This Chain Story is based on an original and insane idea by Lewis Smith and was taken from the ONGOING NAMELESS Forum. Last update November 16th 2004.

[NOTE: The following story is meant to kick off a series of stories which will form a completely insane series of parodies almost tho not quite as good as if you huffed gasoline while reading a Douglas Adams book. That means, if you must contribute to the story, keep that in mind. It's not a serious story--it's meant to be absurd. Anything that tries to steer this story in a non-laughter direction will be deleted. Remember to have fun.]
~ Lewis Smith ~

Captain's Log:

Heh. I said "Log."

Day 23 of a 5 day journey of the USS Hoohoo Diddy. One of our engines is broken and since our engineer, Sir Dingly Dong, has a severe head wound when he's not drinking himself senseless and demanding we call him the Mighty Scottish Timbre, we've decided to change our mission. Now we're going around the universe. To the left.

My bridge crew is functioning normally. Our navigator, Pickles, has decided to live life as a woman, but a manly one. With genitals. My weapons officer, Mr. Hohenzoellern, has become bored supervising weapons since we don't have any left (after the engine incident I have ordered stricken from the record) he has decided to enroll in a correspondence course in a clown college. While any hope of having decent weapons is done, we all enjoy his fun "whoopee cushion" gags.

Our communications officer, Lt. Cheeks, has been hunched over her console for days now for all we know. Her haughty emasculating nature is so pronounced, no one will talk to her. Plus she has a restraining order out on me. She might be dead or playing computer solitaire. In any case, she didn't laugh at the jokes I made this morning so she' off the cupcake list for the rest of the week.

Finally, we have out science droid, TARD. TARD is a special kind of droid, he's been designed to be completely stupid. Also he yodels for no apparent reason. I think he's evil, myself. I've decided to keep a closer eye on him since he tried to cut out my pineal gland with a toasting for while I was practicing my bugling yesterday.

Have just passed through a strange energy cloud which TARD suggests may affect the crew's short term . . ."

Captain Luther Pecos Hankyyanker, paused, trying to collect his jumbled thoughts. What had he just been doing? Oh yes, recording the log entry for the day.

"Captain's Log. Heh, I said "log.""

contributed by Lewis

Tard looked around the bridge. It was just as usual. The captain was muttering inanely as he strolled around, Lt Cheeks lay across her console, snoring softly, Hohenzoellern, dressed in his scarlet and yellow clown suit, chuckling as he placed yet another whoopee cushion on the captains vacant chair.

Pickles staggered past, tottering on his latest pair of black stilletoes, his antique Versace dress billowing around him.

Tard tried to scowl, but failed. Keeping his left eye fixed on the captain, his right swivelled around to the microwave, lurking suspiciously in the corner. He hated that microwave. It was after his job, he knew. One day he planned to destroy it. He had already tried, sneaking up on it with a large sheet of aluminium, only to be discovered when that damn Swiss-made computer chip started him yodelling again.

He glared at it again, as the captain sank back down in his chair and the whoopee cushion did its job, the obscene sound mingling with Hohenzoellern's giggles of amusement.

contributed by Gillian


Captain Pecos chuckled. This made an even 20 times that Hohenzellern had gotten him with the "whoopee cushion" gag.

"Captain, I'm getting something on the viewer," Lt. Cheeks said.

Pecos leapt out of his chair. "OH MY GOD! YOU'RE ALIVE!"

"Well, obviously sir," Cheeks replied. "Shall I put it on the viewer, sir?"

"No, why don't you do it, Cheeks?"

Lt. Cheeks sighed. ". . .of course, sir."

The image on screen wavered into view like a busted TV set trying to pick up the weakest UHF station in town. In the middle of a rather unspectacular field of stars was an object, perfectly square and wholly unlike anything Pecos had seen in his travels.

"It's huge," Hohenzellern said.

"It's ominous," TARD chimed in.

"It's delicious," Pickles mused, licking his fuschia-painted lips.

"It's a turkey sandwich," Pecos finished. "A five mile wide turkey sandwich."

"They're requesting communications, sir," Cheeks replied. "They say we've trespassed in their space."

"Oh? Anything else?"

"Yes sir. They sound like Orson Welles with a head cold."

"Really? I LOVE 'Citizen Kane!' Put him on," Pecos replied, sitting in his chair as the whoopee cushion made another squeak.


"Ooo, could be bad," Pecos said. "TARD, any thoughts?"

"Yes, sir, Kill the microwave before it kills me. Please." The droid replied. He was trembling, as he could feel another yodeling spell coming on. His eyes cut to the Microwave. "You think I don't see? You think I don't see your evil eye, undressing me like and leaving me naked before your evil heartless--"

"I meant about the sandwich, TARD," Pecos replied.

TARD looked back at the sandwich. "Yes sir," he replied. "I don't think he sounds a THING like Orson Welles."

"No, he really, doesn't, does he?" Pickles said.

"Did anyone know this was their space?"

"Beats me sir, I haven't seen the map since a few days before we ran out of toilet paper," Hohenzellern said.

"That was about the time the toilet was clogged by that big paper towel, wasn't it?" Pecos replied.

"Uh. . .yeah," Hohenzellern said. "Are you insinuating something?"

"No, just making conversation, really," Pecos said.


"I got nothing, guys," Pecos said. "I say we play dumb."

"You mean starting now?" Pickles said, fixing his hair.

"Captain, I think you should disable the audio feed," TARD said urgently. "Now."

"Oh, c'mon, TARD," Pecos said. "It's not we're diplomats or anything--"

"But Captain, my Swiss chip--"

"Anything we say to each other is perfectly fine for the giant sandwich to hear."


The sandwich suddenly turned, its bread and meat vibrating with something like anger.


"Uh-oh," Pecos said, flipping a switch. "Guess I better turn this on."

Suddenly the dulcet strains of Air Supply's soft rock classic "Lost in Love" roared over the intercom system of the ship as a soothing female voice tried to disarm any feelings of panic that might be spreading among the crew.

Unfortunately no one could hear it over the flashing red lights and the siren.

"Well, Hohzellern, what are our options?" Pecos asked.

"Well, sir, we have no weapons, apart from my can of snakes, the whoopee cushion, my seltzer bottle, and this book of insults. Our attacker is a giant turkey sandwich with enough K-tryptopahne to knock us all on our sorry turkey-loving asses. I recommend we cry like children until it flees, upset by our lack of self-respect."

"That's a good plan, but wait!' Pecos said, leaping from his chair. "But I have another plan. It's called . . . plan B!"

contributed by Lewis

"Plan B?" Pickles queried, as he adjusted the straps of his Wonderbra. He'd washed it the night before and couldn't do a damn thing with it this morning.

"Yes," Pecos answered, marching purposefully towards the microwave.

Tard watched warily as Pecos pulled open the door and peered inside. The microwave beeped softly and Tard leapt backwards, knocking Pickles into Cheeks.

Pickles huffed with annoyance. Her uniform clashed so appalingly with his dress. Had the woman no dress sense at all? Turning around, he flounced over to the microwave to join Pecos, his stilleto heels clicking on the metallic floor of the bridge.

