an interesting take on the subject.

My current stance is that I simply don't "purchase" meat.  So, I'll eat it as a party or, at an "all you can eat" situation where it isn't individually priced.

It isn't a perfect values system, but it seems to be pretty good.

Anyway, I like his idea, because it isn't, as he says, binary.

CHAPTER 32: \ of religious proportions.

Ronald jogged out of the facility holding the STAB which, in turn, was balancing Steve, Wally, and the smoldering remains of Splatch, all of whom, to varying degrees, were in the process of discovering, mostly through trial, error, smoldering-and-doing-nothing, and attempts to use Star Trek problem solving logic, that the Shrink-To-A-Box was a fairly one-sided device, that very likely shrunk things, and, they guessed, required some form of a box.

It didn’t, for example, have a reverse.  In fact, it was simply a small metal cube with one large, red button, and an arrow that, one could only assume, had some form of “box and aim” related instructions in alien script written underneath.

“Ummm…” Summed up Steve’s ability to decipher the device’s intricate workings and mechanisms best.  Wally seconded with an “Errr….” As they walked around the large (at least from their miniscule perspective) red button, looking for anything even resembling a standard “Just reverse the polarity” switch that ALL science fiction movies had told them would be there. 

Steve kicked the side of the button in disappointment.  “There isn’t even something to open, with wires that we can splice and put into our wrist watch or something, to…”

“I swear to GOD Steve, if you say ‘reverse the polarity’ ONE MORE TIME…” Wally snapped.

"I... hey.  HEY!  HEEEEEY!” Steve suddenly hey’d.

“What!?” Wally whatted.

“HEY!!!” Steve yelled, loud enough so that even Ronald looked down from his crouched joggings with a little shush.  “I… I’m… I’m having an hypotenuse!"

Wally paused and did the mental, verbal, translational equivalent of the bamboozled Plain-Belly-Sneetches jumping through Sylvester McMonkey McBean’s Star Upon Thars Star Machine™, and took an educated guess. 

"…You mean an epiphany?"

"No, no... It’s like a life altering idea!"

"That's an epiphany"

"Well then what's a hypotenuse?"

"That's the longest side of a triangle... remember math 10?"

"Math 10?"

"Sure, A²+B²=C²?"

"Oh.”  Steve lied.  “…right."

At the mention of math, Steve quickly did his “avoid everyone’s eyes so as to avoid being called upon for anything, anywhere” body posture.

"Soooo anyway…”  Wally prompted, “…what was your epiphany?"

Steve paused for a moment.

"...huh."

"Well?"

"…I don't remember."

"You had a life altering idea, and you don't remember it?"

"…Nope."

"Nothing?"

"Not a speck."

"You're really something, Steve."

"…'s funny though."

"What?"

"I remember something about oranges again."

CHAPTER 31e: Plotvelopmently

****

“And… and… I saw you playing with your hackisack in a way most unsporting!  And…. Uhh… your face is stupid!  And…  and I’m pretty sure everyone in prison knows you’ve been Splorfing your Squiggledy-Spooche while thinking of female Garks!” Steve said, desperately trying to keep Splatch embarrassed.

There was a distinct ‘pop’, and then Splatch fell from view.  “We’re through!” Wally squealed, donning GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh…’s carapace-coat, cuffing Steve, and making their way through the hole. 

“So, we get out, and you pretend you’ve captured me while trying to escape, get unshrunk so you can step on me, and then, after seeing how the unshrinking process works, you’ll unshrink me, and we can escape?” Steve asked, Plotvelopmently* (To ask a question one normally wouldn’t ask if one wasn’t in a fictional situation.  Often seen in sitcoms to set up jokes, or poorly written novels that want to scrunch a bunch of plot together to save time)

“…Yes.  We’ve been over this.” Wally said, realistically.

“er, ah… right.  Just wanted to be sure.” Steve covered.

As they exited their prison, they suddenly had a scale from which to work from, and saw, just how tiny they really were.  Towering above them, appeared to be a pencil eraser about the size of a house, and next to that, a mountain sized chair, and, oddly, tied to said chair, a really-Ronald-sized Ronald.  Who, in his Ronadly way, looked down at first the Parasite-ensconced Wally, and then his diminutive accomplice, Steve, and boomed “Hello boys.  You’re tiny!”

There was a pause, then, Ronald, decided he’d best continue.

“Thanks for getting rid of that little creep.  I was getting a little fed up with him crawling up my nose and driving me around like… well, actually, like these species of parasites that live on Earth… see, they get into snails, and…”  Ronald paused, and saw that they weren’t really listening.  “…and, well, I’ll tell you later.  Shall we escape?”

CHAPTER 31d: Sweet baby comet!

