Hail Potato!
As if flood gates had burst, the torent of the
STUPENDOUS SPACE SEVEN !!!!!!
spewing forth from the airlock in an all out sprint for the bathroom of
was an impressive display of raw power and instinctive necessity.
Unfortunately, there was a ghastly long line awaiting them. "I have
to GOooooo!" whined Krauslich, tugging at the pant leg of the hairy old
lady in line ahead of her.
"You wait your turn, missy! Why, in my day we use to hold our
bladders for days on end. 'Course we didn't have toilets back then..."
Krauslich repeated herself slightly louder and slightly faster.
No result. The hairy old crone kept on a yipperin'. Krauslich repeated
herself again. No result. She jumped up and relieved herself on the
hairy old lady's head, and then promptly sodded off looking for chocolate.
Arbourbot (who was free of the mundane necessities of biological
life) and Krauslich then aproached the counter of Guy & Guy's
Bar & Grill, manned as it happened by chance, by Guy & Guy himself. Guy
& Guy was a fat old ball of lard, two heads, and an odour which did his
seemy establishment did no justice, which was saying something indeed. "I
would like to order food," said Arbourbot, in a not unreasonable tone.
"All I gotz, iz diz 'ere Spacegruel," said Guy & Guy's more
sociable head, lifting up a transparent tub of putrid looking green stuff.
"I aint gotz nothin' else."
"Your order menu displays a varied complement of nourishments for
all shapes and sizes of life forms," Arbourbot pointed out, again in a
reasonable tone.
"Well, I sez, well yer can order what'cha like. It just might
take awhile, like 'til da next shipment comes in."
"When shall that be?" asked Arbourbot, still being reasonable.
Guy & Guy shrugged, releasing toxic gases from beneath his deadly
armpits. He never turned away a paying customer. "Zoon, zoon," he said,
"wouldn't'cha like some booze while yer waitin'?"
So Arbourbot obligingly ordered for everyone: A pallet tempting
slugzoid pizza for the Baron of the Cosmos, a yummy Ultrameal (with a
prize!) for Krauslich, a McBarfwich for Buckaneer Weiler, plenty of
sunshine and water for Captain Potatohead, a glade of fresh grass for
Astro-cow, whatever it is one eyed one legged fork tongued llamas eat, and
a tasty '74 vintage oil from the planet Sludge for herself. Guy & Guy
obligingly left with their orders before Krauslich passed out.
"Hey, kid."
Arbourbot turned to see who had addressed her in the patronizingly
familiar. The owner of the words she'd have been made to swallow if she
wasn't just so terribly dangerous looking belonged to a mean looking
poncho wearing Mexican desperado. The desperado lifted her head pack just
slightly to reveal two beady eyes that were formally concealed beneath her
huge tassled Sombrero, which fixed on Arbourbot with a shocking vehemence.
"There aint no food in this joint, never will be. See them Gringos
there?" the desperado said, waiving a deadly looking hand ominously in the
direction of a table for four in the corner. "They've been waiting nine
years!"
"Hey, waiter!" belowed one of the justifiably aggrevated thugs at
the table for four. "Where's my Burger and Fries!" He then drew out a
nasty looking Zap-o-Matic and let loose a few warning shots in the
direction of a worried looking droid who was apparantly the waiter. Now
that she noticed it, it seemed to Arbour that there wasn't much surface
area in the establishment that wasn't pitted by laser blasts.
"What-" she began in a totally appropriate shout, when the strange
desperado lept from her stool at the end of the counter and knocked her to
the floor. Apparantly, the thug had decided to get a bit creative and had
started picking off other customers, and had planted a pistol shot right
where Arbourbot's head had been. "Thanks stranger," she shouted, relieved
to no longer be confined to civil volumes. "What's your name?"
The desperado smiled at her, though her eyes maintained that
deadly glint. "Smack" was her response.
* * * * *
The worried looking serving droid had taken cover behind an
upturned table next to the bathroom. Those thugs had always been trouble.
It wished it could just serve them some food and then send them on their
merry way. But where was it to find Burger's and Fries in this backwater
in the middle of nowhere?
Just then Captain Potato Head and Astro-Cow emerged from the
bathroom.
* * * * *
A sleek looking Galactic patrol squad ship pulled up to the Guy &
Guy's Bar & Grill. The zealous looking Space-cop confirmed on his monitor
that the plates on the cushy model of galactic caliber space ship matched
those of the one reported stollen. A cruel smile came to his lips. This
was the part of the job he liked best. He donned his Cool-Man (tm) shades
and reached for his Mega-Messy-Tissue-Disruption-Rifle.
* * * * *
The viewing screen turned red, and a little target symbol locked
on to the infra-red electronic renderings of Captain Potato Head and his
side kick Astro-Cow. A beeping noise. The words -IDENTIFIED AS FOOD-
flashed accross the screen. They were replaced an instant later by the
word -COOK-.
The worried looking serving droid intercepted Captain Potato Head
and Astro-Cow before they could rejoin their friends, who were gathered at
the bar counter, casting wary glances at the thugs at the table of four,
who had subsided their attack for the time being. "No sirs!" he said in
his most servile vernacular rendition, "A special reservation has been
made for sirs. Your table is this way." The worried looking serving
droid ushered them through a pair of swinging doors into the kitchen
beyond.
* * * * *
Across the distant reaches of the galactic spiral arms came the
demanding call of Princess Becker. "HELP!"
Stay tuned next week for further adventures of
THE EXITING SPACE EIGHT !!!!!
The Baron