From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:32:55 1999
Here I am, back again, this time with the completed first episode of my
Voyager parody "Star Trek: Goneforsure." Yes, the name has changed from
"Boyardee," as most people I talked to about the chapter I posted some
time ago didn't really get the joke.
I live for feedback, so please email me at gavin_bond@juno.com and tell
me what you think of my sordid little tale. Additionally, if your news
browser happens not to recieve all seven installments, email me and I'll
send you the missing bits.
Cheers,
Gavin Bond
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@juno.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:37:01 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (1/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
NOTES: The following is a parody of the Star Trek: Voyager
series. It might make you laugh, it might offend you, it might
motivate you to act on those urges to go out and kill. You've
been warned. Argh.
ARCHIVAL NOTE: Archival permission has been granted to a specific
archive site already. Please do not archive this story.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Meet the crew of the USS Goneforsure:
Captain Asprin Painaway-
Captain of the USS Boyardee. A true scientistand
explorer, Painaway is constantly succumbing to the
urge to seek out new life and new civilizations
while at the same time fighting the urge to shag
anything that moves.
Commander Chocolaty-
Painaway's second in command, as well as first in
the sack. Former member of the Marky, a
psuedomilitary organization bent on the
destruction of intergalactic fast-food
resteraunts.
Lieutenant Notspock-
A Vulcan who has a secret fascination with
twentieth-century Earth's British television
programming. He spends his personal time
memorizing "Monty Python" skits. Tends to wear
a trenchcoat and a long scarf most of the time.
Ensign Harry Palms-
Young, shy, naive, and thin-skinned, he's the Andy
Dick of Boyardee's crew, always the butt of jokes
and insults. Secretly indulges in holodeck bondage
and domination adventures with replicas of
Notspock and Painaway. Keeps nude pics
of Blonde Ferret under his pillow.
Ensign Blonde Ferret-
Hotshot pilot of Boyardee. Patented the
'three-sixty-while-at-warp-seven'
stunt. Notorious for reliving old
episodes of 'The Red Shoe Diaries' on
the holodeck. Involved in a semi-
titilating relationship with B'endover
Torture.
Lieutennant B'endover Torture-
Half Human, half Klingon, all hormones. Spends
most of her time in Engineering so she can 'feel
the power.' Closet dominatrix.
Seven-Eleven-
Formerly a member of the Dork collective, she is
currently the carrier of Boyardee's two biggest
assets. Wears a skintight silver jumpsuit only
because it is soooooo comfortable. Looks like a
pump, feels like a sneaker.
Crispex-
Boyardee's official Morale Officer and unofficial
Love Chef. Sings innappropriate songs about "luv
makin'" while preparing horrible food for the
ship's crew. Voted most likely to get killed for
no discernable reason whatsoever.
Doctor Strange-
A hologram, and the ships ultraliberal
doctor.
=V= Part One =V=
Ensign Blonde Ferret ran through the dim, quiet corridors of the
starship Goneforsure in search of one sacred, holy thing: the toilet.
The only one on this deck, in fact--each deck had only one lavatory, a
horrific result of flawed design due to the Spacefleet engineering core
paying more attention to installing warp nacelles than sufficient
plumbing.
He clutched his stomach with both hands as he ran, pain and
horror twisting his face as he raced to relieve himself of the
inevitable violent bowel release that came with acute Talaxian
flu.
Blonde rounded the final corner just as his pipes gave way and
his sphincter hit red alert. "Computer, open lavatory door!" he
shouted as he hurtled along toward it. The computer, a normally
sadistic beast, felt a rare pang of sympathy, and complied with
Ensign Ferret's request. Ferret raced through the doorway and
into the toilet stall, spun, climbed out of his uniform with
impressive speed and finesse, and slammed himself down on the
seat just as the floodgates opened.
There was a terribly ghastly liquid explosion noise that nearly
drowned out his own screams as his body emptied itself of
everything save his vital organs. Blonde was beginning to slip
away from consciousness, partly from pain, partly from
exhaustion, when his communicator beeped.
"Bridge to Ferret," Notspock's voice announced through the comm badge.
Blonde groaned; the last thing he needed now was to be bothered with
duties. He reluctantly tapped the badge. "Ferret here," he mumbled.
On Goneforsure's bridge, standing in the science officer's station,
Lieutenant Notspock arched an eyebrow upon hearing Ferret's disheveled
voice. "Ensign, are you all right?" he asked in his most convincing
monotone, tugging playfully at the long, long multicolored scarf wrapped
around his neck and hanging from his shoulders.
"I think I just crapped my kidneys out," came the weak reply.
Across from Notspock, Ensign Harry Palms sputtered through
pressed lips as he attempted to stifle the overwhelming urge to
laugh. Hoping nobody noticed, he shrank back and went about
checking the navigation scanners.
The redhead sitting in the throne of the ship, Captain Asprin
Painaway, allowed herself a curt smile. She tapped her comm
badge. "Ferret, is it the Talaxian flu that's going around?"
"I think so... I was on my way to sickbay when my ass started
to--"
"I think I get the picture," Painaway interjected. She suspected
that she had a touch of the sickness herself--the morning's
coffee, not to mention a failed intimate excursion with her
first officer, Chocolaty, had left her a bit queasy--and the
last thing she wanted to hear about was Ensign Ferret's bowel
releases. "Clean up your mess and get to sickbay, Mister
Ferret."
"Yes Cap--" Blonde cut himself short as suddenly he felt...
something. Something moving. Not inside him, but under him, in
the toilet. Something had brushed his skin. Did I fill it? he
thought to himself as he shifted upward and craned around to
look into the bowl.
"Ferret? Ferret, are you there?" his communicator chirped. As he
looked back and down into the bowl, he felt it again. Something
was definitely moving in there. Slowly, cautiously, he stood up
and turned around....
"Oh holy God NO!" he screamed as a serpentine creature flew out
of the bowl and wrapped itself around him. He tried to grasp it, tried
to tear it away from him, but its surface only tore away in brown, slimy
chunks that liquefied instantly. It constricted while wrapping around
him, oozing into his uniform, filling his nostrils with a demonic stench the
likes of which he'd never smelled before. He pushed through part of the
creature with a fist. If he could only reach his phaser....
The monster coiled tighter and tighter, growing as it did, growling and
hissing with pleasure. "Blonde, what's going on in there?" the Captain's
voice demanded over the communicator.
On the bridge, the sounds of terror and evil were broadcast over
the Captain's and Notspock's communicators. All eyes were wide
with fear and confusion. Finally, Painaway jumped up. "Security
teams to deck seven lavatory. Notspock, Seven-Eleven, you're
with me. Chocolaty, you have the comm."
As the Captain and her impromptu entourage entered the turbolift,
Chocolaty slid over into the Captain's chair, relaxing himself
down into the warmth where Painaway's rear end had just been.
Harry Palms sighed a bit more audibly than he should have, and
Chocolaty turned around. "Is there a problem, Mr. Palms?" he
asked.
Palms frowned, rubbing his hands together nervously, watching
the dandruff from them rain down onto the console before him
like gentle snowflakes. "No, I guess not. Not really. Well..."
His eyes crossed momentarily as he tried to find the right
words. "Nobody ever lets me do anything exciting around here.
I'm never used in any emergencies or away-team missions. I never
get to sing or dance or do card tricks at our semi-annual talent
show. Hell, I've been stuck in this little cubicle over here for
six years, and I'm still just an ensign! Why me?"
Chocolaty considered this. "Dunno. Might have to do with the
fact that you're such a puss."
Harry furrowed his brow. "Puss? What's a puss?"
"Look it up in the dictionary, and there'll be a picture of you
next to the word. Now please get on with whatever the hell it is
you're supposedly doing up there--I'm very busy." Chocolaty
let himself pour back into the seat, slung his head over onto
his shoulder, and began to snore.
*I'm not a puss I'm not a puss I'm not a puss I'm not even sure
what a puss is but I'm not one 'cuz it sounds yucky...* Harry
went back to uploading his *Blonde Ferret in the Rough* picture
collection to the subspacenet...