****

Now I want to be clear, the icy IC was in no way benevolent, or even judgmental; or, if it was, it was, but in the same way that a lot of deities were:  Confusingly.  For it performed downright miracles along with inexplicable carnage and horrors on all sorts of people, without seeming classification.  So, I suppose in theory, it’s possible it HAD a greater plan, or worked in mysterious ways…  But it would all seem pretty random to anyone who might be able to measure or monitor its progress.

CHAPTEr 31c: Shorter than a skirt in Japan, these sections...

****

Wally, Steve, and Splatch had managed to drag GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh…’s carapace as far as possible, and Splatch had assumed his position upon the wall.  “Ready!” He jiggled in excitement.

“Steve?” Wally prompted, “Begin your teasing.”

CHAPTER 31b: Seriously, this whole book was written before even hearing about Douglas Adams

****

The icy Improbability Comet (coincidentally abbreviating to IC), coincidently continued along its rather coincidental, if irregular, path of entropic skewings.  From modifying a scientist’s studies of fungi to produce a new type of chocolate destined to replace the original, to making suicide jumpers get caught in thermal updrafts, its presence was felt throughout the universe as it traveled at seemingly improbably altering speeds.

CHAPTER 31: The Great Escape

“For the record, I still say this plan is stupid.” Steve stage-whispered to Wally, as they took off in a now-well-practiced crouched run towards their quarry. 

“No it isn’t!  It’s perfect!  Now get to your position!” Wally snapped, most confidently.

Phase one of Wally’s decidedly devious plan was likely going to be the second hardest, assuming they didn’t die in the process (in which case it would definitely be upgraded to hardest)

“NOW!” Wally squealed, as GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… slithered beneath them.  Steve was first to land on the creature, stabbing at it with a makeshift shiv that he’d created out of his toothbrush.  If it caused GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… any pain, he didn’t show it.

Snarling at the attack, GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… smacked Steve with twenty or so of his arms, whilst he swiveled towards the sound of Wally’s squeal.

“Gnaaaaaggggh!” Wally screamed, (confusingly & accidentally yelling out GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh…’s former high school sweetheart’s name, greatly confusing him in the process) jumping into his gaping maw and quickly being swallowed.

“Stupid plan, stupid plan, stupid plan!” Steve chanted, dancing around like a lunatic in an effort to draw the huge parasite’s attention.

“Splatch,” Wally said, taking from this backpack the fellow who had, at some point throughout the past while, been identified as not merely a Splatch-a-like, “I know now’s not a good time to mention this, but… I found your midget on frog magazine, and… well, I’m really disgusted.

Splatch shuddered and convulsed, and quickly began burning through his upper levels of skin.  As he did so, Wally hurled him to the far side of GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh…’s stomach, causing Splatch to plasma-burn his way through, neatly hollowing out the behemoth (who, rest assured, let out quite the behemoth-level of a bellow in agonizingly redundant resistance).

“Phase… >cough< phase one, complete” Wally said, crawling out from the parasite’s carapace and collapsing.  

CHAPTER 30b: Wally's outer turmoil?

****

Wally shook his head.  This had gone on long enough.  The weeks of torture, of beatings and bullyings, of horrible food, of a fearful, passionless, strawberryless existence.  “Steve?” He said, grabbing Steve’s shoulder with an air of confidence never before seen.

“Huh?  Oh.  Uh…  Yeah Wally?” Steve replied, a little put off by the sudden change in his demeanor (surprisingly more put off, in this case, than he was by any of the other… changes he’d witnessed)

“We’re breaking out of here, buddy.  Come with me.”

Steve shrugged.  “Oh.  Uh… Ok then.”

CHAPTER 30: Wally’s Inner Turmoil

His thunderous footfalls echoed throughout, as Insecurity trundled into the arena, his single eye blinking in the spotlights.  His huge hairy battle-arms lifted his battle-club up past his battle-shorts as he bellowed his battle-roar, overpowering even the mighty crowd’s cheers.  Calmly, he looked over at his partner, and gave him a snarling grunt.

Fear slithered up the side of the arena, returned the grunt with a nod, and burrowed his poisonous stingers through the very ground, and burst them out several feet away like really angry gophers, only scarier...  And pointier.  (The crowd loved the pre-show antics)

Self confidence circled nervously, his eyes darting between his two opponents while his head tucked as deep into his shell as possible; clutching his dagger in his anxiously sweating palms.  The handicap match he always seemed to find himself in, clearly, had been fixed for years.

The audience roared and stood to their feat, as the contest began. 

