Sunday, December 30, 2018

Why 2019 will be a great year...

… or else disastrous. I’m fairly sure it will be one or the other.

Here’s 2018 at a glance:
  • celebrated somewhere between ten and fifteen good night’s sleeps
  • was tired and/or dazed almost every waking-ish moment.
  • made about a dozen good decisions and at least ten thousand noticeably bad ones.
  • got fatter, pushing the limits of available affordable clothing. Even the shockingly outrageously expensive fat guy stores are growing a little doubtful when I squeeze through their door.

  • I much enjoyed the constant servicing of my first undoubtedly real addiction - every single day as far as I recall, which, by the way, I imagined that I could actually give up any semblance of a healthy life in exchange for. Yes, I could actually imagine (not desire but imagine) giving up all my creative projects (roughly 150 active projects on file!), plus all my goals plus all my friends in exchange for a life immersed in my addiction, and this without any sense of alarm at all. This strikes me as a useful test by the way: if this can be imagined without alarm. This thing is not a secret by the way but I wish to reveal it in a more useful way than this, and soon. For now, I seek brevity.
  • My mobility has reduced drastically and my volume of employment and financial functionality likewise.
  • I have been entirely scattered in my pursuits and badly unproductive. I started many new projects and finished a couple. 
  • I have made little net progress taking back my bedroom from the storage room it ruthlessly evolved into.
  • I have been almost entirely unmindful; unconscious; instinctive; spiritually asleep.
  • I have been mostly without pity and with feelings closer to contempt or disdain for these creatures of society who surround and resemble me so much.
  • I have let many close personal relationships suffer, and felt unwisely grieved over some which I covet too dearly.
  • I have also made valuable, unlikely new friendships.
  • Somewhat surprisingly this year I have received more support, and commitment to keeping me working - at sites I can handle - from my employer. The prospects look good for 2019 if I can keep my mobility from slipping further.

Causality is so profoundly simple in nature but so uncontainably complex in its networks that we imagine it to be something other than what it is, so as to indulge in vain fantasies of the why and the blame… but I can trace some generalities: Lack of sleep and lack of mindfulness both hover near the centre of this great mess, like two galaxies converging into chaos, and I am finally at the point where I can more than just identify the most useful initial battlefields should I take an interest in living again, before (in some ways) it is too late. I am at the point, very recently, where I imagine the addiction contained in its place and imagine the specific tinkerings of a comprehensively healthy life, and it all looks and feels good to me. Not just that the rewards look good to me but the path looks good to me. It looks difficult and doable and satisfying. If I was prone to that thing called hope it would be applicable here.

Something really seems to be happening to me now, and I aim to share it here, for I have felt for some time that the real purpose of this blog, should it ever mature, is to document my struggle; that which regards my inner purpose. Though I intend to go on sharing my outer purpose amusements as well. I expect 2019 to be a busy year for us, dear blog. I dare to intend to visit daily.

Okay… five times a week?

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Merry Dismas

“Merry Dismas,” I said to the old-time-crook-turned-volunteer-over-the-years, as I arrived at the church. Dismas by the way, (we are told) was the thief on the cross who asked Jesus to remember him.

Soon I was reminded of two of the core talents of this large motley crew of ex-cons and the parishioners and other weirdos who find the time and wherewithal to fall into their lives (or too often the facsimiles thereof) in the interest of community safety (in the interest of basic humanity is more like it): Which are… cooking and singing! The meal was perfect, tender and tantalizing and the notes, pitch and acoustics which followed, upstairs in the sanctuary were… damn fine. I closed my eyes, sealed my lips, ignored the lyrics for the most part and just.. savoured.

After all had filtered out except for Soul Man, the High-Flying Dutchman and myself, the Dutchman indulged himself with the grand piano. His home model is an upright. I relayed the sad state of my slow dysfunctional explorations into classical music and was rewarded with a lively and wickedly effective demonstration of the basic differences between Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Schubert and Chopin, as I leaned over the bouncing strings and hammers, really feeling them and realizing that I really need to scrap these classical collections with their random moments and actually sink my teeth into one composer at a time. And from what I heard, I knew I had to go straight for Bach. I’m exploring now; starting with organ pieces; some of them of the “fugue” persuasion. Probably not the right starting point. Oh well.