*****
Notspock examined Ferret's body with his tricorder as Painaway
knelt down beside him. "Blonde! Blonde, can you hear me?" His
body, twitching and covered in fecal matter, lay on the floor in
front of the toilet, uniform still down around his ankles, and a
phaser clutched in one hand. Crap was everywhere, covering the
floor, dripping down the walls.
"Curious," Notspock commented as the tricorder showed him
Ferret's vital stats. "Three of his ribs are broken, his
intestines have collapsed, and his rectum shows signs of extreme
trauma."
Blonde sucked in a large breath, shuddering, and opened his
eyes. "Horrible... so horrible... good lord..." His voice was
hoarse and jittery with fear, like a man who'd just been
attacked by a giant turd.
"Blonde, what happened?" Painaway asked.
Seven-Eleven reached down and picked up a vine of the fecal
matter that was slung over the edge of the toilet. "I believe I
have an explaination," she announced.
Painaway waited for a moment. "Well, what the hell is your
explaination?" she demanded.
"This is no ordinary rectal discharge. It is an alien being.
Species number two. The Borg encountered them some time ago. We
added their biological distinctiveness to our collective."
Notspock and Painaway waited. "...And?"
Seven-Eleven turned up her nose and dropped the dead alien. "We were
forced to reject them from the collective. Our work had
completely gone to shit."
"Oh."
"They enter a body and lay dormant in the intestines for a period of
forty-eight standard hours, absorbing the nutrients from the digesting
food that the intestinal lining would normally extract. Once they've
successfully attained optimal amounts of nutrients, they give birth to
another of themselves. The two creatures then exit the body through any
means necessary, usually resulting in the death of the unaware host."
Painaway tweaked her chin. "So why isn't Blonde dead?"
Seven-Eleven examined the alien with her tricorder. "These
creatures discovered that humanoid species are ideal for their
needs. Unfortunately, most humanoid species discharge their
digested material within twenty-four hours of initial consumption.
Blonde rejected the creature before its feeding and reproduction cycles were
satisfactorily completed."
The Captain stood. "The creatures aren't able to extract enough
nutrition from a humanoid body before they're expelled. Which
means that they can't reproduce." She almost smiled, but thought
better of it. "Fascinating," she whispered, and Notspock glared
at her, secretly upset over her blatant use of *his* special word.
"Your summation is correct," Seven-Eleven confirmed. "Since their
discovery of humanoid races, their own species has become nearly
extinct, as they are unable to preserve their species through
normal asexual breeding. Some of them, such as the one we're
dealing with here, attempt to reproduce immediately upon
entering the host's body, forgoing the period of dormancy.
Sometimes the reproduction is successful, although once
discharged from the host, the two creatures are quite weak and
very rarely survive long."
"Is that the creature that entered Blonde?" Asprin asked,
pointing to the lax turd in Seven-Eleven's hand. "Or the
offspring?"
Seven-Eleven lifted the creature up to her face, sniffed it, and
grimaced. Asprin and Blonde both groaned in disgust; Notspock
refused to betray himself with any emotional response, though he
was quite put-off by the whole mess. "I believe this is the incomplete
offspring," she said finally.
"Then logically," Notspock offered, snapping his tricorder shut
and helping Blonde up to his feet, "the creature that was in
Mr. Ferret's body has escaped and is roaming the ship at this
moment."
"Or it has found another host," Seven-Eleven added.
"Painaway to Bridge," the Captain said after tapping her
communicator. Chocolaty's sleepy voice yawned, "Yes, Captain?"
"Intruder alert," she announced. "I want security teams on each
deck and section of the ship, as well as a standby reserve."
"Intruder?"
"That's right. Tell them to be on the lookout for a..." It
suddenly occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea what to
have them watching for.
"A slithering pile of violent crap," Ferret mumbled drunkenly.
"What was that?" Chocolaty demanded.
Painaway sighed. "Tell them that the intruder is small,
serpentine, malodorous, and hostile. Take whatever action is
necessary to detain the creature. Use lethal force only as a
final resolve when all other avenues of apprehension have been
exhausted.I want to be informed the moment anything turns up. Painaway out." She slid an arm up under one of Blonde's and helped Notspock straighten him.
"Let's get you to sickbay, Mr. Ferret."
Nobody noticed the small, brown snakelike object wriggle its way
out of the toilet, through the lavatory, and out the open door
into the corridor...
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:39:00 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (2/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
--
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One---"The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Two =V=
Crispex ran a spotted hand through the mane of wiry, orange
hair atop his head as he stared down the front of young Ensign
Watterhouse's blouse at her ripe, inviting cleavage. He loved
when she was off duty--it meant she'd come to the mess hall to
eat, and she'd be wearing something a bit more revealing than
the standard issue Spacefleet uniform. This time, it was a
slinky red dress that she was going to wear to a holodeck
gathering later in the evening, and its top was low and loose
enough for him to see almost everything....
"Crispex?"
He was startled out of his daydream. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, I...
um... how's your nipple--er, soup?"
Where there had moments before been a striking smile and cheery
face sat a sorry, hollow look and dull, droopy eyes. "Crispex,
what did you say this was again?" She let a spoonful of flaccid
pasta and nondescript olive-tinted sauce droop back down into her bowl.
"Tits--er, it's this week's special, "Self-masticating Nyarg Pasta in
Lumpy Green Love Sauce." He had an overwhelming urge to rub himself
silly at the mention of Green Love Sauce, but was able to contain his sudden,
ludicrous emotions. Besides, there'd be time for that later. "Why, do
you like it or *luv* it?"
"Actually... I don't feel so good..." She carefully put
her spoon down next to the bowl of soup and clutched her
stomach.
"What's wrong?" Crispex asked. "You don't have that flu, do
you?"
"I don't know, I..." Suddenly her eyes snapped wide open, and
she jerked her head to the side just as a rainbow of vomit spewed forth
from within her. As far as Crispex was concerned, the moment he'd been
enjoying was now totally lost. He frowned and walked around behind
Watterhouse, and held her soft hair back for her as she continued
vomiting.
By the time the boys from sickbay arrived to get her,
Watterhouse was on her hands and knees--right position, wrong
situation, Crispex mused--dry heaving and blowing rank spittle
from her supple lips. The two officers rolled her over onto a
stretcher and removed her. Someone else began cleaning up the
mess with a bio-sanitizer. The rest of the people in the Mess
Hall returned to their meals and conversations.
Crispex, annoyed and disappointed, walked back into the kitchen
and activated the communicator. "Crispex to Painaway."
"Painaway here."
"Captain, we've got to do something about this flu epidemic. I
just had someone carried out of here on a stretcher after puking
her guts up--that's the sixth today!"
"*WE* have to do something about it?" Painaway's voice was harsh and
full of disgust. "Crispex, you're the filthy diseased bastard who brought the
Talaxian flu on board this ship in the first place!"
"You're sure it's not your soup that's making people sick?" he
heard Chocolaty's voice ask. "That stuff would gag starving maggots, you
know."
Crispex tried hard to control his urge to scream obscenities at
the both of them. "Seriously, Captain, has the doctor come up
with a cure yet?"
"I'm afraid not. Mister Ferret fell victim to an intruder attack
earlier, and Doctor Strange is still trying to stabilize him. In
fact, it would seem that you're the only one on the ship who
hasn't fallen victim at least partially to this abominable
virus."
"That's because I had my Talaxian flu vaccines. Anyway, I hope
the doc' comes up with something soon. This Mess Hall is really
becoming a *mess* hall, if you know what I mean. By the way... I know
we're on strict replicator rationing, but might I have permission to
replicate about a half-ton of toilet paper? I think it might come in
handy."
Up on the bridge, Painaway shuddered and her face pinched in on
itself in a gesture of frustration. She'd much rather have let
Crispex wallow around in vomit and excrement for days on end,
but that would pose a whole new threat to her crew, and with
such a limited number of people on board, each one that was lost
equaled one less victim for her secret slave parlor.
