Monday, December 17, 2018

A New Dope Part 3 of 8

MEANWHILE IN THE GREAT BOWLING BALL IN THE SKY… the bedraggled Princess Louise was bedragged into the Grand Firing Chamber where Governor Grampa Muffin awaited. “So,” said Muffin menacingly, “You have revealed the secret location of the rebel base?”

“No she has not, Governor Muffin,” said Sgt. Goosestep.

“I couldn’t get the words out, Muffin Man!” spat Louise. “I was choking on your foul stench! I knew you were on board the moment we docked!”

“Ah yes,” said Muffin haughtily, “Amusing ‘til the end.”

“The Hood of Persuasion has failed us,” said Goosestep. “Another one of Lord Gaydar’s religious voodoo baubles comes up lame. What a surprise.”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” came a deep breathy voice. They turned to see the Dark Gaydar standing at the entrance in his black ensemble, hands on his hips, drawing back his black cape and revealing his wide pink belt and little white fanny pack. Sgt. Goosestep suddenly began to squirm and reached for his tight collar.

“Well, Princess,” said the governor. Goosestep began to cough. “Gaydar, knock it off.”

“What?” breathed Gaydar.

“Stop that at once. I know what you’re doing.” Goosestep began to turn red. He made gasping sounds.

“Who, me?” said Gaydar.

“Look, stop it! I’m running out of goddam sergeants! Leave them alone!”

“I’m fine!” gasped Goosestep. “I’ve just caught a bit of a bronchial infection.”

Gaydar raised his hand, palm upward. “See?” He came forward, unzipping his white fanny pack. He pulled out a package of throat lozenges. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” said Goosestep.

“Where was I?” said Governor Muffin.

“Slinging your usual bullshit,” said Louise.

“Your impudence shall not go unpunished, princess,” said Muffin. “Show her the default target!” The image of a planet suddenly appeared on the main monitor. “It is time to demonstrate the power of this bowling ball. And you shall play a part in it. Isn’t that swell?”

“I’ll have nothing to do with your stinking agenda!”

“Oh but you will,” said Muffin. “In essence you will choose our target.”

“I choose your ass then. Bend over.”

Gaydar snorted. “She got you there.”

“You will tell me the location of the secret rebel base,” snapped Muffin, or else we will blow up this entire planet!” He pointed at the screen.

“What!” gasped Louise. “That’s an entirely peaceful planet!”

“It is your own home planet,” said Muffin. “And it’s about to go bye-bye!”

“No!” she cried. “There’s nothing but women and children on that planet, and wood nymphs and leprechauns!”

“Oh well,” said Muffin.

“And elves and fairies and hippies playing guitars!”

“You will provide another target?” snapped Muffin angrily. “A military target!”

“Damn you to hell!”

“Okay, fire away,” said Muffin with a shrug.

“No! Please! No!”

There was a great shrinking in the room; a dimming of lights, a drain of energy, a deep sinking drone in the ears, as a technician drew back the firing lever.

“Okay!” yelped Louise. “The Dego Blah system!”

“Too late,” said Muffin in a sing-songy voice. “But thanks for the tip!”

The Great Bowling Ball ship shuddered as a high pitch squeal tore through their ears, and in the monitor the fairy planet exploded.

MEANWHILE IN THE CITY OF FOOLS… chronic masturbator Hand Solo sat in a corner booth of the Booze Hound Bar and Grill with one hand hidden below the table doing god-knows-what. Across from him sat a Fazooli Rat by the name of Fraggle. “Listen… Fraggle,” said Solo. “Tell your boss I was just about to come and see him about all of this. I have every intention to sort this out.”

“Boss man no sort out with smugglers who dump their loads in their pants at the first sign of imperial patrol ships. He says you stinky.” Fraggle fondled the blaster gun which lay on the table before him, the barrel pointed squarely at Hand Solo’s white-shirted chest. What the henchman did not know was that Solo had a blaster of his own pointed squarely at Fraggle’s rat-family jewels, but all of this hidden below the table.

“So what do we do now?” asked Solo politely.

“Now you come with me, Stinkpants. It’s time to face the music.”

“Hmm,” said Solo. “I don’t think so.” And he pulled the trigger. Fraggle’s rat jewels immediately exploded as did most of the rest of him. The noise caused the Elephant Man Band to cease their jazz rendition of When the Saints Go Marching In as everyone looked toward the corner where fresh Rat giblets dripped from the rafters.

“Boring conversation anyway,” said Hand Solo with a wink at the sultry green lady who sat at the next table with a space explorer by the name of Captain Kirk.

A waiter who had the face of a horse and seven octopus tentacles came bustling over. “Um, sir?” he whinnied, “Is everything okay?”

“My drink has an eyeball in it,” said Solo. The equine waiter peered into the glass and indeed spied the rat eye spying back at him.

“I’ll get you a fresh one,” he said.

“Clean up this mess while you’re at it, Ed,” said Solo and he flicked the horse man a shiny space coin.

This satisfied the Elephant Man Band who then returned to their craft and launched into an extra-primitive minimalist rendition of Kim Mitchell’s Rockland Wonderland.   

(To be continued tomorrow… if you can stand it…)

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