Saturday, December 22, 2018

A New Dope Part 8 of 8


“Goodbye RB little buddy!” cried CIBC looking up at the rear of the rebel X-wing fighter where RBC had been installed atop the aft thruster. “Don’t be a hero! Keep your pretty head low!” RBC whooped, bleeped and trumpeted and spun his head a few hundred revolutions within fifteen seconds. “I’ll save you some biscuits!”

“You all ready RB?” called Captain Fluke as he approached. RBC twittered, tweeted and chirped.

“He says don’t get him killed, you cocky stuffed turkey,” said CIBC.

“No he didn’t,” said Fluke. “I’ve been studying his language manual and I’m pretty sure he said Get me out of here. This gold-plated automaton is a giant bore.”

“Damn,” said CIBC sadly, his head hanging down.

“I’m just kidding CIBC!” Fluke exclaimed. “I can’t understand robot language!”

“But that’s exactly what he said!”

“Dude,” said Fluke. “You robots are both heroes. You’ll go down in history! Be proud of yourself, CIBC!”

“I am but it’s true. I’m ever so boring.”

“Okay, I don’t have time to play cybertherapist. See you on the flip side, Goldie!”

“Not if you’re dead.”

“Adiós! Get out of the way now! When I blast off I don’t want to melt you!”

Fine. Be that way.” He departed while Fluke closed himself into the cockpit and chose some pretty switches to flick off and on.

MOMENTS LATER… Flyswatter’s fighter emerged into the star-speckled battlefield of space where he joined the blue squadron and red squadron who were amusing themselves with a grand-scale game of capture the flag, X-wing style. “Follow me, boys!” cried Flyswatter, and off they sped toward the Great Imperial Bowling Ball.

“Who died and made him the boss?” came the voice of Ace Fantasmo over the space radio.

“Probably that old fart Ben Kablooey pulled some strings,” said Kentucky Detox. “He got himself a big reputation like a hundred years ago or something and they been treating him like royalty ever since.”

“Um, guys?” said Flyswatter. “We can hear you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the great rebel dope fleet sailed the galactic space currents toward their ominous destination.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE BOWLING BALL… The dark chihuahua mask peered over the shoulder of ensign Hertzel at the space monitors which tracked two squadrons of approaching dope fiends.

“Shall we fire up the tractor beam and suck them all in?” asked Hertzel.

“Negative,” wheezed Dark Gaydar darkly. “We will launch a bevy of fighters upon them as they arrive. I myself will pilot a pie fighter just for poops and giggles. I shall serve them up a few slices of whoop-ass.”

SOME FUTURE MOMENT IN TIME… For the second time in a week the Great Bowling Ball loomed in the space sky before a nervous Fluke Flyswatter. “Here we go,” he said, he glanced left and right to take in the view of all his co-fighter boys and girls and take a dose of courage… but they weren’t there!

“What the-! Where did everyone go!” RBC buzzed and chittered. He looked in his rear view mirror and suddenly realized that the whole company were flying in single file behind him. “What are you goofballs doing!” cried Flyswatter. “Quit clowning around!” RBC suddenly whooped and whistled and Fluke realized that dozens of pie fighters were streaming out of the pie hole. “Oh no!” cried Fluke. “Boys, this is not the formation that Fish Sticks designed! What the hells are you all doing!”

“Uh, you said to follow you,” said Hot Dog Diggity over the radio.

“That was just an expression! Get back to the plan! Jeebus!”

The train of fighters began immediately to fan out but already Fluke was drawing a lion’s share of attention. Laser blasts reigned down on him as he tried to make evasive maneuvers. The ship was struck multiple times and hiccupped violently but held together. But Fluke’s helmet was dashed against the dash and rung his bell, leaving the boy stunned momentarily.

RBC meanwhile shrieked and squealed. He was on fire as were numerous bits and pieces of the ship. RBC whipped out his inspector gadget fire hose and blew white powder at each unauthorized flame, safely putting out each fire. And then he went silent and limp.

“Oh my gord what am I doing here!” murmured Luke aloud. “Why did I ever toast my home and my relatives! This sucks! And my laser assist module is deactivated! How am I going to shoot anyone!”

“Use the force, Fluke,” came the voice of Opie Wan Ben Kablooey like magic.

“Ben, is that you!”

“Of course. I’m in the back seat.”

“Oh wow! I didn’t even know!”

“I think you hit your head too hard,” said Ben.

“Welcome aboard Ben! Hey you want a drink or some peanuts? We got a flight attendant on board! That’s my pal RBC back there!’