"Permission granted. Painaway out." She swung her chair around
so that she was facing Chocolaty with a look of disdain. "Did
you ever notice how Crispex looks like a cross between a leper's
pecker and a bottle-brush?"
Chocolaty nodded. "Sometimes he looks and acts just like some
obscure Russian sex-toy."
Asprin smiled. "Enough small talk, red man. Doing anything after your
shift is over?" she asked quietly.
Chocolaty made an attempt at a half-smile, half-frown, which
amounted to absolutely nothing in the end. "Sitting on the toilet, most
likely. I think I've got a touch of this flu as well."
She threw her arms up in the air. "Great! I'm three days into my
sexual prime and you've got the shits!"
Chocolaty grew deep and serious in his own special, tepid manner. "I
wish I didn't. You know that, Asprin. You know that as First Officer of this
ship, I have a duty to her and her crew, but as the object of your
affection, I've a duty to your heart. Hundreds of years ago my
ancestors would take a pig and a bucket of worms into the desert and they'd strip naked and shave the pig's scrot--"
"Oh save it for the holodeck, spirit-boy," she spat. "I'm just
looking to get boned."
Her communicator chirped. "Torture to Bridge."
"Go ahead, B'endover," Asprin said.
"Captain, I'm getting some strange readings from within the warp
core. It could be a minor fluctuation in the stestmatic
carnadular forsnec jets, or possibly a microfracture in the stimtecular
meriosis bijelatinator, or Windows just screwed up the system again. I
can't be sure without accurate readings; I'd like Seven-Eleven to come
down and run some diagnostics for me."
Seven-Eleven was sitting on a small stool in a corner of the bridge
near Notspock's station, holding a small mirror and genuinely
admiring her own reflection.
"Seven-Eleven, did you get that?" the Captain asked.
"What? Oh, yes, I overheard the conversation. I will proceed to
the engineering section immediately." She sat the mirror gently
down onto the stool after she's stood, paused, and addressed the
bridge crew. "Anybody touches my magic mirror, and I'll put
microscopic robots in their ears while they sleep." She kicked
an eyebrow up high to emphasize her point. Everyone on the
bridge shuddered momentarily, and they all breathed sighs of
relief once she'd entered the turbolift.
Harry Palms was crouched, trembling, in his little cubicle. *I'm
not a puss I'm not a puss I'm not a puss I'm not a puss I'm not*
"Oh-no!" Notspock shouted. Chocolaty and Asprin jumped up and
faced him.
"What is it, Notspock?" Asprin asked.
"The Time Corridor is damaged and we can't dematerialize! I need a
temporal stabilizer before the TARDIS is destroyed!"
Everyone on the bridge save Notspock (and Harry, now even more
frightened and trying to hide underneath himself) exchanged
curious glances. "Notspock," Chocolaty asked, "what the hell
are you talking about?"
The horror on Notspock's face remained for only a moment more,
then faded back into the usual, expressionless blank wall that
was the Fulkan's norm. "I apologize. What I meant to say is that
I've picked up an anomalous reading... it's here on the ship.
In the Mess Hall. It may be the fecal creature that attacked
Mr. Ferret." He stuffed a corner of the scarf into his mouth to
show sincerity.
Asprin and Chocolaty, already on their feet, made for the
turbolift door. "Notspock, I want a level four force field
blocking off the Mess Hall. Have a security detail meet us
there. Phasers on 'wipe'."
* * * * *
Doctor Strange paced circles around the bed where Blonde lay
panting, trying to regain his strength after the ordeal in the
lavatory. "The way I see it, Mr. Ferret, you have two choices."
He pointed to the medical tray alongside Blonde's bed, on top of
which sat two small dishes: one with three blue pills, the other
with two translucent gelcaps. "The blue pills will enhance your
body's ability to rehydrate itself and purge your system of the
Talaxian virus. The clear pills, however, will allow you to
drift slowly and painlessly into an enchanted circle of light from which
there will be no corporeal return."
"No corporeal return..." Blonde ran the thought through his mind
a few times and arrived at an answer he didn't like all too
much. "Wait a minute--do you mean... suicide?"
"Such a harsh word, suicide. I prefer 'self-induced impairing of
life'. It's your life, it's your choice. And there's not a
doctor, a Spacefleet captain, or a judicial court in the
universe that can tell you it's not."
Blonde tried to sit up and failed, the emptiness in his stomach
causing pain and severe discomfort. "You really have an odd suicide
kick, don't you?"
"I'm simply giving people more options than the naysayers ever
will. Let me know what you decide." He walked away with a sly
twinkle in his manipulated-photon eyes.
* * * * *
The security teams were in a state of utter havoc by the time
Painaway and Chocolaty arrived outside of the Mess Hall. A pile
of unconscious security officers lay in a heap in front of the
seemingly unblocked entrance. As the two senior officers rounded the
corridor corner, one of the security team charged shoulder-strong at the
entrance, leapt through the air with a savage battle-cry, and slammed
full-force into the level four force field that separated the interior of the
Mess Hall with the corridor outside. Chocolaty slapped his forehead in
disbelief as the guard crashed down onto his comrades with a muffled
grunt. Painaway closed her eyes, shook her head gently, and tried to
stave off the oncoming assult of HEADACHE.
"I guess we should have told the security teams that there would
be a force field, eh?" Chocolaty commented.
"Stuff it." Another guard was about to take the heroic leap when
Painaway shouted a crude warning at him. He fell into a
confused, limp stance. She and her first officer went and stood
just outside the door and examined the scene within the mess hall.
The mess hall was deserted, with one exception. In the middle of the
room, a very pale, very afraid Talaxian lay shivering on the floor in a puddle
of what was almost certainly his own bodily excretions. A dark trail
led from Crispex out beyond the force field that guarded the door on the
other side of the room, glistening in the artificial light cast down upon it
from the ceiling.
"Crispex, can you hear me?" Painaway asked.
"Y-y-yesss," came the weak reply.
"I thought you were immune to the Talaxian flu," she said
sardonically, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
"N-not f-f-flu," he stammered. "Aliennn sp-sp-p-ecies K'raap...
killer K'raap..."
Chocolaty slapped his communicator badge. "Chocolaty to Sickbay,
medical emergency, one to beam directly over."
"Belay that order!" Painaway snapped, much to Chocolaty's
surprise. "Give him another ten minutes in that puddle. I want
to see which breaks first--his mind or the rest of his
innards..."
Crispex writhed painfully, and Asprin Painaway grinned a secret,
passionately evil grin. This alien infestation did have its advantages
after all....
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:41:10 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (3/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One: "The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Three =V=
Blonde Ferret woke from a nice little nap to find himself still
lying on a less-than-comfortable sickbay bed. His head ached,
his stomach absolutely throbbed with dull pain, and something
smelled very peculiar. After a moment, he realized that the
smell was himself. He was able to tilt his chin down to his
chest and see that his uniform was still a mess; nobody had
bothered to change him. He let his head back down and sighed.
Glancing over to his right, he saw a shiny, plastisteel
equipment bench, upon which sat a small dish holding four small
pills, two blue, two clear. He vaguely remembered Doctor Strange
mentioning something about them earlier (*How long have I been
asleep?* he thought). Something about the clear ones making him feel
better, or something like that. What were the blue ones for? He closed
his eyes, trying to remember and at the same time trying to ignore the
stench of his excrement-smeared clothing. Wait, there was something--his body
needed to be rehydrated, didn't it? Of course, the blue pills! Blue,
like water, right? He reached over, grabbed the two blue pills, and
swallowed them down. He felt no immediate affect, but that would probably come
with time, he decided.
He looked back at the clear pills. Now what were they for? They
must be for something, otherwise, why would they be there? He
wracked his brain, but no answer came. Damn! And he'd been
discussing them with the doctor only... oh, it couldn't have
been more than a few hours ago.
"Doc! Hey doc!" he called. He waited patiently for an answer,
but none came.