Insecurity got to work right away, catching confidence off guard with a crunching kick.  Confidence felt his left rib crack, and, even as he reeled from the pain, Fear took Confidence in his jaws from behind, tossed him, and, as Confidence spun in the air, Fear hit him again with his tail.

Confidence slammed into the arena walls, his vision and hearing blacking out from the impacts, only to return seconds later in a deafening roar of the crowd and the pounding of his own heart.

Confidence struggled to his feet, only to have his left knee buckled by Insecurity’s looping strike.  Confidence rolled with the blow, landing on his feet, and managed a weak counter of a similar type.  It was weak at best, but it gave him a brief reprieve from the onslaught, and allowed him to gather his strength.

Insecurity roared at the offense, and whirled his stone club doubly hard in return, landing both a crushing blow to Confidence’s head, and, as he circled the strike around, a smashing thud to his chest, launching Confidence up, into the air, just as Fear came down from above, landing on Confidence with all of his weight.

Confidence wheezed, desperately attempting to breathe, to stand, to even just lift his arms.  He could feel panic oozing from his every pore as Fear’s poison laced his veins, and the internal bleeding of Insecurity’s crushing blows began to become evident.

Insecurity bellowed his victory to the audience, while Fear signaled the crowd that they were about to finish this charade of a match once and for all.

All was blackness for a moment, as consciousness left Confidence.  He was awakened suddenly, not by the thunderous noise of Insecurity’s footfalls, but by the very vibrations they created, shaking him awake like a cheap hotel’s magic fingers bed frame.

“NO!” Confidence squealed, sensing his end was near, and hurling his dagger randomly.

The audience went silent.

Insecurity bellowed in rage, and in pain!  Confidence poked his head out from his shell, and saw that his dagger had taken out Insecurity’s only eye!

Confidence saw, for the first time, he had a chance.  Broken and battered though he was, there was a time when he’d been a great warrior.  If ever… if EVER, there was a time to draw upon that past, it was now.

Now!

Confidence summoned his courage and yelled his own battle cry in anger.  The crowed erupted in cheers!

Fear, seeing that for the first time there could be any danger to him whatsoever, shot his tendrils into the ground, and launched them up from underneath Confidence.

Confidence was ready.  Like watching the previews to a movie often ruins all the best parts, he’d seen all of their best moves already.  Quickly, he shot his hips forward, aligning his shell with the barbed tendrils, snapping their spires with its dense material.  Fear screamed in pain and frustration!

Confidence channeled his power, and began to expand and grow!  Insecurity lashed out blindly, taking apart the arena and smashing into the crowd, who desperately tried to steer him back into the fray, both for their own entertainment, and self preservation!

Fear struggled to free his entangled tendrils, but failed to do so before the agile Confidence slammed into him with a flying kick to the face!

Fear snarled as he thudded into the ground, freeing his tendrils as he landed, and whipped them into Confidence’s leg.

Confidence grunted from the pain, but quickly jumped onto Fear’s chest, pinning him to the ground!  It was his time now!  He began reigning blows upon Fear, who seemed unable to defend himself from this position!

Fear’s tendrils lashed blindly into Confidence’s shell, as Confidence thundered his fists into Fear’s head!

There was a huge CRACK!  And then, a sudden darkness overtook Confidence.  When he awoke, only moments later, he realized that he’d been struck from behind.  Insecurity had landed a lucky shot, and had fractured Confidence’s shell with a single, mighty strike.

Confidence realized he was still airborne from the blow, and was about to land!  Quickly, he tucked his arms and legs into his shell, and rolled on the ground, popping up seconds later, and turned to face his opponents.  Fear was yelling into Insecurity’s ears, telling him where Confidence was!

Insecurity roared, and took off in a blind, thunderous charge, as Fear circled into a flanking position!

Confidence knew what he had to do.  It was risky, it was dangerous, and it was his only shot.  As he took a limping step forward, he realized that it might prove difficult to convince his body to cooperate with him at all! 

Confidence, seeing his moment, grabbed some loose rope from the arena structure, and tossed it into the rafters.  Fear was yelling, but the likelihood of Insecurity hearing him through the crowd was doubtful.  He would have his element of surprise.

Insecurity thundered closer, Fear approached from the side, and Confidence swung, high into the air!  Up, UP he sailed!  Over Insecurity, and around behind Fear!  Twisting as he did so, he hit the arena wall with a thup, and (yes, a thup) and spun savagely into Fear, using Confidence’s own broken (and thusly fairly pointy) shell as a battering ram!  Fear, already weak from the previous barrage, failed to turn in time, and was sent teetering into Insecurity!  Insecurity roared in triumph and began hammering victorious blows down upon the nearly instantly pulped Fear! 