This Dutchman fellow always intrigues me. He’s super-well read, a clear thinker, smooth talker. I hope to see more of him but I did not propose this last night. I am not currently brimming with confidence that my company is much desired by others at this time. Perhaps I will try to get some of my shit together. It's resolution season after all.

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.) 

Friday, December 21, 2018

A New Dope Part 7 of 8


“Oh wow,” said Solo. “This was a great idea! I never could have come up with a plan this good!” They all stood in an indescribably grungy filthy stinky chamber waist-deep in waste. Space flies buzzed around them as they peered around at the tech trash, duct work, heaps of potato peelings, black bananas, cardboard boxes, taco wrappers, paper bags with vomit oozing out of them, fish bones, turkey carcasses, a half-eaten birthday cake, rebar, a stuffed teddy bear with one button-eye missing, tin cans, cigarette packages, great pools of unidentifiable sludge, and a human head with eyes wide open and wearing a maniacal smile.

“I figured you’d feel right at home here,” said Louise.

“Touché,” said Solo. Chewie found an access hatch with a red light shining above it and eagerly yanked and hammered on the thing to know avail. He howled in dismay.

“How do we get out of here now?” said Fluke.

“Well, they need to get rid of the garbage somehow,” said Louise.

“You don’t think they just void it into space,” said Solo. “Do you?”

“Ruh roh,’ said Chewie.

Fluke and Louise eyed one another nervously. “That sounds like exactly the sort of thing these fucking imperialists would do,” said Louise.

“Imperialist pigs,” spat Fluke.

Suddenly there were a series of loud clicks and clunks echoing though the metal chamber. The foursome stared at one another wide-eyed. “I think we’re about to find out what imperialists do with their garbage,” said Solo.

“Look!” cried Fluke. The light above the hatch had turned from red to green.

“Try it now Chewie!” cried Solo. The beast lunged for the metal door as the light turned from green back to red. He banged at the unmoving door and issued a yawning howl. “Fuck a duck!” cried Solo. “Could you be any slower?” Now the mother of all clangs rang in their ears, and the walls; the great metal walls, began to move; began closing in toward one another.

“Ruck a ruck!” cried Chewingtobacca

“Great work, princess,” said Solo. This is the kind of death I’ve been hoping for all my life. Thanks for making it happen.

“Believe me, you’re welcome,” said Louise. “I just feel bad about your two friends. They probably had something to live for.”

“Bitch,” said Solo.

“Pecker head,” said Louise.

“Stuck-up white-bread snot.”

“Low life bottom feeder.”

“Hey,” yelped Fluke. “I hate to direct your creative juices away from your name-calling efforts but uh - maybe we should try to figure out a way out of here! Do you think!”

“It’s a trash compactor, kiddo,” said Solo. “We’re done for.”

“It’s no use,” said Louise.

“Thanks Sugar,” said Solo. “Thanks for clarifying In case he didn’t hear me the first time.”

“Shut up, you misogynist pea-brained troglodyte.”

“Mmm, I like it when you talk dirty, Princess.”

“Oh yeah? Try this for dirty.” She grabbed a handful of muck and threw it straight into Hand Solo’s face.

“Whoa,” said Solo, brown-faced and squinting through one eye. “Now you’re talking. If we’re gonna go out it might as well be with a bang!” He swiftly unsnapped his holster and his fly and began wading toward Louise who yelped in alarm, tried to back-pedal and then screamed as Solo fell upon her while the walls drew inexorably closer.

“To hell with them,” said Fluke. “Let’s find a way out of here Chewie.” The beast howled in what Fluke assumed was agreement. “Oh!” Fluke gasped. “RBC can save us!” He tore at his ill-fitting stormpooper armor and finally whipped out a tricorder device from his leotard pocket. And immediately he juggled it and dropped it in the sludge. “Aghhhhhh! GODDAMMIT!” He began madly fishing around in the great stinking stew as it became more and more compressed by the closing walls. Chewingtobacca roared and threw Fluke aside and began tearing at the rubbage himself, flinging aside pipes and bricks and soiled clothes; muck flying everywhere. An errant brick came down on Hand Solo’s hand as he feverishly attempted to mount a screaming Princess Louise. He screamed himself suddenly and fell aside of her, grabbing his bleeding wounded hand in his other.

“No!” Hand cried in anguish. “Not my favourite hand!”

MEANWHILE JUST A FEW FEET AWAY… Fluke spied a small metallic object flying up into the air above Chewie’s head and he saw that it was emitting a flashing light. He leapt to grab it, elbowing the wookie in the face in the process.