“Yes, I know,” said Ben.  We’ve all been hanging out the last week. We’re well-acquainted.”

“Oh okay. Ahhh, what are we doing here again? This seems like a bad idea, coming back here.”

“Fluke, listen to me,” said Ben calmly. “Make your way to the poop chute at the rear of the bowling ball and shoot down every pie fighter that gets in your way!”

“We don’t like the pie fighters,” said Fluke.

“That’s right. We don’t like the pie fighters.”

“And they don’t like us?”


“Okay then. Fluke veered off and began circling the great dark orb…

MOMENTS LATER… “Hey there’s a lone pie fighter back here,” said Fluke. “Almost like he’s been waiting for us.”

Ben frowned at the cosmos. “That’s not just any pie fighter, Fluke. This one is especially dangerous.”

Fluke began firing laser blasts. “Hey, I can’t aim for shit, Ben! What’s going on!”

“Your targeting mechanisms have re-purposed to serve the pellet insertion, Fluke. You will need to use the f-”

“The what!” cried Fluke.

“The pellet insertion! Remember!” The boy continued spraying lasers everywhere. ‘Fluke, we cannot win this battle this way. You need to use the FORCE!”

MEANWHILE about a space mile away the Dark Vader accelerated toward the lone X-wing fighter. “I have you now, Flyswatter! Right where I want y- Oh shit!” a random laser blast struck Gaydar’s pie fighter right smack on it’s obsidian nose, sending it in to a helpless roll. Gaydar was sent somersaulting helplessly into the void of space. “Damn everything,” he huffed. “I never should have had unprotected sex with that woman.”

Flyswatter drew up tight to the Great Ball’s slick dark surface. Any enemy fire which missed him was sure to strike their own mother ship! He tried to activate the poop chute finder but something was wrong. “RB, check the targeting systems please! Something is askew!”

But RBC was blackened and silent.

“RB! RB!” Fluke cried.

“Fluke,” said Ben.

“It’s okay, Ben. He slips into sleep mode after 10 minutes of inactivity. I just have to give the mouse a jiggle.”

“I’m sorry Fluke,” said Ben. “Not this time. RB cannot help you now. You will have to-”

“I know, I know! Use the force! Give it a rest, will ya?”

Ben shrugged as the boy studied the Great Ball’s surface, looking for poop clues. “I think I see it!” he cried. Suddenly laser blasts shot by him on one side, then the other. “Gods dang it!” he cried, praying to find the chute before he got blown to smithereens. Ben meanwhile prayed to the Force.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind him as his pursuer met with smithereen fate ahead of Fluke.

“Got him!” came a familiar voice over the radio. “You’re all clear now kiddo!”

“Hand!” cried Fluke. “Hand, is that you! How many back seats does this thing have!”

“I’m in the Aluminum Fulcrum kid! I came back to help you out because I thought maybe there would be another reward! Wait! No! I mean, because I care about you guys and everything!”

“You’re awesome, Hand! I can’t wait to hug you when all this is over!” and kick you in the gonads… he said under his breath. “There it is! The poop chute!” Fluke grinned wildly and bore down upon it.

“Kid, what are you doing!” said Hand.

“Fluke?” said Ben.

“I’m going in!” cried Fluke.

“You won’t fit!” cried Hand. “Insert the package and then pull away!”

“Oh damn,” said Fluke. He noticed that one of his pretty buttons had a little sticky note stuck to it with the word “insert” scrawled on it. The chute rushed at him! He smacked the button and pulled up with all his might.

And the Great Bowling Ball… would never strike again. It blew up real good.


Back at the rebel base there was a great celebration. They drank beer and champagne. They smoked marijuana - but only for medicinal or recreational purposes, and they played space monopoly and lawn darts and TV tag.

Later RBC was fully repaired and he joined the party and organized a Play Day tournament for everyone. He and CIBC and Fluke and Hand and Chewie were all on the same team. They kicked ass, especially at the egg carrying event and the one where you have to dig your shoes out of a pile and be the first team with your shoes put back on. CIBC set the new record at this event because he simply detached and re-attached his entire feet, which he and RBC had been practicing for a whole year.

Princess Louise handed out first place medals to everyone on the team and there were much applause. Fluke looked around for Ben but he was nowhere in the crowd. For the ghost of Ben Kablooey had finally satisfied his destiny, and he returned to the grave to rest in peace.

TO BE CONTINUED in Episode V: THE EMPIRE BOWLS A STRIKE…! (Yeah, probably not.) 

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