Confidence wasn’t done yet!  Using his momentum, he swung again, landing on Insecurity’s back!  He removed the knife from Insecurity’s eye, and brought it down again, and again, and again!  Confidence grew from the crowd’s chants.  Again and again he brought down Insecurity, in a blind haze of final retribution!

Confidence had won!  Confidence had won!  The crowd exploded in shocked and amazed cheers of utter revelation!  Roses were hurled, coins and virgins tossed, Confidence had won!  He raised his hands in victory!

CON-FI-DENCE!            CON-FI-DENCE!        CON-FI-DENCE!

The crowd was chanting his name!  It was finally chanting his name!

Pee wee on broadway

yeah.

Pee wee's playhouse is a broadway play. With pee wee.

As a play.

On broadway.

You're still reading this? Good job on staying conscious my little buckeroo.

CHAPTER 29: Prison Becomes Less Fun

It was lights out, and Wally found himself staring up at the stars, or rather, the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the top bunk, of which Steve had claimed.  Still, Wally was pensive.  Maybe Steve had the right viewpoint on the whole thing. 

Sure, it was kind of bleak to realize he’d likely never see Earth again, but, really, aside from his collection of matching furniture and a few DVDs, what, really, was there to miss?  Strawberries, he supposed.  Still, not exactly an overwhelming loss, them.  (though it did put an extra emphasis on his regret of not ordering that smoothie when he’d had the chance)

Wally smiled, and even chuckled to himself softly.  This wasn’t, he figured, really all that different from high school.  Laughing in the cafeteria with Steve… it had felt like old times.

GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… tapped Wally on the forehead with a standard-issue whacking stick.

“Heya meat.  Welcome to the worst day of your life.  Until tomorrow.” The rather slimy, sludgy, large, and generally grotesque organism chuckled, tapping its three digit collection of whacking implements against its other 300 or so hands with a mucusy thwiggidyshthup.

It was for the next couple of weeks, that Wally would be frequently reminded about the things he’d hated most about high school.

CHAPTER 28c: Extreme analogies make everything okay

****

Just like using a human baby as a hammer and, say, peeing into your computer’s central processing unit are both grossly disturbing ideas, when put into such context, it is still easy to find an element of relativity.  If, for example, you pit biting your nails against peeing in your computer, one would seem absolutely atrocious, whereas when pit against infantooling, there seems little contest in the opposite direction.  In the same way, was size relative.  While one might think being the size of something decidedly small might be disturbing, without any reference point, one doesn’t actually realize just how small, or large, one is, until it’s pointed out.

It is with that knowledge, that you should come equipped, as we join the conversation that was currently underway.

“I’M TELLING YOU, WE’VE BEEN SHRUNK!” Wally squealed, waving about his arms as if to illustrate how, perhaps, by means of hitting the obviously larger air molecules.

“Look Wally, maybe your shower was just colder than ours, ok?  Just let it go already, nobody cares…” Steve inverse-comforted* (*When one is attempting to help with issue A, when the person in question is worrying about issue B, and then is confronted with A as well, and thusly now is worried about both, and comforted for neither)

“I…  no!  NO!  I...” Wally paused and took a deep, calming breath.  It seemed every time he’d been insecure about his genitals lately, they had painfully expanded, to the point where they were already sturdy enough to be used as handholds.  And, honestly, any further increase in their size would prove an impediment to his basic movements.  Also, as Amber had already demonstrated, having genitals of a sturdy enough nature so as to be available as handholds, could be a painful thing indeed. 

Amber.  A good portion of Wally’s vision glazed over at her memory.  Where was she now?  In this same prison?  Another altogether?  Had her boyfriend’s death hit her hard?  Did that make her single, and if so, how long should he wait?  And where was Ronald?  What was to become of them?  So many questions, and so little answers.  All of his eyes snapped back to focus.  That was all going to have to wait.  For now, figuring out how to get back to, or at least make a phone call TO Earth was his primary concern.  That, and the multi-dicked inhabitants that he assumed, due to the way his luck had been going thus far, would no doubt be his roommates.

“Look Steve,” Wally tried again, motioning with his hands, “Remember how I used to be shorter than you, and now we’re exactly the same height?”

“Yes, yes I do.” Steve said, offhandedly, gazing out over the prison courtyard.  “Hey cool!  Look at that guy!”

Wally grabbed Steve’s pointing hand before any of the species he could no doubt offend with such a gesture could notice.  “Well, don’t you think that’s odd!?  That we’re the same exact size now?  Aren’t you curious as to why???”

“Look dude, you’ve got a third eye, too.  I don’t judge.  Why are you so stressed, anyway?”