Louise had drawn herself to her feet and saw that this was her chance as her attacker slumped on his shoulder, holding his injured hand. She grabbed up a large heavy pole and raised it mightily into the air, eyeing Solo’s head with feverish revenge on her mind. Self defence, she told herself. I’ll brain the fucker… 

Fluke closed his hand around the little tricorder as it bobbed in the air. Simultaneously the offended wookie grabbed the boy who had so rudely back-armed him in the face, and he tossed the boy aside. Fluke crashed into Louise who dropped the lead pipe at once and they both landed on Solo. The three splashed into the grunge pool, sinking below the surface, and Chewingtobacca stood there feeling suddenly lonely.

Fluke came up for air first as the walls were now only two space yards apart. He brought the tricorder up to his sludge-smeared mouth. “Come in RB! Come in!”

“Master Fluke!” came CIBC’s panicked voice from the gadget. “RBC and I are locked in a control closet and Princess Louise is missing!”

“Shut up and listen to me!” cried Fluke. “Louise is with us but we’re all going to die unless RB shuts down the trash compactor on the detention level! Is he still logged in to their wi-fi!”

“No he’s not!” cried CIBC

“God damn fuck it god fuck a fucking god dammit we are going to fucking die you god dammit stupid mechanical piece of shit!” Fluke screamed. “I don’t want to die this way!”

“He’s hard-wired in,” stated CIBC.

“What! Oh! Oh well great then! have him shut down the trash compactor on the detention level immediately! Hurry up! Now now now! we are being crushed to death!”

“Hmm,” said CIBC. “I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I appreciated your attitude toward me just now.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry please oh please we’ll talk about this! I will buy you crumpets for life; I promise! But you gotta save us RIGHT NOW!”

“Oh, I’m just kidding Master Fluke. He’s working on it right now. But there’s a lot of trash compactors on this Bowling Ball. He’s having trouble isolating-”

“AAGGGGGGHHH!” screamed Master Fluke. “I’M BEING SQUISHED!”

“Oh my Gord RB!” cried CIBC. “Just shut them ALL down!”

The walls halted at once.

Chewie and Fluke whooped and howled in delight. They were saved.

“Oh good. They’re dying!” said CIBC… “Just kidding!!”


“So,” came the deep deep breathy voice from behind Opie Wan Kablooey. The Jade Eye knight halted in his path and turned around to see the Dark Gaydar standing fifteen feet away. “Opie Wan Kablooey. We meet again.”

“It has been a long long time Gaydar. Not since you foolishly and cowardly turned away to the dark side have I seen your mangy artificial poodle face.”

“Chihuahua actually. And now the student has become the master.”

“Master, my arse.” spat old Ben.

“I just might do that, bitch.”

“Nice fanny pack,’ said Ben. “Who’s the bitch?”

Gaydar yanked out his laser sword and flashed it about giving out a medley of gruesome warbling sounds.

“If you take me down I will only rise again but taller,” said Opie Wan.

“That’s what she said.”

“What?” said Ben. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not funny at all. Are you stupid?”

Enraged, Gaydar sprung forward, light sabre flashing and garbling.”

“Opie go night night!” said Ben mystically. Gaydar’s sabre hit him and the tweed robes fell emptily to the floor.

“What the-” cried Gaydar. “Goddam voodoo!” He kicked at the formless robes and found no Ben Kablooey. “Fucker!” He then spotted a small hairy insect scuttling along the slick imperial floor. “Ah ha!” cried Gaydar. “Turned into a spider did you!” Gaydar chased the spider down the hall.

Of course boys and girls, what Gaydar did not know… was that Opie Wan Ben Kablooey had never really been in the visitor centre at all!


“And then he caught up to the spider!” said Opie Wan Kablooey, his upper lip dusted with white powder. “And he stomped up and down on the poor thing for twenty space minutes yelling Take that Opie Wan! Take that you fucking goodie two shoes!” Everyone laughed at old Ben’s tale: Fluke and Princess Louise and Hand Solo and his woolly wookie and Admiral Fish Sticks with the giant fishy face and everyone dipped their straws into the mountain of cocaine which RBC had provided and they snorted with glee.

“Well, little RBC,” said Admiral Fish Sticks drunkenly, “Thanks for the smack and the plans! I better get to work finding the bowling ball’s Achilles heel bone so we can blow it to smithereens. Give me a minute, fellas.”