Doctor Strange watched Blonde from behind a support pylon which
helped make up a wall separating the main of sickbay from the
small, semi-private cubicle that doubled as the doctor's private
study room and methamphetamine lab. His eyes beamed, and his
mouth was a firmly fixed grin, sinister as it was. "Go on,
little sheep," he whispered to himself. "Swallow the pretty
shinies..."
Clear pills. Clear, clear, clear... Aha! To 'clear' his system
out, that was it, yes! To rid his guts of that nasty shit-
creature, whatever it was or had been or might end up being or
(*shut up you stupid voices shut the hell up!*)
Blonde relaxed as the pesky head voices faded away. He was
getting better at killing them these days. Perhaps one day he'd
find a way to make sure they never came back. He smiled and
reached for the two clear pills--
Doctor Strange leaned further away from the pylon to get a
better view. "Come on, hurry it up, haven't got all day, have
we?"
Blonde's hand closed around the smooth, reflective surface of
the ovoid gellcaps--
"Do it, do it, rah-rah-rah!" the doctor muttered under his
breath.
Blonde brought the hand slowly over to his open mouth--
"Come on you brainless nutsack, swallow those pills!" Doctor
Strange shouted.
Blonde was so startled that he dropped the two clear pills right
down his throat. He cried out once, his body seized up quite
nicely, and Blonde Ferret was no more.
"Success!" The Doctor danced a triumphant little jig towards
Ferret's dead body until his communicator beeped. "Chocolaty to
Sickbay."
He sighed, angry that his celebration had been interrupted.
"Yes, what is it?"
"We're beaming Crispex over from the Mess Hall. Medical
emergency."
"Are you sure this time?" he asked. "You canceled last time, and
you know how I hate it when little Indian boys cry wolf."
There was no reply, only the high-pitched whine of a transporter
beam as Crispex's upended, half-nude body appeared on a nearby
bed. The doctor slapped his hands together and rubbed them as a
new evil grin spread across his features.
* * * * *
The creature lay curled up tightly in a storage compartment,
a small, dark space behind an access panel in the corridor near the Mess
Hall. It tried desperately to hang on to what little strength it had
left. The Talaxian, unfortunately, had been a bad choice. A *very* bad choice.
It's digestive system was a complete jumble, like nothing the creature
had ever encountered before, all tiny entrails and such; the colon, which
was horribly, curiously impacted, was nearly impossible to squeeze out of.
On top of the terrible physics of the whole situation, there had been a
viral colony living in the host with whom the creature was not at all familiar
with, and it was scary. So scary. The trip in and out of the alien had
been quite a strain.
There was a positive outcome this time, however--the
reproduction cycle had been a success. The new K'raapling had
been born strong, and was now on its way to reproduce as well.
It was the K'raap way, hectic such as it was. K'raaplings were
born with the instinct to reproduce no matter the cost.
The K'raap creature finally let go, relaxed, letting the battle
it fought within itself fizzle. There was no point in fighting
death, it decided. The work would carry on. The K'raapling would
mature in a matter of hours, and it would be even stronger, and
it would reproduce again.
Months later, due to an investigation into the source of a foul stench
wafting through the outside corridor, an Ensign would remove the storage
compartment panel, see a dead K'raap curled up in the corner, and
scream.
* * * * *
"Crispex?"
Crispex stirred but did not open his eyes.
"Mr. Crispex, can you hear me?" Doctor Strange peered down at
the ship's chef lying on the medical bed. "Because if you can, I
just thought I'd let you know that I came across some nude pictures of
your mother and I'm selling them to various interested parties. Cheap."
Crispex's eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up, but the
biomonitor that arched tightly like a bridge over the bed held
him back. His face had become etched with rage. "Listen here,
you fu--"
Doctor Strange held his hands up, apologetically. "Please, I
meant no harm, I had to find out whether or not you were awake
yet. I'm sorry if I've offended you."
"Yes, you've offended me you holographic dick," Crispex affirmed.
"Ah. Well then. It seems your body has undergone the exact same
form of trauma as Mr. Ferret's did earlier today."
"Yeah, that alien got inside of me and dug his way out through
my ass while I was trying to serve lunch." Crispex lay back
down, wringing his hands together.
Doctor Strange studied some readings on the biomonitor. "I see.
Your intestines sustained massive bruising. I was able to take care of
some of it. You'll be in quite a bit of discomfort for a few days. Now,
I'll give it to you simple." He grabbed two small hyposprays off of a
tray and held them out before Crispex. "The hypospray in my right hand
contains a mild anti-inflammatory coupled with a pain reducer. The hypospray in
my left hand contains an acute poison that will render you dead in a matter
of minutes, painlessly and peacefully."
Crispex thought for a moment. "Did everyone who was in the Mess
Hall see that thing burst out of my ass?" He asked.
Doctor Strange thought a moment. "I don't know the exact
details, but I would say it's a pretty fair bet that they did.
In fact, I'm treating one of them for shock trauma right now."
He gestured to an officer laying on a bed across the room. The
officer, strapped to the bed at the wrists and ankles, was
writhing violently, whispering, "Brown room, brown room," over
and over again.
The Talaxian frowned and grabbed for the poison hypospray--
"Don't even think about it, Crispex," Painaway screeched as she
walked through the sickbay doors. "And you, Doctor--quit
offering the patients a suicide solution!"
The doctor tried to look genuinely hurt. "Captain, as a
practitioner of medical science, it is my right--nay, my
responsibility--to inform all patients of their every option, including those which are less-than-popular by more widely-accepted standards."
"And if you don't quit it," Painaway continued, "I'm going to
deactivate this portion of your program and make sure that your
consciousness spends the rest of eternity locked in a computer
simulation of a New Kids on the Block concert."
Doctor Stange's eyes grew wide, and little beads of holographic
sweat cascaded down from his shiny forehead. "Not that....
please don't do that...."
Painaway glanced around suspiciously, and saw Blonde Ferret
lying on the bed, his eyes frozen open. "What's wrong with him?"
she asked, pointing.
"Oh, ah, he's come down with a rather mysterious case of, um,
death."
Her eyes boggled. "He's dead?"
The doctor frowned. "Your deductive skills are as sharp as ever,
Watson. Yes, death means 'dead.'"
She looked at the body curiously, then swept herself away from
it with an air of arrogance. "Oh well, he wasn't that great in
bed anyway." Brushing the doctor aside, she leaned over Crispex.
"Now, Crispex, tell me everything that happened."
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:46:42 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (4/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
--
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One: "The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Four =V=
--
"Seven-Eleven?" B'endover Torture pronounced as she
stepped up next to the recycled Borg drone. Immediately, she
ducked as Seven-Eleven swung around to answer and her enormous
frontal orbs cut through the air that Torture's head would have
occupied. There had been accidents in the past, and well...
B'endover wasn't one to repeat mistakes, especially those
involving being rendered unconscious by a pair of speeding
boobs. Making sure Seven-Eleven wasn't going to make any sudden
moves, Torture stood slowly. "Have you run that diagnostic on--"
She stopped herself short and looked around. The entire
engineering section, comprised of men except for she and
Seven-Eleven, had its attention firmly affixed upon the two female
officers. Being the two most buxom and sensual women on
Goneforsure had certain disadvantages, among which were being stared at,
ogled after, and drooled over. Though they were used to it by now, it
was still distracting and annoying. Seven-Eleven, despite thinking it to be
horrendous inefficiency and misuse of work time, tended to ignore it.
B'endover, on the other hand, had been known to break arms and kneecaps
in order to get a message across to someone who's eyes might linger too
long, or perhaps wander hither and thither. "Get to work!" she screamed. They
scrambled back to their jobs.
"Now, as I was saying..." She jerked her head back a bit, the
motion tossing a slinky lock of hair back across her light
washboard-like ridges which distinguished her brow. "Have you
run the diagnostic on the warp coil?"
