Okay - I'm taking a step...

This is just the goofy cover for the proof copies of heroic adventure-satire novel Eye of Atchewa which I have fully committed to ordering before the end of the month. It represents the farthest step I've taken toward publishing an actual novel. Several friends will give it a read, or as much of it as they can stand. Then I'll decide if it should see the public eye or not and if so, I'll give it a final edit and then go looking for a publisher.

I threw in the Admiral Bleekxpritzle story because a couple friends want to read that as well and it didn't cost any extra. So for everyone who keeps asking when I might get a novel on the shelves, or have given up asking, I'm finally trying to make something happen. And yes, those are gaming miniatures on the cover!

Bleeekxpritzle: The final chapter

Chapter Twenty Two
All Around The Conference Table, Cock-a-Doodle-Doodle-Doo

Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle, Fifth Colony, Twin Dwingeloo Galaxies Federation sat to the left of the currently unoccupied Big Spiffy Chair. To his left, along the conference table sat his chauffer; Bruce Willis (of no relation to the Hollywood film star whatsoever), Mickey Mouse (genuine film star), Bunny McRascalrabbit (profession undisclosed), Philbert Dickerson (bodyguard) and Pamela Baker (food prep/customer service). Across the table from them sat the five wearers of white they’d met in Detex One of the Tweeporan reconnaissance ship C.H.B. Lurking Vulture along with two more white-robed persons they’d never before seen.

“Welcome to the Office of Light and Wellbeing,” said Lady Mimosa. Her lantern was not present. “I believe we’re all sufficiently acquainted except for my esteemed colleagues here: Lord Tippery Spinwobble; Keeper of the Holy Spectrum, and Lady Noodels Petunia; Director at Large.” There was a general round of nods and how-do-you-do’s. “His Gloriousness The Bean Pheasant is running late. He texted me to say that the line-up at the coffee shop is otherworldly but he’ll be along quite shortly. He’s asked us to begin without him. I trust there are no objections…? Good. Lady Peejchelly, do you wish to present the tokens?”

Lady Peejchelly nodded and removed from her pocket a small red box which sparkled as if made of rubies. “Mr. Willis,” she said. “We are indebted to you for your brave act aboard the Tweeporan ship Lurking Vulture. Without you, we may not have succeeded in extracting the Admiral Premier alive; nor your fellow earthlings, I might add.”

“But I failed,” said Bruce. “All I did was spray a bunch of aliens with ice cream.”

“Ah yes,” said Lady Peejchelly. “Which they found most distractingly delicious! It was the perfect plan. The hull and shields of their material ship could in no way be breached, but thanks to your distraction we were able to slip into their tesseract deck through the fourth dimension, bypassing the hull altogether. We could not have asked for a better partner. Now, to show our appreciation we offer you this token gift.” She handed him the box. “May it always remind you of your brave heroic deed.”

Mr. Willis opened the box and peered inside. He frowned.

“Your very own olde cheerio and pocket lint! Souvenir size of course.”

“Ah,” said Bruce. “Thank you so much. Um. Do they have similar powers as your own have?”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Peejchelly.

“Okay. Well thanks.”

“If he is to always be reminded of this event,” said old Bill Blake, “Then I take it that you do not intend to erase our memories?”

“Perhaps His Gloriousness the Bean Pheasant will wish to speak on that matter personally,” said Lady Mimosa, “But I believe I can summarize our position accurately. How should I say this…”

“They’re all going to laugh at you,” said Admiral Bleeekxpritzle.

“What he means is, no one would believe you even if you told people about us or about the other - ah - constituents of the universe which the Admiral, as I’m aware, has previously explained.”

“If I may interject,” said the gray-faced Lord Tippery Spinwobble, “The story has already been leaked to some entity known as Fantasy Writer Guy or else New Day Rising - he’s a schizophrenic I presume. Anyway, it’s being posted on his web log as we speak and there are no plans to act against him. He’s largely ignored and regarded as a freak by his three or four regular readers.”

“So that suits our interests,” said Lady Peejchelly, nodding. “The whole matter has already been categorized a satirical entertainment.”