ONE MINUTE LATER… in the presentation lounge the gang was all there along with a bevy of space pilots in orange jump suits. All of them had escaped from one of the imperial prisons far away in a place called Kingston, Ontario on a funny little planet called Dirtsand, or "Earth" by the Dirtsandian inhabitants. Also present were a variety of important rebel strategists including, most prominently, El Toro the bull-headed man and Catmandoo the cat-headed woman.

Admiral Fish Sticks drew everyone’s attention to the giant whiteboard where an image of a Great Bowling Ball architectural drawing was projected. Fish Sticks turned on his laser pointer and pinned his red dot on the whiteboard. Catmandoo, at the sight of this magical red prey nearly peed herself with excitement but she managed to contain herself and hold still.

“This is going to be simple ladies and gentleman,” said the Admiral. “Note the three giant holes on the surface of the behemoth. This bottom one is the pie hole. This is where all of the pie fighters will launch from the moment they see us coming.” He clicked his clicker and the drawing changed to one focused on the rear of the craft. Now there is actually one more hole on the surface but it is so much smaller than the others. indeed we might surmise that a core purpose of the two major holes on the high side is to create a distraction. Watch as I zoom in. Now here is the tiny hole that concerns us. It is the Poop Chute. It is from here that messages and instructions to the entire galactic stormpooper force is broadcasted. And this is their great weakness. If we can insert a Trojan Pellet right up the Poop Chute, we can not only disrupt the galactic broadcast but we can turn the Great Ball into a Great Ball of Fire!

“Goodness gracious! A great ball of fire!” exclaimed the orange-suited pilot Captain Kentucky Detox.

“Oh my stars!” exclaimed CIBC.

“That’ll frost their tallywhackers,” said Captain Frisco Kibblebits.

“Oh it’ll blow them clean off,” clarified Admiral Fish Sticks

“I stand corrected,” said Kibblebits.

“Every fighter ship is being equipped with a properly programmed and lubricated Trojan Pellet as we speak. Make no mistake: this will be a highly dangerous undertaking and many of you may not make it back alive. But all it takes is one successful pellet plant and victory is assured. The moment a successful insertion has been announced we will all pull out and withdraw. As we speak all your targeting systems are being re-purposed for this insertion task. This means that any dogfighting or any laser fire will be manual!”

“No problemo,” said Captain Hotdog Diggity. ‘I can shoot down an entire squadron of pie fighters in half the time a computer can.”

“You can shoot a lot of baloney out your bumhole is more like it,” quipped Captain Ace Fantasmo. “I can’t even do that and I’ve beaten you at every pie fight simulation ever designed.”

Captain Diggity sneered as everyone else laughed. “Maybe I’ve been letting you win, Fatso.”

“Okay, enough of that,” said Fish Sticks. “Any questions about this plan?”

“Do the imperials know about their poop chute?”

“You mean, from a hole in the ground? Hahahah!” Fish Sticks slapped his knee. “But seriously: they likely have not realized the extent of their exposure but they likely do know that the chute should be protected. What we hope they don’t know, is just how dedicated we are to getting into it. And I believe it likely that they do not. When we attack we will send the bulk of our forces directly at their pie hole, as if defeating their fighter fleet is our main goal. Some of you will approach quietly from their rear but feigning a flank attack. Then we’ll divert at the last moment. Furthermore any frontal attacker drawing a pie fighter pursuer will divert toward the rear chute as if trying to lose the pursuer, which would be a great idea either way. Once the gig is up, then all of our forces will abandon the frontal façade and blitz the poop chute.” Heads nodded around the room. “Are we clear?”

The consensus was affirmative. “Okay. Prepare for battle. And remember: let’s be careful out there.”

MEANWHILE IN A NON-MILITARY HANGAR… The recently accredited Captain Solo was directing Chewingtobacca the wookie of the year which cargo to load onto the Aluminum Fulcrum when a certain princess approached him from behind and grabbed his ass.

“Whoa!” he said, spinning around. “Louise! You’ve come to kiss me goodbye!” She reared back and slapped him hard in the face. A red hand print began to appear on his cheek. “Oh Sugar, you know I love it when you get rough!”

“How the blazes can you leave at a time like this!”