"Well?" he demanded. "What's Plan B?"

Pecos looked and him and frowned. "Damned if I know. It's just that the sandwich made me feel hungry. I thought I'd make a snack."

Tard moved away, his back up against the wall. "Noooooo" he yelled. "It's evil, I tell you... evil...EVILLLLLL!"

Pecos began to speak but was interrupted as Cheeks ran over to the control panel. "I know, Sir," she exclaimed, flipping the switch to the sound system. "I can save us!"

The music died away, to be replaced by something none of them, save Cheeks, had ever heard before, as Nerf Herder's Love Sandwich blasted over the speakers and into the cosmos:

"Girl sometimes you're hungry,
You want something to eat
You don't want no little salad yes you want a lot of meat
You don't want no pastrami,
And no corned beef on rye
Girl there's only one kind of sandwich that's really gonna satisfy

Love sandwich
Love sandwich, uh huh
Love sandwich
Love sandwich, uh huh

This ain't the kind of snack
That you get from your mommy
Your mommy ain't never seen such a whole lot of salami
Girl I'm gonna take you on a superfantastic trip
Cuz, baby you haven't had nothing til you've had my miracle whip"

The turkey sandwich began to sway in time to the music. The crew watched, mouths agape, as tiny fragments of filling started to fall from it.

Small pieces of meat, together with minute crumbs, fell amongst the stars as the turkey sandwich danced on, oblivious to what was happening.

contributed by Gillian

"It's working!" TARD exclaimed. "The sandwich is completely pacified by the music."

"That's swell," Pecos said. "Guess I won't need to use plan B after all."

"Out of curiosity, sir, just what was Plan B, anyway?" Pickles asked.

"Well, in the dark days before man went into space, it was decided that the crews of spaceships needed various methods of crisis management to cope with the mind-bending unpredicatability and and myriad threats of outer space," Pecos began. "Plan A involved ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away. Plan B--"


The entire ship shuddered.

"What the hell was that?" Hohenzoellern asked?


"Sir, the sandiwch," Cheeks said. "It's . . ."

"Captain," TARD said. "I beleive the sandwich got the wrong message from the song."


"You mean . . ."

"That's right Captain. It's mating with the ship."

Pecos was aghast. "Oh sweet zombie Jesus," he said. "The half-hour of training I got before I took command covered a lot of things. How to tack up pictures, what kind of wine goes with fish, the proper way to set a table. But nothing about how to deal with a giant sandwich trying to fuck your ship. People it's time for PLAN B!"

Everyone stared at Pecos.

"Sir," Cheeks whispered. "You never told us what Plan B was."

"I didn't?"

"No sir."


"OK everyone!" Pecos said. "Plan B. . .RUN AROUND AND SCREAM AND CRY LIKE BABIES!"

"CAN DO, SIR!" Pickles said, getting up from his seat and running around in place. "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! WHAAAAAAAAA---Ok, now, seriously, how are we gonna get rid of the damn sandwich?" Pecos asked. "Has anyone got any suggestions?"

"Let's hurt its feelings!" Pickles suggested. "We could call it fat!"

"Well, that's not gonna work," TARD said, his voice reverbrating with the microwave on his head. "It's at least 100 square miles--of course it's fat. Big, fat sandwich. "

"I could go for a big fat sandwich right now," Hohenzoellern said, getting up off the floor. "All that acting like a baby plumb wore me out."

Pickles lifted a chair and smashed it over Hohenzoellern's head. "That's IT! Hohenzoellern, you’re brilliant!"

"What is it?" Pecos asked.

"Never mind his plan, I know what to do!" TARD said, yodeling under the microwave. "Check this out, I've got JETS!"

The deck underneath them shuddered as TARD engaged his jets for the first time, flew into the air, crashed into the ceiling, and fell back down to the deck, snoring and yodeling, the microwave still on his head.

Pecos watched the robot sleeping at his feet, its legs twitching as if dreaming of chasing rabbits. "Okay, seriously, what's the plan Hohenzoellern?"

"Bluh . . ."

Pickles smashed the chair over Hohenzoellern again. "It appears he's been bashed in the head with a chair a few times sir. Hang on a minute." Pickles vanished, then returned dressed as a crusty English detective with a tweed coat and fetching pink slip. "It's a MYSTERY!"

"Sir?" Cheeks asked. "I think I know what Hohenzoellern was going to say. I think we was going to suggest--"

Cheeks was cut off by a wheezing, grinding noise. Gradually, as if through the magic of chroma-key, a blue police box faded onto the bridge. The door to the box opened and a crazed-looking British person, resplendent in long scarf, long coat, and near-illegal head of curls popped out.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm the Doctor. Do you have a bathroom?"

Pecos pointed over to his left. "Second door down."


"Ok, we've tried pretending it's not there, acting like babies, and all we've done is piss off and excite the sandwich in equal measures," Pecos said, ticking them off with his fingers. "That leaves only one option left. I'm afraid we'll have to get used to being shtupfed by luncheon meat for the rest of our mission."

"Or, we could just eat it."

Pecos looked at Cheeks, as if she's just grown a second head, and suddenly, she did.

"WHAT did you say?"

Cheeks' second head was about to say something, but she slapped it so hard it popped off, grew another person and ran away. "I was saying, sir, maybe we should just get everyone on the ship to eat the sandwich."

Pecos thought about it for a second. "Hmm, yeah, that might work. Have your nasty little second-head clone or whatever the hell that thing is and wake everyone up and tell them the plan."

* * *

An hour later, everyone was clear on what they had to do, but Pecos still felt like wasting time. The sandwich had rolled over and decided to make sweet love to the other side of the ship and left a blot of what everyone desperately hoped was mayonnaise on the viewscreen.

Their situation had not improved much.

"All right," Pecos said. "You know the plan. When I give the word, everyone on the ship will exit the ship and eat as much of the sandwich as they can. We'll worry about stupid stuff like how we'll survive when there's no air in space in a story that has real science in it. Are there any questions?"

TARD zoomed by in the smashed remains of the microwave, now customized into a soapbox racer with the crudely painted title "Swiss Miss" (itself fraught with misspelling) on the side.

"I have a question, sir!"

Pecos raised an eyebrow.

". . .How do Pop Tarts work?"

Pecos looked at him, then started sobbing for a long time. Ten seconds later, he was over it and walked to the ship's intercom. He knew the lives of the crew were riding on this, and he needed to motivate them in such a way as to embolden them and make them feel like the fate of the universe hinged on their success.

Now, was the time for a rousing, mighty speech that would cause the hearts of men to swell and their eyes to mildly tear up. Not too much tho, that would be sissy-fied.


At that signal, the crew of the HooHoo Diddy leapt out of the ship and began eating the sandwich, which continued its ministrations on the ship, oblivious to the multitude of humans swarming over one corner like a flock of hungry ants at a strangely outsized picnic.

* * *

Three hours later, the crew of the HooHoo Diddy was back aboard the ship, their bellies full of turkey. Drowsy and flatulent, they sat on the floor, heads leaning against the consoles , they stared at the ceiling.