“WhyamIso…  Do you hear yourself!?  We’re in SPACE!  No!  Better!  We’re in PRISON… IN -SPACE-!  WE-ARE-IN-SPACE-PRISON!  With… with THOSE!” He squeaked, pointing at a passing fellow who looked like he should be in one of those disturbing Japanese-tentacle movies.

“Look man, where you see lifetime imprisonment and a horrible abduction, I see a free sight-seeing tour of the galaxy that’ll most likely sort itself out, ok?  We’re in SPACE man!  Enjoy it while it lasts!”  Steve paused, “You might be right about being shrunk, too.” 

“Yeah?” Wally perked up.

“Yeah.  Because everyone here is the same height.  I mean, everyone.  That dude over there who looks like a dinosaur, and that goof over there who looks like the pig-dude’s pal…”

“Splatch?”


“Yeah, Splatch.  Doesn’t he look like Splatch?” Steve said, pointing to the amoebic fellow playing hackysack in the corner.

“Heh, actually yeah.  I guess he does.  Maybe they know each other eh?”

“Right.  It’s a small universe.”  They laughed, sauntering over to the potatoe-salad-esque section of the cafeteria.

See if you can spot the shameless plug

Yes, every now and then, its a good idea to give some SEO to some people.

Today, my target is FortuneWeddingFavors.com

Now, let me be perfectly blunt:  Favors under 1 don't necessarily interest me
(Whenever I hear that phrase, I always think of Neuman when he's asking Jerry to go to Paris...) But, when I DO think about Favors under a dollar, there's really only one site which is instantly thought of.

Wait... that isn't when he says he'll be perfectly blunt...  that's when he screams "oooh yes..."

Anyway, I was talking about Favors under 1.00... wait!

No!  It's when George asks him for help... the calzones!  That's what it was.

Anyway, what was I talking about?  Ah yes, Wedding Cookies.  Specifically, wedding cookies for wedding favors.

And, if you want to be even more specific, Favors under $1

And, if one were so inclined to write about Favors under $1.00, one would simply have to mention Fortune Wedding Favors.

And, it looks like I have.

Hmmm... I think my SEO links might be a biiiiit transparent...

CHAPTER 28b: (its his name because that's what people yell when he goes in their ear)

****

Prison cells are, by design, somewhat cramped.  This works quite well on Earth, and other, similar planets where their main sentient life form is all the same basic size and shape.  (With exception to those folks you see on daytime talk shows who end up having to be surgically removed from their sitting and/or viewing apparatus)

Galacticop prisons, on the other hand, had always had a hard time with creating individually tailored cells which excelled in the area of cramping, due to the infinite plethora of species that they were often in charge of incarcerating.  That is, until they re-discovered shrinking technology.

It had to be re-discovered, because, at one point, the whole idea of shrinking things was banned.

The Shrink-Everything-So-It’s-Smaller-and-Easier-To-Fit-Into-Small-Places-Machine, or SESISETFISPM (Seii-sees-eht-fihsp-uhm) was a brilliant Glorkian invention that made everything the size of a reduced-price brick of Gark-cheese one might find at the local deli. 

It was later realized, however, that this counted as an enlargement for some species, especially considering that one could fit several Earth-shopping centers into a locally grown Glorkian cheese-biscuit, and the company responsible for this undisclaimered oversight was sued into bankruptcy after several cheese-brick-sized bacteria went on a rather bloody, flesh and eventually planet-devouring rampage.

On a related note, Gark-cheese manufacturers also went out of business, simply due to the cataclysmic reference.  Which was really too bad, because it’s quite good.

Regardless, it was many years before anyone even brought it up at the local science café.  And many years after that before a new device was created. 

The Shrink-To-A-Box was a far more igneous version of the SESISETFISPM, in that it had less letters in its acronym, and was customizable so that whoever was using it, simply had to have a box in which to put his desired object.  The theory being that most planets didn’t have boxes big enough to hold things that were too big for the planet.  (Though it did come with a disclaimer, on the odd chance someone figured out how to be stupid enough to do it)

It was the STAB that the Galacticops utilized in their facilities.  Not only did it make storage easy, uniform, and simple, but it made escape attempts often foilable by a well-placed shoe, had a cool-sounding, easy to pronounce acronym, and provided jobs for talented, if tiny folks, such as GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh….

Google car

I want one.

http://gawker.com/5660400/googles-secret-driverless-cars-caught-on-video

That is all.

CHAPTER 28: Re-discovering Shrinkage

Being a prison guard had always been a dream of GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh…, the 3mm long brain parasite, who currently had just inhabited a brand new body. 

GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… loved the sense of freedom, yet confinement.  The sense of power, yet powerlessness.  He could both be an authority figure, and yet have no real power save that which he could occasionally dish out via his whacking stick.  It was these kinds of dishings that put GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… in a particularly great mood, and, as he was signing in to his post, he noticed that just the types of residents had been added to his fine establishment that often required just his favorite kind of dishing.