“As does every religious event on this planet, eventually,” came a voice from the open doorway. “Though it once required the passing of one civilization to the next for such perspectives to migrate.” The speaker resembled a very large brown bean, or football perhaps, with wide, very narrow eyes, puffy sensuous lips, a massive upright colourful fanning tail and long long crane-like pencil-thin legs. He held a paper coffee cup in both spindly little hands, standing barely five feet high or almost six including the tail. “But such is the marvel of your age; the age of the internet; a whirl of recklessness and speed.” The beast raised high a skinny knee and stepped onto the Big Spiffy Chair where it then crouched at general eye-level to the others. He placed the coffee on the table. “Any other questions?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Lady Mimosa, “I present His Gloriousness The Bean Pheasant.”

“Charmed,” said Bunny.

The Bean said nothing but appeared to wink one of his slim brown eyes. Mickey Mouse frowned and looked back and forth between he and Bunny.

“I have a question,“ said Philbert. “I would like to know just what we’re supposed to do now. I mean - how am I supposed to go back to my life now, knowing that on a universal scale, we’re the objects of disgust; respected slightly less than dolphins?”

“Slightly?” barked Lady Noodels Petunia. She burst out laughing but checked it as she realized everyone was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“What you can do,” said the Bean Pheasant, “Is evolve.”

“Oh. Okay then. I’ll just put that on my to-do list. Evolve. I can fit that in Wednesday morning. There we go.”

“You can lead by example,” said Lady Peejchelly. “Evolution happens, or doesn’t happen, with every single thought and action. You just have to be mindful.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” said Pamela.

“It starts with humility and courage,” said Miss Zhadow.

“That’s right,” said Lady Mimosa. “You must realize that all that you think you know comes from corrupt and untrustworthy sources; the ruling institutions which seek to enslave you, the flawed and misguided imaginings of your neighbours and associates.”

“Your own instincts,” said His Gloriousness.  “Your own mind.” The earthlings looked to him. “You must stop listening to your mind, and start informing it, but not from books and talking boxes. From your own contemplation of your own observations. You must discover the meaning of truth. It comes only from experience. Stop rationalizing. Stop looking for the answers you want to find. You will always seem to find them. Dare to sincerely want the truth, no matter how unsavoury. It really does set you free. And what seems a horror at first, will become benign when you finally approach it from the proper perspective.”

“I don’t like the sound of this one bit,” squeaked Mickey Mouse.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” said Lady Mimosa. “You are just another institution; a pop culture icon. A profit algorithm. You are not a voice of truth.”

“I’m the voice of goodbye and so long,” said Mr. Mouse, climbing down from his chair.

“That’s good,” said The Bean Pheasant. “You really have no place in this story.”

“I beg your pardon! My chauffer was killed for crying out loud!”

“I expect that will be edited out of the story, along with every other reference to you. Especially the elevator fart scene. That was crass and regrettable.”

“Hey! I’m Mickey Mouse! I own this town! I don’t have to take this shit! ”

“You’re a mouse. You are not significant. You have no consciousness. You’re no more than a robot.”

“Come on. We’re going.”

“I’m staying,” said Bunny.

“What! You’re not getting taken in by this crap!”

“Goodbye Mick. It‘s been fun.”

Mickey nodded, his arms crossed. “I’m going back to my wife!”

Bunny turned to face him. “I think that’s a good idea,” she said gently.

Mickey stared back. “Philbert,” he said finally.

“It’s been a slice,” said Philbert.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Best of luck,” said Philbert. “You already have my resignation.”

“Right,” muttered Mickey. “I’m out.”

“Live long and prosper,” said Bleeekxpritzle as the mouse departed.

“So the seeking of truth is the path to evolution?” said Philbert.

“For most sentient life, it is the start,” said Lady Mimosa. The blind and treacherous motivations of your dark mind; your instinct, are just variations of the will to kill. They become suicidal when there are no more species to challenge your dominance. That is when consciousness must replace instinct as the driver of motivation. On earth you have waited far far too long to make this shift. Your evolution stalled two thousand years ago.”