"How much. . .how much is left?" Hohenzoellern asked.

"Three . . .quarters," TARD said.

"Hey robot, how were you able to eat, anyways?" Pickles asked, his slip now much less fetching as it was covered with giant crumbs and stains.

"I wasn't supposed to," TARD said. "The turkey . . .is alive . . .in my BELLLYYYYYYY!"

"Sir," Cheeks said, going to sleep for five minutes. "I don’t think we can eat . . .the whole . . .sandwich. We're just too. . .sleepy."

"Then there's only one option left," Pecos said. "We'll have to use our ultimate weapon. TARD. Come with me!"

The now-drowsy robot and the captain walked to the elevator. Pecos opened the screen door to the elevator, whacking TARD in the head in the process. TARD stumbled into the elevator and Pecos closed the door, making sure to jiggle the handle before he pushed the button.

The elevator's cable snapped and fell down a flight of stairs, banging and clanging like a flaming trash can full of enraged wolverines. Pecos and TARD stumbled out of the elevator, deep in the lower decks of the ship. Pecos fumbled for the string and turned on the light.

The lower decks of the HooHoo Diddy looked like someone's attic. Large cardboard boxes full of old ballet costumes lined the hallways as Pecos and TARD walked quietly through its dusty corridors.

"The only chance of defeating the sandwich lies with a weapon I'd pledged never to use," he said. "Basically, when the HooHoo Diddy was built, we were in a time of peace and weren't really paying attention, so we built our ships around people. Big, pink wormlike people.

"They were the building block of our ultimate weapon. No real reason why, they just happened to fall asleep on break and ended up walled up in the ship. So we kept them alive, feeding them waffles until they grew to morbidly obese proportions, flatulent and weeping in their tiny rooms . . .waiting for their chance at VENGEANCE."

TARD stared at the door before them. "So why did you need me to come down here, then?"

"Oh, well, I was worried that if I said all that and I was talking to myself, I’d sound insane," Pecos said. "The other reason is that I wanted to open the door."

Pecos picked up TARD by his feet and smashed him against the door.

* * *

The sandwich was puzzled. The ship-thing seemed somewhat unresponsive to his sweet loving and what's more, something has mysteriously gnawed off a corner of it's soft whole wheat turkey body.

And for some reason, it was getting dark all of a sudden.

The sandwich looked up just in time to see something screaming towards him, something weird, pink and fat.

"OBESOR HUNGERS!" was the last thing it heard.

* * *

Pecos walked onto the bridged and pitched TARD's caved-in skull back into the microwave's remains. The weird droid kicked its legs back and forth like some weird thing that had no name.

"Okay," Pecos said, pausing for the THHBBBBBBTTTTTTTTT of the whoopie cushion. "Now that the sandwich is taken care of, let's head on out of here. Where shall we go next, anyway?"

Hohenzoellern shrugged. "I got nothing, sir. Still sleepy from the turkey."

"And I'm stinky from it," Pickles said. "And Cheeks' snoring is getting on my nerves."

"Very well," Pecos said, standing up and spreading his legs to look more dramatic. "Only one destination awaits us . . .set your course for the Planet of Really Interesting DUNG!"

"AI'ITE Captain!" Pickles said, slamming the "GO" button with his forehead.

Pecos slumped down in the seat. "Well, with the sandwich crisis averted, maybe now things will calm down. After all, there's no overt danger or crisis now. Who's for some lunch?"

"Uh, sir?"
Hohenzoellern said. "The robot's got the microwave. We can’t have lunch."

Pecos' eyes narrowed with the dual forces of rage and turkey fueled diarrhea.


contributed by Lewis


TARD backed into the corner as Pecos advanced on him, thin robot arms waving wildly, the microwave wedged onto his head like some kind of silly hat. “No, you can’t… it’s evil, I tell you!”


Pecos shook his head. “It’s only a microwave, you insane recycled cuckoo clock!”


Cheeks sighed, moving to the left of Pecos, to block TARD’s escape route. “This is serious, Captain. We have to have it back or we don’t eat.”


Pickles staggered over to take up a position near the bridge entrance, tugging at the front of his dress to straighten it. He took up a stance he’d learned from his copy of Women’s Hockey Defence Weekly, knees bent, arms wide, ready to grab at TARD should he come in that direction.


TARD’s eyes swiveled around the room, searching for some means of escape. If he could just leave the bridge and jettison the microwave into space, he would be safe. Even with its superior brain, it could never find a way to press the buttons that released the outer door and would allow it back in.


“Give it back!” demanded a voice behind him, and TARD jumped with fright as Hohenzoellern leapt at him, knocking him to the ground.


“NOOOO…DLEOLDEAYYYYHEEEEHOOOO!” TARD yelled as Hohenzoellern, Pecos and Cheeks piled on top of him, frantically trying to wrench the microwave from his head.


Pickles watched thoughtfully for a moment as limbs flailed in the air and bodies moved over bodies. Then, with a grin, he carefully removed his stilettos, placing them carefully on the ground and dove into the pile.


So busy were they all in trying to remove the microwave from TARD that they failed to notice the door slide open and a small red faced man, white bandages wrapped around his head that gave him the appearance of some kind of Eastern mystic – or would have, were it not for the accompanying kilt and sporran he wore - lurched onto the bridge.


“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded, his knees buckling as he tried to hold onto the wall. The kilt swayed revealing his thick hairy knees and the sporran made a strange wailing sound.


“Hush, Fluffy!” he said, smacking his hand against it, the sudden movement causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

contributed by Gillian

Pecos' eyes narrowed on Pickles as the mysterious Scotsman-thing tried to right itself.

"Corn Devils," he said.

Pickles pondered this, then smiled. "Honey Bunches of Futility!"

"Fruit Rats!" Cheeks chimed in.

"Frosted Pimp Smacks!" Hohenzoellern said.

TARD squirmed in his seat, probably because he'd been duct-taped into it. "Uh . . .hang on, I've got one . . .Baby Oat Bricks!"

"Oh, that's stupid," Pecos said. "You always screw up the Cereal Game, TARD."

"I'm sorry, sir," TARD said. "I think the sandwich is still messing with me."

"Uh, sir?" Pickles said. "I uhh . . .have to go, and that guy's been in the restroom for a long time now."

Pecos looked over at the weird man in the dress. "Now, now Pickles, you know the rules. All crewmembers have to use the Happy Bag."

"I don’t want to use the Happy Bag!" Pickles thundered. "That restroom has like 20-30 stalls. It's half the bridge. Why do we have to use the Happy Bags?"

"Well, something might happen and we'd need the bridge crew here at all times," Pecos said. "It's really quite logical if you think about it. Astronauts have used ancestors of our Happy Bags for centuries, now."

"Astronauts had complex waste-disposal systems in their suits, sir," Pickles said. "The Happy Bag is just a stupid paper bag with a smiley face on it we're expected to pee in and throw in the fridge. It's disgusting."

"But the person with the most Happy Bags gets their pick of whatever's in the fridge at the end of the day."

"Sir, would you want anything out of that fridge?"