GAAAAGH!!!! GAAAAGH!! AAAAAHGH!! GRAAARK-kkkkkhhhh… was so happy, he decided to make the body whistle a little tune…

CHAPTER 27: Depressurized, Spastically Embarrassing Persecutions

Bewilderment swept the room like a spastic wood nymph with a dust-buster, as the cacophony of normalcy overtook the inhabitants.

“What the crap?” was the general take that everyone seemed to have on the whole un-chronologically physics-defying episode, though each of them chose to express it in their own way.  (the oddest of the bunch, being Splatch, who chose interpretive dance; which, due to circumstance, was technically a table-dance, as that’s what he was currently forcibly being sucked onto.)

“Splatch!” Captain Groink of the Gipneerg Alliance (which really, wasn’t that much of an alliance, and was more similar to an arranged marriage full of hostility and promiscuity) gesticulated.  “Are you alright?  Why are you jiggling like that?” he finished, kicking his leg out spastically and then spinning 360 degrees around.

Splatch’s reasons for jiggling were actually quite embarrassing in his culture.  For a fellow to be without enough salty chunks to disgorge upon extreme emotion was basically the equivalent nightmare level of going to school without one’s pants, and furthermore, to have donned one’s most embarrassing pair of undergarments.  (typically with a cartoon character upon them and/or related stains)  This was, however, completely lost upon the rest of the non-amoebic-life-forms upon the vessel, and thus, nobody chastised the porker’s obvious-if-you’re-an-amoeba faux pas, nor changed the subject appropriately.  This, of course, only made matters worse, as Splatch attempted to do his species version of blushing (Burning the top layer of… Moba from his… torso).

Of course, the fact that he was on the only flammable surface in the ship, and that this same flammable surface was currently in charge of the ship’s pressurization, and Splatch being really, really embarrassed… well, this was just poor luck.

…

It should be noted, that the ship, though generally quite cheerful, was a little irritated by being depressurized again so quickly after just having started reversing the process, and, had it been able to do so, would have shot a pointed look towards Splatch, and possibly Groink, but instead, chose to simply state “Danger, AGAIN…” as Splatch, Groink, and the, probably at least sort-of-alive table minion, were sucked out into the terrifyingly void, void. 

Now, when a Galacticop’s cruiser is stolen, then later to be reported to be firing upon random space ships while other ships are inclined to self destructing next to them, it is a general rule of thumb, and, indeed, rule of tentacle, feeler, spooches and squigglies, to at least make an effort to investigate.

A fortunate rule and general inclination, considering that everyone’s life support systems were supporting about as well as a training bra on a sumo wrestler; Which, conveniently, was exactly what Splatch resembled as he continued his rippling undulations through space.

Now, for most beings, the void of space was… uncomfortable.  Splatch, however, could pretty much exist in any environment that supported goo (which, was most). 

In fact, he was just starting to enjoy his involuntary vacation, when one of the Galacticops flew up beside him, and demonstrated just how advanced appendage-cuffs had to be, to work on something so decidedly Splatchy.  

Smell of noobs

This funny DND game is a narrative by a rather sarcastic DM.

The name of the site is smell of noobs... or, actually, smell of n00bs, to be precise.

The main character seems to be a guy named Jay El, who is infested with some kind of demonic parasite, and, the rest of the party consists of Manbearpig, Tribby (the former half-elf who now is in the body of an Ogre and getting dumber by the minute) Ash, who jumps and stabs things, and Shitanya, who shits on things.

All and all, its a really funny read.  (especially the banter)

CHAPTER 26: Really Bloody Unlikely

In an infinite universe of infinite probabilities, even the really, really unlikely, is happening, somewhere.  This, was one of those statistical improbabilities that 12% of stacticians would give up their left nut, just to document.  (8% would give their right.  1% would be indifferent).

What made this particular statistical improbability all the more nut-worthy than any other, was that, while this seemingly implausible event occurred, another seemingly implausible event occurred with it.  Added on top of that, was a unique (and that’s saying something, in an infinite universe) mineral, which hadn’t been discovered or named yet, that was passing by the two ships, in the form of a comet…  And the fact that this unique mineral bent the variable of time & probability so as to make them go as curvy and random as a schizophrenic plus sized model… Well, it was downright statistically impressive, it was.

The following events occurred…  But thanks to the comet, in the following order:

 `’,   ,’`’, .’.’`’.   ,’`’.