“Well… I can’t really screw you. I pulled one off a couple or six times already this morning. I’m sore. They have amazing porn here! Have you seen it?” She slapped him again. “Ow! Damn, girl!” Didn't you hear me? I can’t perform now! Don’t even try to get me excited!”

“How can you leave when the rebels need you!”

“Huh? For what?”

“For the fight, dammit! You’re a good pilot! We need all the good pilots we can get! Don’t you ever care about anything but yourself and your rewards!”

“No. Of course not. What a stupid question. Jeez. It’s a good thing you’re cute ‘cause you’re not very bright.”

Louise shook her head disgustedly. “You’re the champion slime ball of the galaxy.”

“Thanks Sugar. ‘Til next time then! All aboard Chewie!”

To be concluded tomorrow! (if you can stand it…)

Thursday, December 20, 2018

A New Dope Part 6 of 8


 “Excuse me,” said the apparent stormpooper to the tall stormpooper as they came masked-face to masked-face in the slick indirect-lighted hallway.

“Yes?” said the tall stormpooper as he eyed the handcuffed wookie nervously, and with just a glance at the short stormpooper who rounded out the party of three.

“We’re transferring this prisoner to detention level three but I’m kind of new here and I’ve lost my way. Can you tell me how to get to detention level three?”

“Oh. Yeah sure. Um. Turn around. Um. You know what? I’m going that way. Follow me. He then carried on down the hallway while the trio turned and followed him.

MEANWHILE IN THE GREAT INTERNAL BOWLING BALL COLUMN… Opie Wan Kablooey Tin Can Toucan Soupman Can Can Wan Can the Second (and also the first) slipped carefully, quietly and gracefully along a narrow bridge toward a large black Undulation Regulator Fixture on a central pedestal. The drop below fell away for what seemed like a mile.

Ben raised his eyebrows, mouthed a silent whistle and went forth. He edged his way to the great device and pushed a few buttons upon it and then drew down a large lever. Rows of red lights greeted this manoeuvre with a constant synchronized flashing. But it was a silent flashing and one that no other persons were around to see.

MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER HALLWAY… RBC carried on, rolling along the dark shiny floor while CIBC scampered along behind him.

“Where in the blazes are you two going!” said the red-striped BMO model steamdroid who spied them from a tertiary hallway and rushed out to meet them.

“None of your beeswax,” said CIBC haughtily.

“Of course it is my business,” snapped BMO. “I’m the executive robot coordinator of the week! I am in charge of all robot scheduling and my database reveals no reason for you to be here!”

“We’re fetching tea and crumpets for Sgt. Goosestep. It’s an unscheduled task. He’s unexpectedly peckish today.”

“Well this is highly irregular.”

“As is Sargent Goosestep. He's hoping a good cup of tea will loosen his bowels. And for the record, we were not instructed to pause in our mission to jabber with the likes of you!”

“Oh piss off,” said BMO spinning about and rolling swiftly away.

The mechanical duo carried on with CIBC hissing at his dwarven steampunk companion. “You are going to get us in SO much trouble! We must return to the Aluminum Fulcrum at once!”

RBC buzzed and honked and tweeted.

“Don’t you talk to me like that. I just might go back myself then and when Master Fluke inquires I’ll say you flipped your lid and joined the Imperial forces! Yes, see if I don’t!”

But he continued to follow RBC.

MEANWHILE IN AN ELEVATOR SHAFT NEARBY… an Imperial Gopher in brown jumpsuit was leaning against his trash bin picking his nose and eating it.

MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER ELEVATOR SHAFT NEARBY… Fluke, Hand, Chewie and the tall stormpooper were humming along downward toward level D.

“You need to display your pass on level D,” said the tall Pooper whose name was Fritzopholes.

“Okay, thanks for all your help,” said Solo. “We’re good from here. Don’t let us take up any more of your time.”

“No problem,” said Fritz. “Out of the elevator I’m going right, but you go left and you can’t miss the detention block.

“Thanks again.”

“But seriously, you need to display your passes right now. It’s a high level security level. You are authorized right? You have the proper clearance?”

“Of course,” said Solo. “Prisoner relocation is mostly what we do.”

“So what are you waiting for?”


Technically I should not have directed us to this level without seeing your ID cards. I need to see them now please.”

“Right. I get it,” said Solo. He reached down into his holster, raised his blaster pistol and shot Fritzopholes right in the brain. Fluke yanked off his Pooper mask and stared in horror at the bloody mess. Dripping, spattered brain matter hung everywhere.