"Uhm, no. No, I guess not."

"So isn’t it possible this was just another insane decision by our Space Command? Like the one they had running for a week that said we all had to wear huge codpieces with tea towels hanging off them."

"Mmm, with bells on them," Hohenzoellern mentioned. "I felt so manly that week."

"Anyway, sir, my point is, maybe we should bend the rules in this one instance and allow the bridge crew to use the bathroom, huh?"

"But what happens if something happens?"

"Then we could come in running with our pants down."

"But then we'd look stupid."

TARD spun around in his chair. "Well, sir, actually we already look--"

"Quiet, laughing demon!"

A volley of oranges sent the bound robot spinning in his chair. Pickles turned to Hohzenzoellern, angrily brandishing a ripe California orange.

"Yes, well, sir, uh . . .about the restroom," Pickles interjected.

"Yes well, Pickles, it's a good idea, but I think we'll stick to the Happy Bags for the time being. I think there are actually giant monsters in the toilets in there that consume the people who use the toilets. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t just made it up."

"Gee, thanks, sir," Pickles said, grudgingly grabbing a Happy Bag. He waited until Pecos turned away then inflated the bag. "Ok, see I'm using the Happy Bag and OH GOD! I'VE BEEN SHOT!"

The loud report of the bag exploding distracted everyone's minds from the illogic of Pickles saying he'd been shot before the sound of the alleged shot. Pickles slumped back in his seat and crumpled the Happy Bag in his hands. Hohenzoellern ran over to the slumped corpse and looked him over.

"Oh GOD sir, he's alive, but dead," the weird clown said. He rifled through pockets of his crewmate. "And his pockets were full of delicious tiny candies! It's a mystery."

Pecos looked at the corpse on the bridge. Pickles, now quite dead, breathed quietly as Hohenzoellern continued rolling him for goodies.

"I don’t think it’s all that much of a mystery," Pecos said. "In fact I've solved the mystery already. It was . . .tiny people."

"Tiny people, sir?" Cheeks said.

"That's right," Pecos said. "Tiny people. The same ones that steal your socks and your pens and hide your car keys. They knew Pickles knew their secrets. Perhaps he had even known them personally, perhaps even starring in a few totally immoral sex films with them. For his transgressions against the common morality, they murdered him."

"That reminds me," Hohenzoellern said. "How's your mom, Ed?"

"No . . .wait!" The weird talking sporran said. "The tiny people are innocent! And besides which, he's not dead!"

Hohenzoellern glared at the bizarre Scotsman. "He is too!" He began vigorously tickling Pickles corpse. Pickles let loose with a mad, howling cackling laughter. "He's ticklish! Only the dead are ticklish!"

"No, no," Fluffy stammered, still groggy from the slap to the sporran. "Once you hear the story of my tiny folk, you'll know our innocence."

"Uh, Captain?" Cheeks said.


"I think we should hear the nasty thing out."

"Well I don't," Pecos said. "What if its words are lies?"

"What if they’re not?"

Pecos thought about that for awhile. "Hmmm . . .that's an interesting point. Oh well, sort it out yourself, I'm going to sleep."

Pecos immediately slumped in his chair and started snoring.

"Ok, well, tell your story, Fluffy."

Fluffy cleared his throat and started to tell a bizarre and improbable story.

contributed by Lewis

“I was born a long time ago in the Highlands of Scotland, one of a litter of five Haggis’.”

“Haggis?” Hohenzoellern queried. “That’s a kind of Scottish food, isn’t it?”

“Ah,” replied Fluffy. “That’s just what they want you to think!” He sighed and the prone Scotsman stirred slightly, muttering in his drunken sleep,”och, aye, the noo.”

Fluffy paused for a moment then, as Sir Dingly Dong fell silent again, began to speak.

“We played in the heather, ran over the mountains, young, playful, innocent haggis who had never known men. Then the huntsmen came, flashing their hairy knees and blinding us with the horror of what was under their kilt. We were helpless, helpless, I tell you!”

His voice rose to a plaintive cry and Sir Dingly Dong sat up, suddenly, his eyes wide, as he yelled, “Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!”

“Dear God,” Pecos jumped to his feet and stared at the Scotsman who fell backwards, his head thudding against the ground and his eyes closing immediately. “What’s wrong with Dingly Dong?”

Fluffy sighed. “Ignore him. It’s Scottish cliché syndrome, brought on by the bang on the head.”

“Is there a cure?” Not waiting for an answer, Pecos turned to Cheeks. “Check our medical databanks immediately. This could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How so, Captain?” Cheeks looked at Hohenzoellern, who replied with a shrug.

“It’s almost Burn’s night. Can you imagine an entire night of that? Dear God, the bagpipes alone could be enough to kill us or turn us all insane.”

“Bagpipes?” TARD looked terrified, well, as terrified as it’s possible for an expressionless metal robot to appear, at any rate. “Bagpipes? Ohhhh… no… not that… that’s inhuman…those poor creatures, pushed and pulled by freezing cold Scottish fingers, forced to utter those hideous tuneless screams. No… nooo… YYYYYODLEOLDEAYYY!”

“Shut up, TARD, or I’ll feed you to the microwave.”

Pecos’ threat worked. The robot stopped in mid yodel, his eyes darting around the bridge for any sign of his rival.

“Captain?” Cheeks was puzzled. “What exactly happened to the microwave and how did TARD end up tied to that chair?”

“I don’t know, Cheeks.” Pecos swiveled around in his chair and stared at her, the whoopee cushion making a loud noise as he did so. “You did it, didn’t you?” he accused her. “This is all part of some fiendish plan to declare me insane and take over the ship!”

Cheeks sighed and shook her head. “No, sir, you were already declared insane before we came on this mission, don’t you remember?

Pecos frowned. “So that was the paper they gave me? I thought they were top secret orders, so I ate them. I had to smother them in ketchup first and those paperclips really got stuck in my teeth.”

“But weren’t you supposed to memorise them first?”

“I was? Why would I do something like that? They were top secret.”

Hohenzoellern picked up his red clown nose from his control panel and slipped it on as he paused to think of an answer. Before he could speak, however, a loud angry voice interrupted them.

“Do you want to hear my story, or not?” The tiny Haggis quivered with suppressed rage.

Pecos looked contrite. “No, not really… oh, I mean yes, of course.”

“I was taken away from the Highlands, kidnapped by these evil brutes…”

Suddenly, the strains of almost unbearably sad music filled the bridge and the crew looked around to see two men, clad in dark suits, violins tucked under the chins, their eyes closed as they played an accompaniment to the Haggis’ story. Unnoticed by the others, Pickles sat up, a tear making its way slowly down his cheek as he listened.

“And eventually here, imprisoned in a sporran, to await my awful fate. To be eaten, on Burns night, with neeps and tatties.”

Pickles was sobbing loudly now, wiping at his face with the hem of his dress. The violinists played louder, trying vainly to drown him out.

“I’ve always wondered, “Pecos mused, settling back on his chair as another obscene noise erupted from the whoopee cushion, “why bagpipes have so many legs and why it seems to hurt them so much when people pull on them?”