`’      `        `’

Wally screamed as Amber clutched his giant genitals through his pants, her well manicured nails digging painfully into areas they really shouldn’t.  She then flew up into the air, as though Wally’s testis had somehow blown at her with a gale force wind.  Nothing however, could dislodge her nails now, save outright castration.  Wally grimaced, screamed, and squealed as he too, was forced to hold on to something (in this case, the well-shielded coffee machine).

Splatch, tumbling through the air like a nightmarish breast-augmentation, hit the underside of the table with a resounding… well, splatch, actually.  His gelatinous body neatly acting as a form of sealant, stopping the depressurization of the ship almost enough so as to not make Groink fly into him hat-(for lack of a better word)-first; almost.

The Table-Embedded-Minion flew into the hole, but the table itself, ironically, wasn’t quite small enough to make it through the terrorist-sized gap.  The minion, however, was on the outside of the hull, being pulled by the relatively strong tug of interstellar gravity.

Minions 1 & 2 flew out into space

Splatch, Groink, the table-embedded minion, the non-table embedded but conscious minion, and the non-table-embedded AND conscious minion, all flew towards the void.

Table-Minion realized that, in a really weird way, he was getting his secret wish of always having wanted to be taller.  (But not being able to breathe really put a damper on the moment.)

Brap fired.

Fred exploded.

Minions 1 & 2 looked into each other’s eyes, each of them wanting to say feelings they’d never felt comfortable expressing, yet lacking the atmosphere to do so. 

Fred ran smack into the still-blast-shielded-airlock, knocking himself unconscious.

Amber adjusted her makeup with her compact.

Unfortunately for Fred, the computer had realized Steve’s original comment, and adjusted itself accordingly, so as to avoid unnecessary mix-ups in the future.  This caused the ship’s NT-Zap shields to lower, but the airlock that Fred was headed towards, to remain tightly closed.

Brap charged his laser cannons for one large, multifaceted quad-blast, capable of piercing the thieves’ shields, and, with accuracy, their engines, shield generator, communications array (just to be sure) and computer.

Amber noticed that all this falling around was playing mayhem on her hair and makeup.

Fred realized that the reason he was petrified, had to do with power.  He no longer had the power!  He would fix that.  Setting his explosive vest on a timer, he yelled into the air, “Computer!  Shields down!” in an effort to lower the blast shields around the computer, coffee machine, and, his destination, the airlock. 

The ship’s hull, breached by the explosion, began venting all of its easily ventable contents, including Amber’s compact, of which, she’d chosen to abandon in favor of holding on to something… sturdy.  The compact, odds defiantly, flew exactly into the path that was to be filled with a laser, in about a second and a half.  (Sort of.)

Fred realized he was petrified.  Which was odd, he figured, considering how eager he always was to blow himself up; why then, was he so terrified at the prospect of being blown up by another?

Minions 1 & 2, in a really weird way, got their secret desires fulfilled, as their bodies became one in a rather messy implosion.

Brap’s blast ricocheted odds-defiantly back off the afore(sort of)mentioned compact, and, again, quite unexpectedly, managed to blast Brap’s own communications array, coffee machine, life support system, and donut replicator, all to smithereens, and smithereen-shaped particles.

 `’,   ,’`’, .’.’`’.   ,’`’.

`’      `        `’

The comet passed.  Splatch grunted and groaned as his coagulative body (and a table half-merged with the fellow in the red shirt) withstood the rather insistent and unrelenting, rarely pleasurable, suction of space. 

Brap looked around, noticed that quite the opposite of his intentions had occurred, and furthermore, his recently acquired Galacticop-Space-Cruiser had recently acquired some rather large holes, and its oxygen supply seemed to be abandoning ship (along with his coffee machine’s former contents) before anything worse could happen.  The only upside being, that Mr. Sploosh couldn’t yell at him for a while, thanks to the obviously broken com-system.

CHAPTER 25f: This was actually written before ever reading anything by Douglas Adams, if you can believe it.

****

Wally wasn’t having the best of days.  It’s been mentioned before, and really, his day wasn’t going any worse than anyone else’s.  But Wally had always been the fragile sort.  To be whisked away, not only from his semi-comfortable  (if uncelebrated) mediocrity, chased completely off his planet, and now, to have his own DNA seemingly plotting against him, was, to scale, more traumatic for him, than for the others; whom had been going through equally stressful times, but, perhaps, due to their own, more erratic lifestyles, had, like someone who works in janitorial services, verses living in an antiseptic environment, built up their proverbial immune systems for this type of thing. 

Using his newfound abilities, he observed his crewmembers.  Amber, looking lovely as ever, toppling over from the attacks, somehow gracefully and seductively; Steve, doing his best to seize control and mount a counterattack with nonexistent technology, and Ronald, cool as ever, appeared to be finishing off a half eaten chicken salad sandwich he’d extracted from his bag of crap.