"Yes. Sixty-nine times." There was a wave of sputtering and
half-quaffed laughter throughout the engineering section upon
hearing Seven-Eleven utter such a revered number. B'endover shot
icy, stabbing glances around the room until the men were quiet
and working once more.
"Did you find any problems? My instruments were pointing
straight up earlier." Another wave of spitting and splurting.
B'endover cleared her throat quite audibly. "What I mean is that
the warp-core readings were shooting up towards critical this
morning, for a fraction of a second. May have been a glitch in the
computer."
Seven-Eleven rubbed her thighs sensually as the other engineers
watched with open mouths and waggling tongues. "I concur. I
found no problems with the warp core. However, I will continue
to monitor the core readings and I will keep you abreast of the
situation."
Howls of dirisive laughter echoed through the main tubular
chamber surrounding the warp core. B'endover ignored it. "Look,
I'm going to call it quits early. I think I might have picked up
a bit of that Talaxian flu from Blonde last night." She cocked
her head to the side, waiting for the waves of laughter that
should have erupted at the idea of she and Blonde Paris having a
carnal cocktail, but everyone was still suffering from
Seven-Eleven's use of the word 'abreast.'
"I understand," Seven-Eleven said. "Perhaps you should go to
sickbay."
"No, that's alright; I'll see how I'm feeling in a little while.
I'll go there if I need to." With that, she left Engineering and
headed to her quarters. A security team jogged past her along
the way. *Odd*, she thought, *I wonder what they're excited
about?*
* * * * *
It watched the Kingkong engineer enter her quarters as it sat in
hiding behind the screen that covered the ventilation duct. The
creature observed the woman collapse onto her soft bed that
hadn't been straightened up earlier in the day. It watched with
curious fascination as she contorted her arms and legs around so
that she was able to remove her one-piece uniform without having
to get up off of the bed. She finally lay still on top of the
covers in her undergarments, and when the creature was sure that
she had entered her rest period, It mushed its way effortlessly
through the fine screen and slid down the wall, careful not to
leave too dark a trail in its wake.
It knew that it's parent had ceased to function. The essence of
the lifelink that bonded K'raap parents and spawn had ended
between them. There was no sorrow or remorse; no emotion of any
kind. The passage of life was unavoidable, and paying it any
heed simply took from the time and effort needed for breeding.
B'endover rolled over onto her side, snoring ever-so lightly. The K'raap
approached the bed and reared up next to it so that it could worm its
way up the fabric that hung over the edge. Slowly, so not to disturb the
humanoid, it slid along the long edge of the bed and around the pillow,
until finally it was next to her face. B'endover's mouth pulled open to
expel a breath, and the creature saw its chance. It charged into the
open mouth and down the throat.
B'endover's eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright. Her
breathing was hindered for a few seconds, and she gasped for
air. Finally, her lungs cleared and she was able to breath
again, but not very deeply, for there was an odd pain just
behind her lungs suddenly, all the way down into her gut. This
too subsided after a handful of seconds.
She smacked her mouth open and closed. "Ugh..." Getting up
slowly, she made her way to her toilet-less restroom and filled a
small cup with water. She gargled, rinsed, and spit into the
sink. The taste still lingered in her mouth, and she shuddered.
It was horrible... like she'd eaten a piece of...
B'endover walked back into her bedroom and looked at the
chronometer. She was surprised to find that it was only a few
minutes since she'd gotten to her quarters and gone to bed,
hoping to ward off the feelings of nausea that she'd thought
might be that damned Talaxian flu.
Curiously, she felt fine now. Never better. She smirked. Amazing
what two minutes of sleep can do for a body.
*Well, as long as I feel fine,* she thought, *I may as well get
started on my other little project...* She walked to her closet,
opened it, and began to pull out several small, leather
garments...
* * * * *
Painaway glanced down at the chronometer that displayed bright,
cheery numbers from the helm in front of her. Shift's almost
over, she mused happily. Then she frowned. Chocolaty. She looked
over at his seat. He was sleeping again. His shift would spill
over another hour after hers had ended, and instead of
sauntering over to her quarters as he usually did when his shift
was over, he'd no doubt today head straight for the toilet on
the same deck as his quarters, and sit there until he'd rid his insides
of that horrible flu. Damn that Talaxian! she cursed silently to herself.
As soon as her shift ended, she punched Chocolatly in the gut to
wake him up and told him that he had the bridge. He smiled,
nodded, mumbled something incoherent, and fell asleep again.
Painaway sighed and left the bridge for her quarters.
"I was wondering when you'd finally get here," a familiar voice
said as Painaway entered her room. She looked to her bed and was
surprised to see B'endover Torture lying upon it, wearing little
more than a tight, white-leather teddy and matching thigh-high
stockings. A pair of blood-red high heel shoes sat uniformly at
the foot of the bed. "It doesn't look good when the captain is
late," she said.
Painaway smiled and began tearing her uniform off. A few seconds
later, she was naked and flying through the air, landing on the
bed next to B'endover.
"I was never sure if you felt the same way," she said, working
hard to unbuckle the straps that kept the teddy held onto
B'endover's body. "I didn't want to embarrass you, so I never
asked--"
"Ssshhh." B'endover rolled herself up and over, onto Painaway,
and with deft speed removed the leather from herself. Painaway's
eyes boggled and explored the Kinkong's smooth, naked body,
making mental notes here and there about what she was going to
do to what.
Asprin grabbed B'endover by the hair and pulled her face down to
embrace her in a torrid kiss. B'endover complied, though not
without making sure the captain put at least a little bit of
effort into the action. They locked themselves into a mad kiss,
lips and tongues and saliva going every which way, noses bumping
noses, and Asprin reached down with her hands and started to--
*Ffppht!-*_
The captain broke away from the kiss and pushed herself up on
her elbows. "Did you hear something?" she asked.
B'endover shook her head. "Not a thing," she lied. *Oh damn, not
again!* she thought, *Not now!* But she knew it was too late.
She could feel the pressure building up deep inside her, and she
could feel the rumbling, and she could feel something moving
inside of her stomach--
*Something moving inside my stomach? That never happened
before...*
B'endover tried to ignore it, returning to her kiss. The captain
grabbed her again with one hand, and B'endover could feel her
other hand caressing her thigh as it ventured down to--
*Fphweet!*
Painaway disengaged and sat up. "Now I know I heard something
that time," she said, then her face wrinkled up. "What _is_ that
smell?" She eyed B'endover with an odd curiosity.
"I don't know. I didn't--"
*PhwooOOOOrrph!*
"--hear anything, nothing--"
*ThHHUUUrrruuppHH!*
"--at all, really."
The captain slid off of the bed and lay flat on the floor. "Ye
gods you stink!" she shouted. Her voice sounded flat and
muffled, as she was holding her hands over her mouth and nose.
Her eyes were shut tight with such concentration that B'endover
thought her eyelids might tear her forehead right down with
them.
*PPrrrrrruP!*
"Why are you on the floor?" B'endover asked, ignoring the
cacophony of sound and smell erupting from within her.
"Hot air rises!" the captain shouted through her hands.
*Shpluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurk!*
(rumble rumble rumble)
"What the hell?" B'elanna clutched her stomach.
(rumble rumble rumble rumble)
*Shplooooooooooooort!*
(rumble rumble rumble rumble)
An odd pain gathered like stormclouds in her gut and she doubled
over, her eyes closed tighter than the captain's had been, her
teeth clenched to the point of making her gums ache.
*Fplurksh!*
The captain clambered back up onto the bed when she heard
B'endover's moans and groans. At first she thought that the
woman may have started playing with herself, but she knew
something serious was happening when she saw B'endover laying on
her side, curled up into a fetal position, crying and clutching
her belly. The stench that floated over the bed like some
monstrous, green tapestry shot up Asprin's nose like a crack-
smoking demon speeding on a bicycle, but she managed to ignore
it for the merest of moments.
*PPPPPPhhhhhhhttt!*
"B'endover, are you okay? What's wrong?"
(rumble rumble rumble rumble)
"You don't have that damned flu, do you?"