“Is that ALL you have to say?” Fluffy almost screamed at him. “I tell you my heartrending story and you’re concerned about bagpipes?”

“Er… well, yes… I just wondered…”

“And what makes you think that bagpipes have legs anyway?”

“Those things that dangle down… I thought they were… what are they then…ohhhhh.” Comprehension finally dawned on Pecos as he winced and crossed his legs.

“But I don’t understand,” Cheeks said, shouting to be heard over the violinists and Pickles. “I thought a sporran was some kind of purse that Scottish men kept their money in and a Haggis was something made to be eaten.”

“Scottish men don’t carry money, they’re far too mean,” the little Haggis replied indignantly. “A sporran is a lunchbox and I’m lunch.”

Cheeks nodded. “Of course, it all makes sense now. Where else would someone keep their lunchbox than there, between their legs?”

The music rose to a crescendo, wrongly played notes vibrating in the air as the violinists turned on each other, fencing furiously with their bows. As the stunned crew watched, one feinted and drove his bow beneath the others arm. He fell to the ground and the other, horrified at what he had done, drove the bow into his own armpit and fell on top of him.

Pickles immediately stopped crying and a huge smile lit up his face. “Now that looks like fun,” he muttered, wiping away tears and snot with his dress. “Hang on, boys! I’ll be there now!”

Cheeks shook her head and looked away. Pecos shifted in his chair, giggling at the sound of the whoopee cushion and Hohenzoellern grinned and adjusted his clown suit.

“Wait a minute,” Hohenzoellern frowned suddenly. “What does this have to do with tiny people?”

“Nothing,” the Haggis admitted. “It was the only way I could get you to listen to my story.”


contributed by Gillian

"So," Pecos said. "You basically lied to us just to get us to hear that insane story?"

"I LIKED that story!"

"Shut up, Pickles, you're dead, remember?"

"Oh, right, sorry."

"No problem, now, Fluffy, explain yourself."

"I have no explanation," Fluffy replied. "I was deliberately wasting your time."

"Oh, OK then," Pecos said. "Well, even though there's no plausible way I'm allowed to punish you for being so very . . .Scottish . . .I'm going to make up one right now. Your punishment is to clean up all these dead violinists on the bridge."

"Oh is that all?"

"Yeah, we're pretty easy," Pecos said.

"Uhh, sir?" Hohenzoellern said, as Fluffy got to work hucking the violinists out like so many chicken necks. "We're coming up on the Planet of Really Interesting Dung now."

"We are?" Pecos said. "Why that's swell!"

"Quite," Cheeks said. "Now why were we coming here again?"

"I--you know, I can’t remember. I lost it when the nasty Scottish thing was talking about neeps and tatties. That's so funny to say!"

"I heard that!" Fluffy yelled.

"I hear they have some amazing dung on that planet," TARD said. "Just the most interesting piles of waste you've ever seen."

"It's really interesting all right," Hohenzoellern said. "And they got a funnel cake stand too!"

"Mmm, I like funnel cake," Pickles said.

"Hey, aren’t you dead?" Hohenzoellern asked.

"Hmm? Me? Oh, right--ughhhhh . . . " Pickles slumped back in his seat, his eyes rolling back in his head and his tongue lolling out looking for all the world like a corpse that was trying far too hard.

Pecos stood up in his chair, completely missing Hohenzoellern sneaking up behind him and dropping a tack onto his seat. "OK, everyone, change into your spacesuits, I'll fold that big piece of paper in the hangar bay into some shuttle thing and get us down there. If that doesn’t work, we'll jump down. Really, how far could it be?"

"Three thousand, four hundred--"

"TARD, microwave. I've told you."

TARD cowered behind the chair, yodeling quietly as he cowered.

"Sir what about Pickles?" Cheeks asked. "Seeing as how he's dead and yet very lively, maybe we should leave him here on the ship."

"Do you think that's safe?" Pecos asked. Behind him, Hohenzoellern was shaking his hands together, as if to urge Pecos to sit down. "He's a corpse. What if he starts to smell?"

"Well, I doubt we'd be able to tell the difference."

"Well, you've got a point there," Pecos said. "Everyone suit up for the planet. Pickles, you . . .guard the ship in spirit or whatever."

Pecos started undoing his spacesuit as Hohenzoellern cried and banged his fist against the console in frustration.

* * *

Several hours later, the HooHoo Diddy was quiet, except for all the noisy bits. Pickles sat alone on the bridge, now free of any pretense about playing dead, doing a crossword puzzle. He felt happy. It had almost been worth the whole "playing dead" thing--after all with them gone, there was no one to see him use the restroom, and good thing. He'd been holding it in for what felt like forever. The afterlife, clearly, was hell on continence.

Behind him, shadows played over the wall, strangely odd phallic shapes, drifting over the wall like disturbingly bulbous ghosts. If they were ghosts they had an appalling sense of direction, as the shadows seemed to stop and bang into things at alarming intervals.

Pickles heard something behind him, something that sounded like rubber scraping against metal. He stood up, lifted his slip and pulled his zowie gun from a garter on his leg. The zowie guns were astounding weapons, especially as they were fairly useless as someone in Space Command had mistakenly figured that the crews of starships couldn’t be violent.

So the zowie guns basically caused erratic and random changes in behavior, like manic depression, a sudden desire to be Irish, or a sudden interest in lichen botany. Nonviolent, true, but for some reason, the zowie gun's effect always seemed to end up killing its target, and that was when the user didn’t just turn the thing around and bash people with the butt of it.

"Who's there?" Pickles asked, as the squeaking sound echoed in the bridge again. He wheeled around, zowie gun at the ready. "I may be just one lone transvestite with a stupid toy gun but . . .I'll club ya! I'll do it! Come on out."

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DO NOT MOVE!" A highly grating electronically treated voice called back. Gradually, the weird bulbous shape came into the light. It was tall, slightly curved, and a disturbingly pinkish flesh colour. Two large round wheel-like things seemed to turn underneath it as it wheeled unsteadily towards Pickles.


"Uh, what the hell are you supposed to be?"


Pickles groaned, and somewhere out in the infinite universe, everyone reading this story did too.

* * *

"Man, that dung is really . . .interesting" Hohenzoellern said in between mouthfuls of funnel cake. He was dressed in what passed for his spacesuit, a plastic smock emblazoned with a clown with "SPACE" written crudely written all over it in red magic marker.

"Yeah, I mean, most dung is just crap," Pecos said, adjusting his black domino mask. "But this is mighty interesting crap."

"I'm stunned," Cheeks said, her voice muffled by the welder's mask she wore. "I mean, dung is one thing, interesting dung is another but a whole planet full of just . . .really interesting dung . . .wow."

"Well, technically it's not just dung," TARD said, jamming his caramel apple futilely against the fishbowl over his head. "They've got an awesome food court."

"You know, that brings to mind a question," Pecos said. "If the entire planet's made of dung . . .where does the food come from?"

Hohenzoellern's eyes bugged out and he spat the partially chewed remains of his funnel cake out of his mouth. "AAAAAAAGH! NOOOO! The funnel cake is fetid DUNG! There is no God, do you hear me, THERE-IS-NO-GOD!"

