The Millenium Vulture raced towards the white sun.  Perhaps it was
the likelyhood that she'd be boiled alive in her own skin or perhaps it
was just the lingering stench of the now departed Guy & Guy, but Smack,
that deadly desperado, was feeling just a little bit queasy.
        She cast her gaze of death at Arbourbot.
        "How do you do that, exactly?" asked Arbourbot.
        "What's that?" replied Smack, for the sake of conversation.
        "Affect that deadly air?  How do you make yourself look so
dangerous?"
        "Why do you care?" asked Smack, feeling just a bit smothered.
        "Well," confessed Arbourbot, "Truth to tell, you scare the
freakin' willies out of me."
        "Oh," said Smack.  "It's probably just these HATE-DEATH-KILL
contacts I bought on Delta Centauri.  They often make people
uncomfortable.  Ha!" she laughed, though not the hearty laugh of someone
who wasn't plunging at that moment towards certain death, "I forgot I had
them on."
        Tap Tap Tap.
        The noise of their salvation came from the storage hold in one of
the more dank and neglected extremeties of the decrepid space hulk.  Smack
and Arbourbot rushed hence and opened the door....
        -AND OUT POPPED A HIDEOUS BLOOD SUCKING PARASITE FROM DIMENSION Q!
        They both screamed in terror!  And then...
        -Well, then they noticed it was the size of a fingernail and so
squashed it fitfully into a pulpish mass of gunk.  Then outpopped
Astro-cow.
        "Astro-cow!" gasped Arbourbot.  "How did you get in there?  And
what's that thing stuck to your ass?!"
        At first they thought it was a much larger, more dangerous blood
sucking parasite from dimension Q, but, as they saw it, it was entirely
misplaced to suck anything but...
        -"Well actually it is our late commander Potato Head's mouth, and
it is a toothy little blighter.  Be a dear and remove it, please."
        Arbourbot had totally forgotten how patronizingly snobbish
Astro-cow was.  Grinding her own teeth, she and Smack set about pulling
Captain Potato Head's mouth off of Astro-cow's bum.
        Thwop!
        This is the author's best interpretation of the resulting sound
-use your imagination.  
        "Ahhhhh!" cried the mouth of Captain Potato Head, "Thak you eber
so muck!  I'b been stuck on dere for soooo log!"
        "Captain Potato Head!" they all cried, "You're alive!"
        "What's that, I can't quite hear you!?" it responded.
        By playing a game similar to Marco-Polo (Liquor-Gimme on
Chisholm), they were able to find one of Captain Potato Head's ears in the
glove compartment.  "That Guy & Guy is really sick," said Smack.
        Oh yeah, in there excitement they seem to have forgotten that they
were strieking towards a white sun and certain doom.
        "Ahhhhhhhhh!" they screamed, to renew the intensity of the moment.
        "What's going on, I can't see!" cried Captain Potato Head's mouth.
        They told him.  He screamed too.  The Millenium Vulture swept
towards the awsome heat of the white sun at an incredible speed.
        Fortunately, Captain Potato Head had some experience in flying
space vessels, and gave detailed instructions on how to change their
course.  Unfortunately, he shortly thereafter determined that all the 
functions were malfunctioning and that he was sorry but they were all
going to die.  He mentioned how swell it was to have known them all, as
well as the humoungous glob of earwax that he'd be forever greatful to
whoever removed it.
        They all screamed again.  
        And then the ship crashed.
        Somehow, however, they all survived.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *
        That swashbuckling devileer, the handsomely adventurous and
all around great guy Baron of the Cosmos also, in fact, ended his long
plunge, in his case through a pan-spacial, inter-temporal,
trans-dimensional vortex.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *
        The dismembered sensory organs of Captain Potato Head had been
just a bit more than disconcerting: stumbling upon them was just plain
gross.  A sharp order to that worried looking serving droid had remedied
the situation soon enough, however, so now Buckaneer Weiler could get on
with having a fabulous time.  Unfortunately, she was stuck in a run down
spacestation off the beaten track, in a seemy neighborhood of disreputable
asteroids.  On the up side, she did have rum.
        It had been pretty darn quiet since she'd had the worried looking
serving droid serve the remaining Thugs at the table of four some of the
vast quantities of French Fries she and Krauslich had discovered in the
kitchen.  They were still eating ravenously, and paying handsomely for the
food as well.  Weiler counted the fist full of Space bucks she had so very
recently relieved them of.
        "You know, Krauslich," she began, in an introspective tone, "I
think we've been going about life all wrong: burning, plundering, reaping
the rewards of other people's hard work..."
        "Really?" said Krauslich from her swing.
        "No.  Not really.  I think we can make some serious cash from this
place if we cleaned it up a bit though."
        Krauslich quirked an eyebrow, or what would have been an eyebrow
had she not been a Woodlesnatchit.  "Woodlemaker!" she said accusingly.
        Woodlemakers are another species that inhabit the planet Chisholm.
They are actually considered to be dumber that the rest of the
inhabitants, because they actually do stuff, namely making Woodles.  They
never get to reap the benefits of their labour, however, as parasitical 
Woodlesnatchits always steal their precious Woodles!  In other, more
common languages, Woodlemakers are referred to as "Suckers".
        "But Krauslich!  WE won't actually do anything: we have our own
personal Woodlemaker right over there!" Krauslich followed Weiler's
pointed fingers with an intoxicated eye, straining at the effort.  Before
her she saw a pair of worried looking serving droids.  She woofled.
        And two weeks later they were sitting, piss drunk, on an exotic
beach on the planet Siesta, sipping expensive alien liqueurs and playing
fetch with their brawny man-slaves.  They were millionaires...

        For further adventures of the heartless capitalist but
phenominally wealthy duo, Buckaneer Weiler and Krauslich the
Woodlesnatchit, as well as some of the other poorer, and therefor less
important members of
                THE EXCITING SPACE EIGHT !!!!!