"I don't know," B'endover managed, gasping for air between the
words. "I thought so a while ago, but the symptoms went away.
But... they weren't this bad. I think... I think it might be..."
Painaway sat up on the bed next to her and looked her over.
"Might be what?"
(rumble rumble rumble rumble squirt)
*Squirt?*
Painaway figured out exactly what was going on about 0.00327
seconds before the K'raap creature sprayed itself out of
B'endover. It shot out of her and landed on the bed with a
resounding *splat* and laid still, waiting for its offspring to arrive
amongst the other intestinal debris that rained down out of the
digestive
exit it had taken.
Both women screamed.
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:47:09 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (5/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
--
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One: "The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Five =V=
--
Chocolaty sat huddled quietly in the dark corner of his grandfather's
barn, amidst the smells of dirt and animals and alfalfa straw bales. His
vulnerable, naked body shuddered out of cold and fear, and he tried not
to cry, tried not to make a sound as he listened to the approaching
footsteps that resonated off of the old wooden floor. The monster was getting
closer, and mocking him, trying to spook him into coming out into the
open.
"One little two little three little Indians," the snarly, broken
voice sang. Chocolaty could see the beast now, all fur and
claws, walking along on all fours, trying to sniff him out.
"Four little five little six little Indians..."
Chocolaty pulled himself a bit further into the darkness. He was
dry and cold now, but he'd been sweating before, and he knew the
stench was still upon him. The fox would find him soon enough.
"Seven little eight little nine little Indians..."
There was a swift blur of motion, too fast for Chocolaty to tell
what was going on. A bale of straw was pulled from the corner and hurled
away. Bits of stray and dust showered down onto the boy, making him
itch.
"Ten little Indian boys!" The fox stood itself upright, resting
on its hind legs. "Nope, I was wrong, just one little Indian
boy. Very well, I suppose you'll have to do." The fox lept--
Harry Palms was startled out of his train of thought, one
heavily involving Blonde Ferret and a jar of mayonnaise, when
Chocolaty broke out of his restless nap in the commander's chair
and shouted, "Don't touch me there, Spirit Guide! Bad, bad Spirit
Guide! Nooooooo!"
Ready for action, Palms leapt down from his station, over the rail that
separated the main walkway of the bridge from the lowered command
center, hit the floor wrong, and splintered his ankle. He fell to the floor
screaming in pain. "Ah crap crap crap crap crap!"
Chocolaty writhed in his chair. "No Spirit Guide!"
"OOoowww my ankle!"
"Leave that alone! Bad Spirit Guide!"
"My friggin ankle! I can see the bone through the skin!"
_Beep, beep._ "Painaway to Bridge! Red Alert!"
Chocolaty stopped shouting and his eyes flew open. Harry froze,
confused. "Painaway to Bridge? What the hell does that have to do with
anything?"
"I thought you said it," Chocolaty said, straightening himself
up in the chair. "Oh, dang, break your ankle?"
Harry looked down. "Yeah, I think so. Hurts like a gosh-damn,
too." Chocolaty winced.
His communicator beeped again. "Painaway to Bridge! I said RED
ALERT!"
Chocolaty exhaled and smiled. "Oh, it was just her. For a second
there I thought I was going nuts."
"You were," Palms replied. "I think your Spirit Guide was
touching you in the bad place again." He threw himself into a
spastic fit and began screaming again about his ankle.
Chocolaty slapped his communicator. "What's the problem,
captain?"
Painaway's voice was full of fear and stress. "I want a level
ten force field around my bed in my quarters, right now!"
The commander yawned. "What, that game again? Oh, alright." He
stood up and walked to the helm, where he keyed in a series of
commands to erect the force field. "How's that?"
"Fine," came the reply. "Now get your ass down here, we've got
one hell of an emergency!"
Chocolaty chuckled to himself. "Okay, okay. I'll be down there
in a second." He turned to leave, making sure to *accidentally* kick
Harry in the ankle, sending the poor man into another screaming tirade. "You
have the bridge."
* * * * *
B'elanna had passed out, probably due to severe pain and sudden
dehydration, thought Asprin. She'd tried cradling the poor
unconscious woman's body in her arms as a show of support,
giving up only when the stench that was still coming out of the
chief engineer was too nasty to choke back. She'd dropped the stinking
Kingkong and retreated to the far side of the bed, careful not to touch
the energy screen that kept the K'raap creature on the bed (and,
unfortunately, the rank odor), and pulled a clean portion of the bed
sheet up to her face as a sort of makeshift breathing mask.
Her heart leapt for joy or something like it when Chocolaty arrived. The
room was dark, save for the light coming in through the
transparent aluminum windows, and Chocolaty couldn't see what
was going on at first. "Computer, lights," he said, and a soft,
blue light appeared around the bed. Chocolaty's eyes nearly
popped out of his head--there, on the bed in front of him, lay
the naked, waiting bodies of Asprin Painaway and B'endover
Torture, and--what was this? B'endover and a good portion of the bed
were both smeared with chocolate!
"WOO HOO!" he shouted, and began tearing his clothes off. "THANK
YOU GREAT SPIRIT!"
"No, you stupid drum beating prick!" Asprin sat up on her knees. "She's
unconscious. She was attacked by that--that shit alien!"
Chocolaty observed the scene and pondered. Then he reached a
vague understanding and pointed. "Then, you mean, that's--
that's not chocolate?"
"No, but don't take my word for it. Come have a bite or two."
Chocolaty's face twisted into a horrified snarl and he bent over
and puked on the floor. Asprin slapped her forehead in acute frustration
and fell back down onto the bed.
* * * * *
The senior officers, by order of the Captain, congregated together in
cargo bay three. They gathered around the table in the center of the
room upon which sat a tall sample container full of the captured fecal alien.
The standard sample container was quite good at keeping things the bad
things inside and the good things outside (or vice-versa as the case
might be), but to further calm everyone's paranoia to a mere back-of-the-mind
murmur, a level ten force field had been erected around the transparent
cylinder.
The mass of brown-green goo inside the container throbbed and
pulsed as it examined its current situation and tried to come to
grips with the fact that it was not going to be invading
anyone's bowels anytime soon. It peered around curiously at the
crew members who stood and stared at it in that same fashion usually
reserved for idiots who will stare into a fish tank and wonder why the
little pale buggers are floating belly-up.
"I think it's dead," Harry Palms commented, pointing at the
blob. He went to tap the side of the container but Seven-Eleven
Seven grabbed his wrist before he could do so.
"The container is surrounded by a level ten force field. To
touch the field would cause severe damage to your skin tissue."
Harry gestured to his leg, which was set into a cast nearly four
times as big around as the limb within. "I just wanted to see if its
magical powers would heal my leg. Nobody ever lets me do anything around
here."
"That is because you are, according to frequent conversations
among the bridge crew while you are off duty, a complete puss."
She left his side. He wanted to protest, but the two major parts of his
mind were having a bit of a marital quarrel. Divorce papers were being
readied.
Painaway rapped her knuckles against the table. "Quiet, please,
everyone. Now I'm sure you all have a lot of questions you want
answered, but first I'm going to give a brief rundown of the
recent events which have brought us all here, standing around a
big jar full of crap." She began pacing along the length of the table.
"Somehow, this alien being managed to breach our security and stow away
on our ship. We do not yet know exactly how long ago it did this, but its
appearance coincided with the outbreak of the strange Talaxian flu
everyone's been getting. I doubt this is a coincidence. The creature
first attacked--and bear in mind that I use the word 'attacked' for want of a
better description--first attacked Blonde Ferret. Blonde, as a few of
you may know by now, died as a result of massive internal wounds and a touch
of hologram-induced suicide."
There was sudden intake of breath which filled the brief silence
following the captain's words, followed immediately by the sound of water spilling onto the floor. Everyone looked around for a moment, then noticed that
a large puddle of murky, pale liquid had appeared on the floor directly
underneath a very bewildered Harry Palms. Drops of the stuff rained down
from the dark, shiny patch on the front of his trousers. His lips were
trembling slightly and his eyes were dancing lazily back and forth up
into his sockets.