TARD took a long look at the caramel apple. "Sir, my scanners indicate that this really is a cara--"

"Quiet TARD, I'm torturing the nice clown's sanity right now."

* * *

"So, let me see if I understand this," Pickles said. "You're a bunch of aliens who drove themselves to extinction by their constant use of sex toys . . .and then you created even larger sex toys to truck about in . . .and now you want to conquer the universe?"

"THAT'S PRETTY MUCH IT, YEAH," The Dildalek responded, trying to nod, and instead making an entirely inappropriate flexing motion that made Pickles sick to his stomach. "YOU SEE, WHEN WE BUILT THESE THINGS, WE DIDN'T THINK TO PUT ARMS ON THEM, AND THE ONE EYE WE HAVE IS WAY UP HERE ON TOP. AND THE ONE EYE WE HAVE IS WAY UP HERE ON TOP. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY CENTURIES I'VE BEEN STARING AT CEILINGS?"

"Why no arms? I mean, it seems sort of elementary. People need to grab things, even big fake rubbery penis-things."


Pickles regarded the Dildalek with a mixture of pity and disgust. "Okay, aesthetic questions aside, why the whole "enslaving the universe," bit?"


"Uh-huh," Pickles said, looking at his zowie gun. "You know, I was all set to use this on you, but after hearing that story, I'm really almost tempted to use it on myself."


Pickles had had just about enough of this. "Or what?"

"OR WHAT? OR WHAT?!?" The nasty pink thing said, hopping up and down. "OR I'LL DO . . .THIS!"

The Dildalek fell over and began buzzing against the deck of the ship. Pickles, stared at it for a minute, and shook his head, then took the opportunity to run over to the far side of the bridge, demurely holding up his slip as he ran. The Dildalek buzzed angrily in a circle.

"G-G-GET B-B-B-BACK HERE!" The giant sex toy cried, turning in a slow circle as he vibrated like a spastic turtle. "P-P-P-PINKY TO RAMPANT RABBIT: B-B-B-BEAM THE REST OF TH-TH-THE D-D-DILDALEK STRIKE TEAM OVER HERE AND FOR GOD SAKES GET ME UP OFF THIS FLOOR!"

Pickles threw the zowie gun over at the Dildalek, who made some weird squeaky noise. Pickles looked behind him and saw a small refrigerator and frowned. He only had one weapon left, and it was determined to do nothing save make everything worse.

He opened the refrigerator and started throwing the contents at the Dildalek.


contributed by Lewis

“Hmmm,” said Pecos, looking at another sculpture made of dung. “This is just so … interesting, isn’t it?”

Cheeks twisted her head, trying to see the sculpture from different angles. “Ohh, yes sir. It must be the most interesting place we’ve ever visited.”

Pecos nodded then, pushing TARD to one side, so that he could get closer, prodded the sculpture tentatively. “Do you think they’d miss it, if we took it with us?”

Cheeks thought for a moment, then nodded. “The Venus De Milo captured in dung, complete with flies? Yes, I think they might, sir. If only because they’d miss the sound of buzzing.”

Pecos sighed and stepped back, treading on one of Hohenzoellern’s enormous clown shoes.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Cheeks. It’s a shame though. The smell might be just the thing to disguise the odour, should Pickles starts to decompose.”

Hohenzoellern frowned, pulling at his shoe and trying to dislodge his captain.

“Perhaps we should go back, sir? What if he’s already begun to do so? And we left Sir Dingly Dong there too, unconscious on the bridge, which leads me to one important question. Who’s driving the ship right now?”

“Er... yes, that’s a very good question, Hohenzoellern.” Pecos spun around to glare at Cheeks, releasing Hohenzoellern’s shoe suddenly, so that he fell over, crashing into the Venus De Milo dung sculpture and smashing it into pieces.

“Who is driving the ship, Cheeks? You’re the communications officer so someone must have told you.”

Cheeks shook her head. “I thought you knew, sir. After all, you are the captain.”

“I don’t even know how we’re supposed to get off this planet, Cheeks.” He glared at his crew. “Does anyone have any ideas about that? I mean, it’s interesting, of course, but we really should be going now.”

Cheeks shrugged. “Sorry, sir, the paper was torn into pieces by the people of this planet as soon as we arrived. They said they needed it urgently, but I have no idea what they intended to do with it.”

Hohenzoellern got up, brushing at his clothes and trying to ignore the flies buzzing noisily around him.

“So we have no way of getting back to the ship?” He waited as the others seemed to think for a moment before shaking their heads. “What about that transportation device they loaded onto the ship? Doesn’t that work?”

“Ah, yes,” Pecos wrinkled his nose and turned to Cheeks, making sure to stand downwind of the terrible odour. “What about it, Cheeks? Can we use that?”

Cheeks cleared her throat and looked uncomfortable. “Well, it works, sir, but there’s just a very slight problem with it that you might need to know about …”

“Well, we could always follow that sign to the departure area. After all, they have so many people visiting this interesting planet that they must have arranged some way for them to leave.” TARD pointed to a large sign to the left of what was left of the Venus De Milo dung sculpture.

“Right, we’ll try that first.” Pecos glared at Cheeks. “But when we get back to the ship, I want to know all about the problems with the transportation device.

Back on the ship, Pickles had finally run out of happy bags. He leant against the refrigerator, breathless with exertion, watching the Dildalek vibrating and turning on the floor of the bridge.

“HELPPPPP MEEEE…I’M GETTING DIZZZZZYYYYY…” The strange pink creature pleaded.

Pickles snorted. “Why should I? You came here wanting to enslave me. You’ll have to give me a very good reason to want to help you.”


Pickles looked at the Dildalek for a moment, then made a face. “You have a point. I don’t think I want to see that. All right, then, but no enslaving while I do it.”

Not without some difficulty, Pickles helped the odd pink creature off the floor. As he stood next to the Dildalek, one arm around him, a big smile suddenly lit up his face.

“You know, I think it would be a good idea if I held onto you for a minute or two. Just in case you fall over again.” He moved closer, his arms tightening around it, pressing his body against the large vibrating alien. “Ohhh…yesssss …or maybe a little longer…ohhhh …”

Pecos gazed at the Departure Area in disbelief. “This is the way they expect us to leave this planet? Methane powered pogo sticks?”

“It makes sense, when you come to think of it, sir.”

Cheeks picked up one of the large pogo sticks and began to bounce across the room, joining the throng of visitors trying to leave the planet. Occasionally a noise, not unlike a very loud fart, would ring out and a pogo stick would launch itself into the air, leaving behind an incredibly noxious smell.

Pecos sighed and selected a pogo stick, as did the others. Soon they were all bouncing frantically, the stench from the departing pogo sticks urging them on to make even more of an effort.

Cheeks was the first to leave, an unmistakable odour of turkey accompanying her departure. Pecos was next, followed by Hohenzoellern, with TARD yodelling madly, as he too finally shot up towards the ship.

contributed by Gillian

Aboard the Rampant Rabbit, the remaining Dildaleks were preparing to board the HooHoo Diddy. The crude, cheap plastic Halloween masks they wore over the ornately circumcised heads.