“It is the truth of yourself that will set you free when you come to know it,” said the Bean. “When you truly know yourself, and not the puppet that takes your place in the charade of society, well then,” he paused, “Then you can not help but change. You can not help but want to change. You gain the opportunity to start again, to discover your new self. For the puppet dies. And now - I believe that is enough instruction.”

“That is how you start,” said Lady Mimosa. “What you will learn; the realities behind all the illusions, that we leave for you to discover.”

“How long will it take to change the world?” said Mr. Willis.

“The world changes every moment,” said The Bean Pheasant. “Every single moment.”

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One
This Chapter Is Brought To You By The Letter H

“Friends,” said Bleeekxpritzle to the earthlings. “I give you Gladys Turnkey, Quasi-Glorious Personal Assistant to His Gloriousness The Bean Pheasant. The woman on the floating carpet smiled and nodded. “This is Lady Mimosa; Carrier of the Blessed Fire.” Lady Mimosa nodded solemnly. “Lady Peejchelly; Carrier of The Olde Cheerio And Some Pocket Lint.” Lady Peejchelly had placed the giant lint ball on her head and wreathed it in place with the Olde Cheerio. She bowed deeply upon introduction, holding the Cheerio-lint hat in place with one hand. “Miss Zhadow; Director of Ambient Lighting.” Miss Zhadow smiled and waved. “And of course, Lord Pheltphondle, Director of Very Minor Things Beginning With H.” Lord Pheltphondle who currently wore a ham sandwich on top of his hat, was a firm believer in handshakes (obviously) but the pedestal’s distance could not be bridged by the man’s perfectly ordinary arm, a problem currently at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Can you summon a bridge?” Lady Mimosa proposed.

“What kind of bridge begins with H?” said Pheltphondle. None could offer an answer. The director pondered the problem. “Give me some space,” he urged, and all backed away a few paces. “Hedgerow!” he commanded and a great wall of bush suddenly spanned the gap. “Can you crawl across it?”

Pamela chewed a nail. Philbert and Bleeekxpritzle looked concernedly at old Bill Blake with his rollie walker. And then, with a great rustling noise the shrubbery sagged at the middle and then folded, falling into the pit.

“Ack!” cried Pheltphondle. “Helium balloon!” The shrub then returned to the surface in the form of a balloon with dangling string which the lord grabbed hold of. He then contemplated: What could he turn the balloon into that would effectively bridge the gap?

“I mean not to pressure you, my lord,” said Lady Mimosa, “But the sleeping agents will begin wearing off any moment now and the entire crew of this ship will descend upon us.”

“Thank you,” said Pheltphondle. That helps me think more clearly now.”

“I’ve got it!” he said finally. “But it will be very big. So everyone must step far away.” The bepedestalled moved to its far edge. “Now listen,” said Lord Pheltphondle, “The larger the object, the shorter length of time I can keep it incorporated. So the moment it appears, you must run through it to this side just as immediately as ever possible! Do you understand this with perfect clarity?” They all nodded and the Admiral drew old Bill Blake aside to confer with him.

“Ready?” Pheltphondle warned. He then cried his command. The prisoners could scarce believe their ears, nor their eyes.

It was big indeed, easily spanning the gap. The ponderous thing lay mostly on the main floor of Detex One with a minority of square footage resting on the pedestal. The earthlings gawked up at it, stunned. It’s exterior was a patchwork of rotting boards; A semitransparent face glowed ominously from a third-floor window. Flying bats encircled the leaning chimney. The front doors lay tilted open, barely clinging to their hinges. Eerie howls and cackles emanated from somewhere within.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” squealed Mickey.

“Run!” cried Pheltphondle. “RUN!”

 Bleeekxpritzle led the way with Bill Blake Senior riding his shoulders. They crashed through the side door, knocking it off its hinges and onto the floor, taking a myriad of spider webs with it. The interior was dark and dusty.

“Blaccherrschmawzzle!” shouted Bleeekxpritzle. For he was confronted with two sets of stairs; one leading up and one down, and no other options.