The door to the cargo bay opened and, to everyone's surprise, in
strolled Doctor Strange and Blonde Ferret. Harry shrieked and wet
himself once more.
"Blonde," Chocolaty began excitedly. "I thought you were dead!"
"Oh, he's not dead yet," Doctor Strange said nonchalantly.
Blonde raised an eyebrow. "I'm feeling much better. I think I may pull
through, sir."
The room fell deadly silent. Crickets began to chirp, and somewhere off
in the distance, a pack of wolves howled. This was quite bizarre, for
obvious reasons.
Blonde and the Doctor congregated around Harry, who was about to
commit ritual suicide simply because he just couldn't cope with
everything at once. In his brain, the divorce papers had been
disputed, and the court lawyers had just revealed that the right
side of the brain had been sleeping with someone other than the
left side, and that illegitimate children were now involved in
the whole sordid affair. Harry began mumbling in Esperanto.
"Well, now that we're all here, and barring any further
interruptions..." Painaway paused dramatically, to no avail.
"Anyway, as I was saying, Blonde Ferret, who appears to have
cheated fate out of a good solid death, was the first to fall victim to
the creature. Various other crew members too anonymous or unimportant to
mention were also affected, each with similar results. Crispex is still
in sickbay after his bout with the alien. Doctor, what is his condition, by
the way? Has he died yet?"
"No," the doctor answered. "In fact, I expect to give him a
clean bill of health in a matter of hours."
"Damn." Painaway cleared her throat and pressed onward. "Most
recently B'endover Torture, who is in critical condition at this
moment, was attacked. These two creatures--" she gestured to the
container on the table,"--were taken from the debris passed
through her body. What we need now are some answers that only
the creature can provide for us." Her face solidified into a rigid,
emotionless expression as she transformed into Scientist-Explorer mode.
"What can we learn from this creature? Can we find a way to co-exist
peacefully? Perhaps we can finally learn the reason behind one of life's
greatest mysteries!"
"Which mystery might that be?" Chocolaty asked.
"Why corn and peanuts appear to be whole in crap even though you've
chewed them sufficiently but pasta doesn't, even if you slurp it down rather
than chewing it."
"Damn, you're right!" Chocolaty looked at the alien in the container on
the table. "With the answer to a secret like that, scientific
advancement could be propelled light-years ahead of its current state!"
Painaway addressed her Science Officer. "Notspock, I need to ask a favor
of you."
Notspock held his hand out to her, offering a small, white paper
bag. "Jellybaby?"
"No."
"Very well. How may I be of help?"
"I want you to mind-melt with this creature."
Notspock stared at her the way a mouse stares at a cat when he's
hiding a bazooka behind his back. "You are kidding, are you not?"
"I am not."
"I see. I don't suppose we can wash the creature off before I touch it?
Sterilize it a little bit?" He shrugged. "No? Don't think so?"
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:47:26 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (6/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
--
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One: "The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Six =V=
Notspock sighed, taking his coat and scarf off. Two minutes
later, the force field around the container had been lowered,
the top had been removed, and Notspock was up to his elbows in
shit. The crew stood around in a sort of silent, disgusted awe
as they watched.
"Your thoughts are my thoughts," Notspock mumbled in the typical
mantra that, for some reason, had to be performed for these
events. He didn't know why, it wasn't really necessary except as
a crowd pleaser. It seemed that people didn't give a toss about
Fulcan mysticism if it was done without any showy display, or at least
the utterance of some fancy mumbo-jumbo shtick to accompany it. He moved his
hands about in the mess, which made squelching sounds like Jell-O being
squeezed inside a gym-sock.
"Our minds are one..." The turd was shuddering in sync with Notspock's
voice now.
"We... are called Gengrich," Notspock said haltingly, in a voice that
was three or four octaves lower than his own. "We are... of the K'raap. We
mean you no harm."
"We? You mean you operate as a sort of collective mind?" Chocolaty
asked.
"We are... giver of life and... offspring. We are... dying."
"Good," Ferret remarked casually. Doctor Strange slapped him upside the
back of his head.
"Gengrich," Asprin began, "we wish to learn more about your species and
your ways. What can we do to help you?"
Notspock's hands shifted around in the dark goo. "There is... nothing...
your species is capable of... which would prolong our life. We are...
beyond recovery."
"You mean you're shit out of luck, then?" Ferret said. Everyone in the
room, save Notspock, grunted and sputtered, trying not to laugh out
loud.
"Sounds like you're up shit creek without a paddle," Chocolaty offered.
More stifled laughter threatened to tear people's sinuses apart.
"It would appear that Notspock is in deep shit," commented the doctor.
Chocolaty lost control and started banging the table with a fist as
tears
poured out of the corners of his clenched eyelids.
"Yeah, he's got shit for brains now," Painaway said. Chocolaty started
shuddering spasmically as steam poured from his ears.
"Yeah, he's a stinky shit... brain... paddle...um..." Palms faltered,
trying hard to come up with a good one-liner to add to the foray. "deep
creek... um... stupid head!" He snorted madly at his own joke. Nobody
else laughed as they stared at him, ashamed to even be breathing the same air
as the little freak.
"Right, anyway..." Painaway addressed the K'raap. "Surely there must be
something we can do to help. Our medical technology is quite
advanced---"
"No," Gengrich said through Notspock. "It is not medical assistance we
require... it is... nutrients. We must have a host with a regular diet
which consists of... high concentrations of protein... starch... salt...
someone who consumes large quantities of... what you call... rice...
noodles... tuber vegetables... beans... insects... liquids with base
amounts of sodium.... we have not been able to find a host aboard this
vessel... who indulges in such a diet. We have grown too weak. If we
cannot find a suitable host soon, we will die."
"Sounds pretty bad to me," Ferret said. "I can't imagine eating a menu
like that all the time."
Chocolaty pondered. "Most of Crispex's meals are pretty balanced
nutritionally. I don't think there's a possibility of any of us
consuming such high concentrations of sodium and protein. Though I'm sure he
manages to slip a few insects in from time to time."
"A diet like that," Painaway thought out loud, "sounds similar to most
oriental foods."
"It is very possible that you are right," the doctor told her. "Rice and
noodles are a main staple of all oriental dishes. Celery, bok-choy,
cabbage, carrots, bamboo shoot, and water chestnut make up the better
amount of protein in those dishes as well. Soy and Teriyaki sauces would
supply high amounts of sodium to the food."
Ferret looked to the captain. "What if we replicated a bunch of Chinese
food and dumped it in with Gengrich? Or perhaps we could cook up a
nutritional liquid to supply it with optimal amounts of proteins and---"
He cut himself short, something having dawned on him. "Wait a minute---
what the hell am I talking about? That thing tried to kill me? Flush
it!"
"Your idea... though good in many ways... would not work." The K'raap
shuddered around Notspock's hands, pushing itself noisily through his
fingers. "We must... absorb nutrients from... intestinal lining...
cannot absorb nutrition directly... from food or supplements."
"We can save this creature," Chocolaty said, "if there is somebody
onboard *Goneforsure* who regularly consumes oriental food, and is willing to
ingest the alien to allow it to absorb the required nutrients."
"Stupid head," Harry Palms sniggered between snorts. After a moment he
realized that the rest of the room had grown frighteningly quiet. He
looked up to find all eyes resting thoughtfully on him.
"What?" he asked nervously.
* * * * *
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
From gavin_bond@my-deja.com Wed Nov 24 15:48:10 1999
TITLE: The Trouble with Feces (7/7)
AUTHOR: Gavin Bond
SERIES: "Goneforsure", a parody of Voyager
CODES: Well, none, really
RATING: [R]
SUMMARY: The crew of the Starship Goneforsure is plagued by a mysterious
alien. How original is that?