"ALL RIGHT," the lead Dildalek said, the sagging elastic band causing the Frankenstien mask he was wearing to slip down. "WE'RE GOING TO BOARD THE SHIP AND RESCUE OUR LEADER. THIS IS AN INFILTRATION MISSION, SO WE WILL BE UNDERCOVER."

"SO THAT'S WHY WE'RE WEARING THE MASKS?" One of his subordinantes asked, his Wolfman mask bobbing up and down as he started to vibrate.




The other Dildaleks gave random, mumbling renditions of the lead Dildalek's words.


* * * *

"And another thing, your stupid guardians of the forest ruined my wedding!" The sobbing woman on the television exclaimed. As she said this, huge gnarled branches were holding her and what Pickles assumed was her fiance in their clutches.

"Leave me alone dear," the groom said wearily. One of the trees produced a pink toy squeky hammer and began slowly bashing him in the skull with it. "I'm so drunk I'm seeing green caterpillars serving me drinks and opening doors for me."

The bride glowered at him, the relentless squeaking of the hammer against the head of the man she loved driving her insane.

"You're not drunk," she said. "You're just a dumbass."

"I am not! I'm a good neighbor!"

"Liar! LIAR! Just for that . . .I'm gonna do it!"

"No! Don't! Not the password!"

"YES, the password! Anything to get us out of the damn trees!" the bridge took a deep breath and shouted to the skies. "SMOG MONSTER!"

Pickles smoothed out the filthy stained dress now covered in crudely drawn pictures of a pencil and a donut in black crayon. The cigratte Pickles was smoking dangled from his lip in a way that would have been cool if the rest of the universe were immediately struck stupid.

"This is my favorite TV show," he said. "What about you?"

Pinky the the Dildalek sighed. "I WOULDN'T KNOW," it exclaimed. "I ONLY HAVE ONE EYE AND I'M SMOKING A CIGARETTE WITH IT."

Pickles sighed. "You complain way too much, Pinky. I can see this relationship just isn't going to work."


"I'd like that," Pickles said. "But only if I get to tenderize the rubber balls with my own forehead. It preserves the flavor that way."


"Thank you, Pinky. I'm drunk on life. And clam juice."

Pinky noticed a strange sound below the deck of the HooHoo Diddy.


"I thought it was the TV, dear?"

Suddenly the floor beneath them puckered and the head of a man popped through the deck.

"Hi Captain!" Pickles exclaimed. "Meet Pinky he's my new best wife, friend, and pet ham."

Pecos, his head poking up through the deck looked the Dildalek up and down. "Hey TARD!" He exclaimed. "You gotta see this!"

TARD's head smashed upwards next and his mechanical eyes bugged out in shock and horror. "Oh my God," he said. "They're doing . . .nasty humpty work!"

Hohenzoellern blasted through the deck soon after, then suddenly sharnk to the size of a thimble and scampered out of the hole, doing a stupid dance in a hula skirt he pulled from thin air. Then just as suddenly he popped back to normal size, zowie gun brandished.

"Ooooooooo! You nasty thing! Have you no respect for the dead?" Hohenzoellern said, waving the gun from Pinky to Pickles. "And you--you're dead. Have you no respect for being dead?"

"I'm sorry," Pickles said. "I forgot. I blame the sandwich!"

"You always blame the damn sandwich! But not this time!" Hohenzoellern said. "You're dead, and by the power of my zowie gun you'll be . . .MORE DEADER!"

"No, don't do it!" Cheeks said, punching through the deck and out the roof. "I wanted to seeeeeeeeeeeee. . . ."

"You're right Cheeks!" Hohenzoellern said. "He's too GOOD for the zowie gun. Instead I will kill them with this bar of decorative soap I had wedged in my ear."

"TARD, we've got to get out of here," Pecos said. "For some reason, Hohenzoellern appears to be going apeshit."

"APE! Hohoenzoellern said, leaping around the bridge like a monkey. "APE! APE! APE! AAAAAPE!"

"Yes sir," TARD said, activating his jets. He rocketed out of the hole and smacked against the ceiling once again, then pulled Pecos through. "It's worse than I imagined sir. I think Hohenzoellern has become slightly stupid."

"You think it's the sandwich?" Pecos asked.

"No sir," TARD said. "I think it's just stupid."

"Me too," Pecos said. "Let's pretend it goes away until everything is solved for us."

"That's a great idea sir!"

Pecos and TARD ignored everything and sat down to watch television. By now, the bride had run off with the man she summoned with the password, Buck Naked, the Blue Diaper Genie, and he was fighting the trees with horrible singing and repeated slaps against his flabby blue chest.

"So when do you think this will all be solved for us, sir?" TARD asked.

"APE! APE! APE! APE!" Hohenzoellern said, leaping around the chairs and making the signal for "cup."


Pecos looked over his shoulder. "What the hell was that?"

TARD watched as the lead Dildalek came in again, his Frankenstien mask now somewhere around the fleshy pink scrotum.

"I think it was--"


"--something very stupid, sir."

contributed by Lewis

The Dildalek moved towards TARD, who jumped up and grabbed at Pecos, pushing him towards the strange pink creature.

“What is it, sir?” he asked, cowering behind his captain and trying very hard not to yodel. “And what are drapes?”

“It’s a…” Pecos peered at it and frowned. “Damned if I know, TARD. I know what it reminds me of though and it scares the hell out of me. As for drapes, they’re male ducks, aren’t they? But I have no idea what anyone would want with them.” He smiled and licked his lips. “They’re pretty tasty with an orange flavoured sauce, of course, but that’s not going to help us here.”

Then Pecos glanced at Pickles and nodded knowingly, smiling and winking at him. “I think this might be where Pickles comes in handy, even though he’s dead.”

Pickles giggled girlishly and TARD glared at him as Hohenzoellern reappeared and plucked a banana from behind Pickles’ ear, sat cross-legged on the bridge and began to eat it, peel included.

“Isn’t that just the nastiest thing you’ve ever seen?” TARD asked, his eyes still on the Dildalek.

“Well, I once saw someone eat an entire chilli and vindaloo curry paste aubergine salsa, but that comes pretty close,” Pecos replied, watching and wincing as Hohenzoellern took the whole banana into his mouth before biting down hard on it, the pale fruit bulging from the skin and splattering onto the floor.

He licked the remnants of the banana from his chin and looked up at them, an evil grin on his face.

“OOOOOOHHHHH!” said the Dildalek, in a horrified tone. “RESCUE MISSION ABORTED. IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF HERE, MEN.”

He hopped around to face in the opposite direction, the Frankenstein mask still swinging around and impeding his already restricted movements, when a sudden scream made him stop and look up at the ceiling.


“TARD, I know that voice. I’ve definitely heard that scream before…”

Pecos looked up at the ceiling of the bridge where a dark shape could be seen approaching through a large hole in the metal.