“I see this is going to be complicated,” said Blake. The admiral thumped down the lower set of stairs while the others all followed.

“Whoa!” cried Bleeekxpritzle, halting suddenly and throwing wide his arms.

“Oopsy daisy,” said Blake. The others piled into them. Below them yawned the void of the pit.

“Upstairs!” said the admiral. “Hurry now!” They turned about and raced up the canted rotting staircase to the second floor, the piggy-backing alien now in the rear. They fled down a second floor hallway where the doors to black bedrooms lay open, half-demolished or just laying on the floor. A white-sheeted figure leapt from one of the doorways hooting maniacally at them. Pamela and Bunny halted and screamed and were just about trampled from behind. Philbert punched the faceless thing in what might have otherwise been its face, though there is no way we’ll ever know, and the thing fell to the floor and was trampled by the group who were now dragging Bunny and Pamela along.

“Find another staircase!” hollered Bleeekxpritzle.

“Ask and you shall receive!” shouted Philbert. They’d come to what might have been a grand lobby if not for the great sheets of spider webs and for the giant spiders themselves creeping around the walls and ceilings chittering excitedly. Looking over a battered railing they spied the front door leaning open. Dual staircases led down to it. They descended the nearest. At the rear the tubby alien barely kept his feet as half the steps he trod on snapped beneath him.

A terrible cackle filled the dusty air and a woman in black came soaring out of the gloom at the party, riding a broom through the air. Her skin was green, her hat tall and pointed. “I’ll get you, my pretties!” She shrieked. “Aaaaauughh! Curses!” The admiral had flung a tentacle around her broomstick and she lost control, careening face-first into a wall.

They hit the ground floor and raced for the main doors. “I believe we’re still over the pit,” stated old Bill Blake. “Though metaphorically we’re perhaps more so at the bottom of it.” They spilled onto the rickety front porch which hung over the great nothingness, and there they performed the whole pile-up, squeal and reverse deal again.

“This way,” the admiral blurted as he found himself in the lead again. They turned down a hallway to find a giant white mouse in tiny top hat squatting there. He had red eyes and he sniffed the visitors as they slowed before him.

“One of you smells delicious,” said the mouse, and then, “Oh my gourd! You’re Mickey Mouse! May I have your autograph!”

“Next time, home boy!” squeaked Mickey. “Out of the way now!” The white mouse stepped aside and the party barrelled through.

“Follow me!” cried the admiral as he charged through a doorway at the end of the hall. There appeared no way out of this room.  Bleeekxpritzle kept running.

“Excuse me, admiral,” said Mr. Blake. “I say, excuse-” The Admiral hit the wall.

For the most part, as a result, the wall was demolished. The alien stumbled onto the floor of Detex One with Old Bill on his back and Old Bill’s bowler hat lost somewhere behind in the debris, leaving the old guy looking very much like Albert Einstein without it. The others came pouring out after them and with scarce seconds to spare. Before the gang had caught their breath, the giant crumbling structure behind them suddenly vanished, replaced by a wiener in a bun. These, along with the bowler hat, promptly plummeted into the void.

Mickey mouse marched up to Lord Pheltphondle, glaring at him. “A haunted house…! Really!”

“It’s all I could think of on short notice,” stated Lord Pheltphondle.

“How do you go about thinking up haunted house without thinking of simply house! Don’t you think that all might have been significantly less risky without all the ghosts and shit!”

The lord tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. “I was under pressure.”

Chapter Twenty

This relatively unedited first draft, in case you've forgotten or joined in late, was born out of three "Prompt" exercises which I used to kick off the June Camp NaNoWriMo celebration and posted to this blog for reasons of shits and giggles. At the time I did not title them Chapters One, Two or Three because I had no idea I was about to challenge myself to turn the unrelated pieces into a proper story; a 20k word novelette: Admiral Bleeekxpritzel Versus The Drones Of Doom. It is perhaps regrettable that I posted it here prior to proper editing, as there is no wider audience I would care to promote a superior version to. This blog was the appropriate place for the edited version, thus there is now little reason to edit it. Which, now that I think about it, is fine.