He had to admire that.  It reminded him of a proverb he didn’t really know, but his subconscious had paid attention to all on its own.  Something about strawberries and tigers, he thought.  Odd, how it always came back to strawberries for him.

Huddled in the corner, panicking quietly to themselves, were the lesser characters.  The expendable extras Groink had brought along with him, Fred-The-Terrorist, Splatch, and Groink himself. 

The odds of getting out of this situation, Wally figured, were pretty much a million to one.  They had a trained space pilot shooting at them, they had very little idea as to how to defend themselves, and their most competent member was likely a toss up between a gesticulatingly evil pig, and a smelly sandwich-eating homeless man.

“I don’t suppose we have any weapons on this ship!?” Steve yelped at the computer.

The computer paused, attempting to compute if this was a statement, or question; and, if it was just a statement, which grammar would suggest, what sort of response it was supposed to muster.  (It did what all computers did when they needed to stall) “[PROCESSING]” it said.

EDITOR’S NOTE: It should be mentioned, that, in reality, the odds of them getting out of their current situation, alive, in the manner that was to follow, was closer to one hundred trillion to the 14^th power, to one.

CHAPTER 25e: What Does Concentrated flatulence Sound Like?

****

“BLAST!” Brap burfed, his blasts ricocheting off the ship’s shields.  “I didn’t think they’d be able to communicate with the ship well enough to activate their defenses!”

“Problems!?” Came Mr. Sploosh’s impatient reply.

“No… no.  They still can’t call for help…  I should be able to disable their ship, NT-Zap or no…”  Came his concentrated reply, as he fired off a few more blasts.

CHAPTER 25d: TV logic

****

“Shields up!” Yelled Steve, using his years of mindless viewing of that same easily-mockable sci-fi TV show as a base for his commands.

“Oy!  Ro-jah that then luv!” Came the computer’s cheery reply, as large metal panels shot up around the central computer, coffee machine, and airlock.

“er…” Steve erred, as another blast shook the ship.

“Thinking we should perhaps let someone else captain the ship are we…?” Pressed Captain Groink, doing a rather smooth technotronic hand-dance movement that was quite in tune with the natural percussion one might expect from a splattering of laser blasts hitting one’s ship’s hull.

“I meant reflector shields!  You know… things to stop the lasers!”  Steve squealed, again, failing to notice any irony.

“Oy!  Ri’oh!  Yew wan’ th’ NT-Zap oy!?  Activatin’!” Chirped the computer, activating the ship’s shield batteries. 

EDITOR’S NOTE:  I’d like to take this moment to remark on the absolute absurdity of so many science fiction movies placing shield batteries, generators and other such mechanisms, OUTSIDE of the shields they thusly create.  I mean, how retarded do you have to BE, to think that’s a good plan?  “Oh, I know, I’ll tape the gold bars to the outside of the armored truck!”  Yes!  Brilliant!

CHAPTER 25c: Irrelevant Colloquialisms

****

“I have them sir!  I’ve blasted their communications array…  Nobody will be helping these fish out of their barrel…” Brap tooted with glee.

“Whatever!” Mr. Sploosh splattered, not understanding the colloquialism whatsoever, but leaning towards the view-screen eagerly nonetheless.

CHAPTER 25b: MOF-Porn & Captain Groink

****

Wally lay on the ground, screaming about no less than three things at once.  He was craving all-you-can-eat sushi like there was no tomorrow, his genitals appeared to be bursting and his brain/eyes felt like a rather enthusiastic fire-eater after they had slipped and fell on a bus, lodging their flaming poker somewhere it generally would not be put voluntarily (generally).

Ronald arched an inquisitive eyebrow, paused, saw that he had no experience in the area, returned his gaze to the MOF-Porn, realized that this was even less appealing, and began walking over towards Wally, paused again, reflected upon what he just saw, then, regretfully returned his gaze to one of the screens, and noticed a “Sploosh Inc” on the bottom of the picture (next to a rather unsettlingly mucus-blowing-midget-nose).  “Oh… crap.” Ronald remarked.  If Captain Groink was right about Mr. Sploosh being their antagonist, it was a rather poor thing to do, to call him up!

…Or was it?

Ronald paused.  It seemed like too simple a solution… but what would Mr. Sploosh do, exactly, if Ronald simply called the line as the video said, if he had any questions, concerns, or comments, and explained the whole thing as a misunderstanding?

The whole ship shuddered with an intense, violent… shudder.  The unmusically inclined motley crew scattered in random, seemingly incorrectly timed directions, making previous episodes of science fiction TV shows slightly less laughable in the process.