The shape crashed through the ceiling, landing on the unfortunate Dildalek and knocking it to the floor where it flopped around like a fish out of water, the shape clinging to its back in a manner reminiscent of a rodeo rider.

“You know, I was wondering where Cheeks had gone to,” Pecos observed, looking down at his communications officer. Flushed and disheveled, she was clinging to the Dildalek as he writhed on the floor, her legs wrapped firmly around him.

“Oooohhh, now that’s a big one,” Cheeks said appreciatively, a small smile beginning to light up her face.

Pickles flounced over and grabbed her hand, bringing her roughly to her feet. She scowled at him for a moment, then tossed her head and reached down to help the Dildalek to stand up again, just as Pickles did the same. The Dildalek bounced unsteadily from one to another, the Frankenstein mask tearing free from the elastic and falling onto the floor.

Pecos shook his head and looked around his bridge, desperately seeking someone sane to talk to. With a resigned sigh at finding no one suitable, he turned to TARD once more.

“So, TARD, what are we going to do with these aliens? Any ideas?”

“Ohhh… we could always… make friends with them, Captain?” Cheeks was smiling as she ran her hands over the hairless pink head of the Dildalek, much to the obvious disgust of Pickles, who was glaring angrily at her. “After all, they’re so friendly…and so big…and so friendly…and really, really big.”

Pecos rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen bigger.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked down at himself. “As a matter of fact…”

“YYYYYODLEOLDEAYYYYHEEEEHOOOO!” Tard yodeled, pointing at the computer screen.

“What is it, TARD?” Pecos asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Cheeks and the Dildalek and focusing on the screen, his eyes widening in horror as he saw what was coming towards them.

“Oh, great fiery balls of onion bhajis, that’s ALL we need!”

contributed by Gillian

"Oh man," Pecos said, waving his hand in front of his face. "I can't beleive I thought this was something threatening and panicked. I am REALLY sick today. I blame. . .the sea. The mysterious sea."

TARD, yodeling and firing his jets, crashed into the wall next to Pecos. "Sir," he said. "I think we have real problems."

"I'll say," Pecos said. "I just realised I've been wearing my underwear on the wrong side round. It's. . .really uncomfortable."

Yes, sir, I'd been meaning to mention that to you," TARD said. "The persimmons you;ve been putting down them isn't helping either I'd imagine. But I meant with the crew, sir."

"Oh, right," Pecos said, narrowly avoiding a bannana peel. "You mean with Hohenzoellern thinking he's a monkey and Cheeks and Pickles. . ."


"In the worst sense of the word, yes." Pecos said. "Yes, this is a real problem, and even a throroughly skilled, competent officer would have real trouble. Fortunately, that's not me. TARD!"

"Yes sir?"

"You're promoted to Captain! Fix everything!"

Tard blinked. "But sir, I--"

"Come on TARD! You;re a Captain now, you have to make the big desicions, you--YAAAAAAAAAAAGGGH!"

"APE! APE! APE!" Hohenzoellern cried as he jumped on Pecos' head, sending him sprawling to the deck and crushing the persimmons in his underpants with a sickening squish. Hohenzoellern beat Pecos with a banana in a futile attempt to jumpstant the Conquest of the Apes, while TARD hopelessly tried to make since of the higgeldy-piggeldy before him.

Clearly things had gotten far too silly for anyone's comprehension, and only a massive reversal could fix things. However, any attempt to ignore things would lead to cries of "reset button!" from Space Wank's 4 snarky Internet fans.

What do do?

"Captain!" TARD cried.

"Yes, TARD!" He answered himself.

"I've GOT IT! TARD said.

"It's not another one of those things where you yodel and crash into something is it?" TARD cautioned.

"Nope nope! This is really good one! You remember how Superman 1 ended?" Tard askd, excitiedly pumping his metal fists and legs.

"You mean with him flying the earth backwards?"


"Yeah, I remember. I thought it was a load of bollocks," TARD sneered.

"Well, I didn't!" TARD replied. "It could work, and it won't be a reset button, and everything will be fine."

"You;re mad." TARD replied.

"Shut up, me!!" TARD said, beginning to run around the bridge, faster and faster he went, screaming like a banshee and flailing his arms, and knocking Cheeks off of her Dildalek with a sloppy, but surprisingly well-exectuted clothesline.

"It's working!" TARD yelled, running faster. "I'm going back in time. AAAAIIIIIIIIGGHHHHH!"

Reality began to blur around him, and he could hear snatches of the past, present, future. All of it very weird and insane.


"Permission for persimmons. . .persimmons. . .persimmons. . ."

"Sammich. . .sammich. . .sammich."

"ooooh. . .BARRACUDA!"

Finally TARD came to rest, hands on his cute anthrompomorphised robot knees and looked around. With any luck, he's run the ship far enough back in time so that all that nonsense could be done over, the right way, a better, more loving way.

Just as soon as he had a long lie down, because he was really dizzy right now.

"Wait. . .what happened?" Pecos said. "Why are my underpants full of persimmons? And squished persimmons at that. My boys. . .are sour."

"And why am I eating bananas?" Hohenzoellern said, tossing a peel away. "I HATE bannanas!"

"Well, I'm glad you asked, Hohenzoellern because--YEEEARGH!" TARD said, as he slipped on the bannana peel and crashed to the deck.


"Yes, and who are you?" Cheeks asked.


"No, seriously, the last thing I remember was being dead," Pickles said. And TARD running around the bridge screaming like a lunatic. Hey, TARD are you OK?"

"Are you there God? It's me, TARD." the beleagured machine/former captain said pitifully.


"Yeah," Pecos said.

"Pretty much," Pickles said.

Pinky buzzed and rattled and became so angry he fell over. Hohenzoellern helped him to his base and Pinky stopped vibrating and glowered.

"OKAY, THEN," Pinky said, bouncing in an exceedingly weird way towards the door. "WE'LL JUST BE GOING THEN."

The crew of the HooHooDiddy watched as the sex toy-like creatures filed into the elevator and prepared to depart,

"Hey, Pinky?" Pickles asked.


Pickles threw and exceedingly moist egg salad sandwich at the Dildalek, smacking it with a big SPLAT! noise.

"YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK INSIDE," was all he said.

Pecos watched as the Rampant Rabbit pulled away for destinations unknown.

"You know," he said. "They seemed so much like us, except not. I wonder if some day we'll meet again. We'll teach each other such mysteries. And we can tell them we just pretended we'd gone back in time to annoy them and get them off the ship."

"I wonder if they'll figure out I put sugar in their gas tank," Pickles said. "Also, I don't know how old that sandwich I threw at him was."

"You had a sandwich under there?" Hohenzoellern said, looking under the controls for the ship.

"Oh no," Pickles said. "I've been giving birth to sandwiches ever since the whole thing with the big sandwich."

"Seriously? That's gross," Cheeks said. "Especially since you just threw it at Pinky like that. He really looked heartbroken."

"Sir?" TARD moaned weakly from the deck. "Am I still Captain?"

"Only in THE FUTURE, TARD, you silly insane machine," Pecos said. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Right! Now who wants to play a pirate memory game?"

contributed by Lewis

to be continued...

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