Except for the closing few paragraphs of chapter 22 (the final chapter), the story was completed in about two weeks and the rest of June camp was spent on other projects. I've taken my time posting chapters here basically in order to buy time in case I wanted to do some editing and take the story to some other place, but this never happened. It has done its little job in its original form.

I am on vacation from August 18 to September 1st with little-to-none internet access. I will post the final three chapters before I go. If anyone has read the story complete, it would be great to receive feedback. Not praise. Feedback.


Chapter Twenty
Some Pretty Weird Sh*t And No, The Author Is Not On Drugs

The first sign that something was up was another rising of the level of nervous energy among the Tweeporan military population. They began to natter excitedly in their alien language and many of them left their workstations with anxious equine faces in order to communicate in hushed manner. The prisoners, now numbering seven, could sense the growing state of alarm amongst their captors.

The second sign was the faint musical rumblings of what sounded like a Hammond organ. It was clear that this sound did not appease the alien guards. Those with staves gathered near the great doors.

The third sign was the emergence of a second melody; that provided by a harpsichord, at which time the organ music promptly died. The fourth sign was the subsequent replacement of the harpsichord music by that of a harmonica. Admiral Bleeekxpritzle nodded his head knowingly.

Another hole very suddenly appeared, this in the wall itself, and this without the introductory swirling effect or slow dissolve. It was also larger the whole which the chauffer, Mr. Willis had come through earlier. The Tweeps tensed as they braced themselves for whatever might be coming through the new portal.

And what finally stepped through was a white-haired woman in stretchy off-white body suit smacking of Space 1999 crew wear. She looked possibly human but for hugely big eyes. She carried a contraption like some kind of oversized remote control device but with a pair of metal rods sprouting from each side. “Pardon me,” said the visitor. “I just need to take some light readings.”

Most of the Tweeporans looked at each other quizzically but not the one who’d copacapocabingoed Bruce Willis onto the pedestal. He marched toward her immediately. “By whose authority!” he demanded.

“By the authority of His Gloriousness The Bean Pheasant!” said another voice; this coming from the new hole where a second person had arrived, this one in white robes and sitting cross-legged on a hovering carpet. This woman might also have been human if of African descent. A pair of Tweeps approached her with staves held forth and she swiftly rose into the air, carpet and all, beyond their reach. “Lay down your staves and submit to the lawful liberation of these innocents!” the carpet rider shouted down to them. “In turn your dignity shall be spared and you will receive safe passage to that home in Orion which I know you cherish despite it being the least popular tourist destination in the entire universe, for reasons, not the least of which, include its very peculiar odour!”

“The Bean Pheasant has no say in this!” cried the copacapocabingo man. He pointed his staff directly at the carpeteer and a blue glow appeared at its terminus, growing very swiftly in intensity. From the hole in the wall then, a creature bolted through; a howling hyaena which took all by surprise. In a flash it pounced upon the ‘bingo man, knocking him onto his back. The staff flew from the Tweeporan’s hands. Immediately then the hyaena changed form, suddenly mutating into a hound dog who promptly fetched the staff and trotted happily back toward the portal. Now there stood three more individuals just inside the hole in the wall.  

“To the contrary…! His Gloriousness has much to say!” challenged another powerful voice. This was another white-robed, white-haired woman who stood on her own feet holding a kind of lantern on a chain. The lantern was shielded but a light of whitest intensity sprayed razor thinly from the seams of the metal contraption. “Indeed this last century he has scarce been known to shut up for even a few seconds!”

Beside her stood yet a third woman in white robes; this with objects held in each hand. One looked like an oversized plain donut; the other a formless pill of grey fuzz; perhaps a very old and tattered wig. It was to her the hound dog trotted with the staff in his jaws. She bent down; reaching with the grey fuzz ball. She touched it to the proffered stick and immediately the staff seemed to rubberize and be sucked from existence through the fuzzy grey mass. The Tweeporans gasped at this.