“Jesus, Hand!”

“Boring conversation anyway,” said Solo with a wink at his companions. Chewy just shook his big shaggy head sadly. “Put your mask on kid.”

Fluke did so, muttering, “What the hell are we gonna do with this mess?”

Solo pulled out a pretty purple patrol pad from the pooper’s pants pocket and a pen too. He tore off a page and scribbled a note. He yanked the blaster from the corpse’s holster and arranged it in the pooper’s cold dead hand which he moved up to the body’s shoulder so that the blaster pointed at the corpse’s own head. He dropped the note onto the floor. It read:

I can’t take it any more. I can’t live with myself. I can’t stand being a tool of this evil empire. P.S. Lord Gaydar Is a fag and he raped me.

Solo pondered this. Then picked up the note again and added to the end: when I was seven.

The elevator door opened and the threesome quickly stepped out and made their way leftward down the hall unseen.


“You there!” came an angry voice from behind the two robots. “You there: halt at once!”

“Oh my stars! muttered CIBC. We’re doomed! We’re screwed!” RBC made a sudden turn and a hatch opened before him which CIBC followed him through. “Hey!” came the stern voice. The hatch shut behind them. They found themselves alone in an octagonal control room full of buttons and screens. RBC immediately plugged his phallic doohickey into a matching port and gave it a spin. The hatch at once locked tight.

“Well here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” said CIBC.

RBC continued to twirl the connection port as he scanned information.

CIBC looked around the room. “Do you think there’s enough room in here to practice?”

RBC whistled in the affirmative and unplugged as CIBC began removing his feet.

MEANWHILE ON DETENTION LEVEL D BLOCK… Solo pressed the doorbell repeatedly and banged his fist on the door.

A voice came over the little speaker box. “If you can’t scan your pass then you need to say the secret password!”

“Look pal,” said Solo, “I’m new here and there’s a problem with my card and nobody gave me the password. I can’t go dicking around with admin right now because I’ve got the wookie of the year in handcuffs and as soon as he realizes he’s strong enough to break out of them we’re all as fucked as fuck!”

There was no immediate response but they could just barely hear a conversation going on inside the room. Should I let him in…? He said it…? Yeah it might have been by accident but it’s the password. The procedures don’t dictate that I use any particular judgement… He said it, didn’t he?

“Fuck?” said Solo into the box. “I think the password is fuck.”

“No it’s not.”

“Dicking? Wait, sorry. No. Ah… Strong?”

“Handcuffs,” Fluke suggested.

“Wait. I remember now!” said Solo. “The password is handcuffs!”

“Handcuffs or just hand?”

Solo looked at Fluke unbelievingly. “Hand!”

“Thank you. You may enter.”

“I should have just introduced myself from the beginning!” he whispered to Fluke. The door opened with a gentle buzz and the party walked in. Chewy cast aside the handcuffs which at this point were not locked and the three intruders began firing away with their blasters at everything that moved.

Within seconds every soldier in the detention control room lay bleeding on the floor; either dead or swiftly dying.

“Aren’t you going to say boring conversation anyway?” said Fluke to Hand Solo.

“What?” said Solo.

“Never mind.”

Solo and Fluke approached a big computer screen. “How do we find out which cell she’s in?” said Solo. Chewie meanwhile strode furrily around the room, taking weapons and wallets away from the dead and dying.

“Ask the computer?” Fluke suggested.

“I don’t know how to interface with it,” said Solo. “Computer!” he said, and received no reply.

The phone suddenly rang.

“We should answer it,” said Fluke.

“Hell, no.” said Solo.

It rang again. Fluke picked it up and brought the handset to his ear. “Hello?” he said. He paused, listening. “Hey, do you know what cell Princess Louise is in?” Solo shook his head in disapproval. “Oh, okay,” said Fluke. Then he handed the phone to Solo. “It’s for you.”