DISCLAIMER: "Star Trek" is the property of Paramount Pictures
and their infinite amount of lawyers. The "Goneforsure" parody
series, its characters and the following story are both the
intellectual property of Gavin Bond and should not be taken
too seriously.
--
Star Trek: Goneforsure
Episode One: "The Trouble With Feces"
by Gavin Bond
=V= Part Seven =V=
"Relax, Mr. Palms," the doctor ordered as he lowered the large, plastic
funnel into Harry's mouth, carefully making sure that the thin, flexible
spout ran gently down Harry's throat. Harry gagged and tried to scream.
He wrenched his arms and legs against the restraints of the examination
gurney, pitching his body up and side-to-side, all to no avail. "This
won't hurt. Much."
The senior officers stood in a semi-circle around the bed, watching
gleefully. B'elanna had regained consciousness, and was sitting up in
her own bed nearby, watching the ordeal with a sadistic grin plastered to
her pale face. Crispex observed similarly, though a plethora of tubes and
conduits were affixed to a small probe whose long, spherical end rested
comfortably somewhere inside his colon. His grin was more of a sign of
pleasure than sadism.
Two security guards approached Palms' bed carrying the specimen
container which held Gengrich. "You may proceed," the doctor told them. They
hoisted the container into the air and upended it over the funnel, dumping the
K'raap inside. Palms fought valiantly against the restraints as he
coughed and gurgled while Gengrich slid slowly down into his stomach and
intestines. The process of ingestion took nearly fifteen minutes to
complete due to the weakened state of the K'raap, and this provided the
surrounding crew members with a healthy dose of entertainment. Harry
finally succumbed to the operation and relaxed himself, exhausted.
"Well, that's done with," Doctor Strange announced. "He'll be under
close observation over the next twenty-four hours. If anything significant
develops, I'll be sure to let you know."
"I'll check in every few hours," Painaway told him. "And be sure you're
recording all of this. Posterity, you know." Doctor Strange nodded.
Painaway left the room, the rest of the crew except for Crispex and
B'elanna following.
The doctor leaned over Palms. "Well, young ensign, how do you feel?"
"Horrible," he breathed, and the doctor recoiled instantly, covering his
mouth and nose.
"Damn!" He shook his head. "I thought holograms didn't have a sense of
smell!"
"What's wrong?" Harry asked weakly.
"Ensign, I'm afraid you've contracted a severe strain of Zakly Disease,"
the doctor announced, grimacing and waving a hand in front of his face
to ward off the smell of Harry's halitosis.
Harry became quite worried. "Zakly Disease? What's that?"
"It means your breath smells 'zakly like shit!"
B'elanna collapsed backward onto her bed in a fit of laughter. Crispex
wheezed happily. The doctor chuckled as he reached over and plucked a
small white capsule from a nearby medical tray. "Tic-tac?" B'elanna
erupted into a loud cackle once more.
Harry held a furry hand out, frowning. "It's not my fault. You're the
one who force-fed me feces." He popped the capsule into his mouth and bit
down on it. "I'll probably need breath mints for a month or---" Silence.
"Mr. Palms?" The doctor peered down at the ensign. His face, his whole
body, had frozen in mid-sentence. The boy stared lazily up at the lights
in the ceiling, his mouth hanging halfway open. "Harry? Can you hear me?
Hello?"
"What's wrong?" B'elanna asked, her voice still subdued by minute bursts
of laughter.
"I'm not sure..." Doctor Strange grabbed up a tricorder and examined
Harry's body. He looked up sadly.
"Well?" Crispex asked.
The doctor remained silent for a moment. "Computer: note for future
reference," he said, annoyed. "Refrain from storing breath mints and
suicide pills anywhere near each other..."
*****
"Well, with the aid of some expensive computerized visual effects and
forgettable synthesizer music, Harry was miraculously brought back to
life." Chocolaty went over his report to the captain over morning
coffee. "Unfortunately, Gengrich was lost when Harry ingested the suicide pill."
"Damn," Painaway said. "I really wanted to find out about that peanut
thing, too."
"We all wanted to," Chocolaty said consolingly. Painaway looked into his
eyes, and for the briefest of moments, the two officers were filled with
a glowing warmth, brought on by tender emotions and gentle feelings. The
match of passion was suddenly struck upon the sandpaper of rapture, and
the bright flame of lust bit into the darkness, battling back the
shadows, inviting the unstoppable rush of primal urges to spiral up into chaos---
Chocolaty abruptly farted quite loud. He and Painaway both laughed
hysterically.
When they'd both calmed down, Painaway asked, "What's become of
Gengrich's body, anyway?"
"Well, after the doctor extracted it from Harry, Crispex requested that
he be allowed to give it a private funeral. He said he felt responsible for
its death, having brought it onto the ship and all."
"He's responsible for a lot more than that. Oh well; I just hope he
gives it a quick elegy and flushes it away."
"In the mean time," Chocolaty began, "what do we do about the doctor's
fascination with assisted suicide?"
Painaway waved him off as she sipped the last of her coffee. "I've
already taken care of that. After this day is over, he'll wish *he* could commit
suicide." Slowly, Painaway stood up and tore her uniform off. "Hungry?"
Chocolaty nodded stupidly.
"Good. Breakfast this morning will be me with a side of me."
*****
Ferret pulled the cold drinking glass away from his lips and swallowed
the mouthful of dark, carbonated beverage he'd sipped. It tasted unlike
anything he'd ever had before. "Crispex, this is really
interesting---what
is it?"
All throughout the mess hall, crew members were trying the new drink and
quietly discussing their opinions of it. Crispex looked quite happy with
the whole situation. He bobbed around Blonde's table like a
brain-damaged chicken on speed. "Well, you see, when I first came aboard this ship, I was searching through some old Earth recipes when I stumbled across a
series of beverage formulas for drinks that were sold commercially a few
hundred years ago. The recipe for this particular drink was apparently
called 'Pepsi One.' It sounded very intriguing. Unfortunately, the main
ingredient for the drink is difficult to obtain in the quantity required
by the recipe." He grinned mischievously, and Ferret suddenly felt a
little bit worried. "However, I've just recently acquired a large enough
supply of the all-important ingredient to let me manufacture 'Pepsi
One' for years to come...."
*****
Doctor Strange jammed his fingers further into his ears as he tried to
block out the horrible sounds. It wasn't working. Neither were his
attempts to shut his eyes---the captain must have disabled his eyelid
features.
Teenage girls danced and swayed and screamed all around him under the
night's sky, amidst the stage lights and the waves of flashlights and
cigarette lighters being held aloft by obsessed fans. Devilish noise
blared from the giant speakers which surrounded the scene like huge,
noisy walls. The doctor was beginning to panic. The captain had said his exile
was only to last one day, but unlike her, he was a computer program.
Twenty-four standard hours to him would seem like an eternity.
Up on stage, Donny Walberg clutched the microphone in his sweaty little
hands as he risked a hernia belting out an incoherent verse of "Please
Don't Go Girl." The other New Kids backed him up with equally
indecipherable lyrics.
Doctor Strange tilted his head back and screamed at the stars.
*****
Somewhere inside the warp core of the starship Goneforsure, an alien
presence was surfing strange, cosmic forces. Its molecular structure had
begun to ebb and flow with the pulses and currents of the miraculous
engine, and minor mutations had started taking place. The energy of the
environment slowly trickled into the body and fused this atom with that.
This K'raap had been the first on the ship, had spawned the others, had
sensed the presence of this colossal power and sought it out. It felt no
pain, only joy and a sense of accomplishment. It would take a good
amount of time, but in the end, the changes in its structure caused by the
mutations would render it a whole new being. A whole new strength.
And revenge.
* * * * *
=V= The End =V=
=V= Coming Soon: =V=
=V= ************ =V=
=V= *Boyardee 2* =V=
=V= * Fu-Q * =V=
=V= ************ =V=
by
=V= Gavin Bond =V=
--
"He who writes and runs away
lives to write another day."
G a v i n | gavin_bond@my-deja.com
B o n d | members.xoom.com/strangehighs
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
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