Solo’s jaw dropped as he stared at Fluke, taking the phone into his hand. “Hello?” He frowned angrily at Fluke, shaking his head. “No. Negative,” he spoke into the phone. “Everything’s fine here. Yeah, we had some fireworks so to speak. Flash fire. It’s all fine now. No, no. Don’t do that. Just stay put for now. We’ll get back to you shortly. Yeah. No. Technical malfunction. Radiation loop... Land shark... Ah… crossed wires... Girl Guides... No no no. Containment issues. Yeah ah… and the door is stuck. We’ll need a couple hours. We’re all good here. Everyone good…? Yeah, everyone says they’re good. How are you? How’s that thing you were seeing the doctor about? Oh. Oh my. That’s embarrassing. Well I better go now. No, just stay put until you hear back- what? My password? Handcuffs. No - hand! What? Oh the other pass code? Hang on, I gotta look it up.” Solo pointed his blaster at the telephone.

“Don’t do that,” said Fluke.

Solo pulled the trigger and the phone exploded into fiery bits.

Fluke sighed. “Boring conversation?”

“No, it was quite tense actually.” said Solo. “We’re gonna have company by the way.”

“I round ra rincess!” Chewingtobacca suddenly yelped. They looked down the long dark hexagonal tunnel where the wookie stood pointing at a cell door. The men swiftly joined him and peered through the tiny window at the very attractive princess Louise; one of perhaps three to four women in the entire galaxy.

“Wow, she’s beautiful!” said Fluke. “I’d totally do her.”

“For sure,” said Solo. “I’d even do her if she was my sister.”

“Ew, gross,” said Fluke.

Chewie pushed and pulled on the door to no avail.

“You got a key or something?” asked Fluke.

“Stand aside, kid,” said Solo. He raised his blaster pistol.

“Oh shit,” said Fluke, taking a step backward.

“Ruh roh,” said Chewie, following suit, as his master fired two blasts at the door. Sparks flew and a cloud of acrid smoke billowed.

Solo transferred his weight to his back foot, then canted forward kicking high. The cell door burst forward into the cell. Louise screamed. “Howdy princess,” said Solo, stepping into the little chamber and lifting off his helmet. Louise did not look impressed. Flyswatter crowded in beside him, catching Louise’s attention. The tall wookie peered in over their shoulders.

“What the hell is all this knee-bent shenanigans?” said Louise. “You bozos ever heard of a key?”

“We’re here to rescue you, Sugar,” said Solo, flashing his winningest smile.

“Oh that’s rich,” said Louise. “You two don’t look capable of rescuing a donut from a man with no mouth.”

“What?” said Solo.

“What?” said Fluke, pulling off his stormpooper mask.

“You’re kinda cute though.”

“Who, him?” said Solo, frowning.

“You understand we’re floating in space in a giant bowling ball, don’t you?” said Louise.

“Yes, of course,” said Fluke.

“Wait, you mean him or me?” said Solo.

“All of us, you idiot. You got a plan to get us out of here?” said Louise.

“No,’ said Fluke.

‘Jesus H. Christ,” said Louise.

“I don’t understand,” said Solo.

“Are you mentally impaired?” barked Louise at Hand Solo. How the hell do you figure we’re gonna get out of here?”

“You mean I’m cute? Or the kid here?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s just a teenager. I’m a pilot and a famous one. You’ve heard of the Aluminum Fulcrum no doubt.”

“Is he mentally impaired?” said Louise to Fluke.

“He’s got a ship,” said Fluke. “It’s here on board. We should get back to it immediately.”

“Okay that’s starting to sound like a plan. You got a gun for me?”

“There’s a few kicking around,” said Fluke.

“Okay, let’s blow.”

“Whoa! What?” said Solo.

Louise tore the blaster out of Solo’s hands and bulled her way past them all and out of the cell. “Oh shit!” she cried as a wave of laser fire greeted her in the long dark hallway. Fluke quickly donned his Pooper helmet again. “Follow me, you fools!” Louise cried and bolted down the hallway. Her three rescuers rushed out in the hall where laser blasts crashed the walls all around them. Solo tore ass after the princess while Fluke turned and fired back at the poopers in the control area.

“Go away!” cried Fluke at the attackers, “or I’ll set you on fire! I've done it before!” Chewie rushed by, grabbed Fluke by the collar and dragged him away after Solo and Louise.

Louise dived into an alcove and the others followed. For the moment they were there protected from blaster fire.

“Now what!” cried Solo.

“Now what?” barked Louise. “This cocamame rescue was your idea, bozo, not mine! If you don’t have a plan then we’re making it up as we go along, aren’t we? Yeah! So shut up and follow me!” With that she raised her blaster at the door at the back of the alcove and blasted it to pieces. A herd of racing bootsteps sounded in the hall. Louise dived through the door and the others followed.

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