From the hole there stepped a fifth visitor; a man in similar body suit as the light reader wore. He also wore a long white goatee, a harelip and the most generic of hats. He took his place beside the lantern and fuzz carriers and suddenly the hole disappeared. Simultaneously there appeared a hamster, perched on the man’s hat. He stood haughtily, with head held high and hands on his hips; the man, that is. The hamster seemed distracted and he poked about the roof of the hat, sniffing everywhere.

“How dare you trespass on this ship!” cried the staffless bingoist. “All of you, disembark at once or you shall be taken into custody and tried for piracy in the Court of Intergalactica, Tweepora Major where death is the only consequence for such an inappropriate and rude interruption!”

“You chant gibberish!” cried the lantern woman. “This is planet earth and our council are here by the will of the O.U.C.H. No other permit has been granted. You are the trespassers!”

“You hide behind forms and bureaucracy!” spat the bingoist, who’s name, it so happens, was Bing. “While you subvert the naïve sanctions of the Gabrielites! We are the watch dogs! And our actions will be vindicated when the Pheasant is outed for the madman he is!”

“Tell it to the judge!” cried the hamster man.

“You tell it to the judge!” cried Bing.

“No, you tell it to the ju-!”

“Shut up!” cried the fuzz carrier, who smacked the man on the back of the head with her donut-shaped thing which may in fact have been a very large donut for all appearances but which was more properly referred to as The Olde Cheerio as it were. This action sent the hamster tumbling off the man’s head and onto the floor where it immediately began a game of chase with the hound dog.

“These affairs are beyond your station, scorekeeper!” said the lantern carrier. What you need to consider is do you really wish a showdown with us? You are badly outgunned! It would be a shame to lose lives here and all for nought.”

“Count again, lamp lady! It is you who are outgunned!”

“These are boys with sticks,” said the lantern woman. “And you are a boy with a temper and no stick. Cool your head, young Bing! Yes. I know who you are. Cool your head and you will find clarity tomorrow. Turn over your detexees to us.”

“I propose an alternate resolution,” said Bing.

“I will listen.”

“I propose you shove that lantern up your snoot and set your head aflame!”

The lady just shook her head ruefully.

“Take them!” Bing cried.

There was a group Tweeporan roar, and then, as earthlings are prone to say, all hell… broke loose.

Sir Admiral Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle and his six earthling companions stood watching anxiously, aware they’d more than a little invested in the outcome, as a battle was waged before their wide eyes.

Tweeporans attacked, hand to hand. Others attacked with their staves. Others stood back and fired bolts of some energy or another from their staves. The lantern lady swung the device around by its chain, knocking Tweeporans about the head and deflecting enemy energy beams away. Her companion held the Olde Cheerio aloft in one hand and the grey fuzz in the other. The latter seemed to soak up most of the energy attacks as the beams bent and were diverted into the grey mass, while the former seemed to emit circular bursts of energy and light of its own; the effects of which, were not easily deciphered by the prisoners.

The man in white wandered into combat, battling opponents now and then with a hacksaw, now and then with a hammer, and for one brief period, with a hookah pipe.

The hound dog transformed into a hawk and it flew about, diving at the Tweeporans and pecking at their ears and noses. It became a hornet following that, and stung an attacker or two, before becoming a hippopotamus at which time it didn’t do anything particularly useful. It then became a hummingbird. It then flew up behind the hammer-bearing man and once between his legs, turned into a horse.

The lady on the carpet circled overhead like an airplane in holding pattern. She had brandished a notebook and stayed busy keeping notes on the affair. She would be required to submit a lengthy report later.

At one frightful moment a staff laser attack made it past the fuzz ball’s defence web and flew at Lady Mimosa who struck out with the lantern, deflecting it away. Unfortunately it caromed directly at Lady Peejchelly and knocked the sacred Olde Cheerio out of her hand. It rolled through the crowd unhindered in the direction of the pit. Lord Pheltphondle saw this and, sharing Lady Peejchelly’s horror, he cried out a word; the first barrier he could think of.

“Hearth!” he snapped, willing the item to appear between the Olde rolling Cheerio and the pit. A bloodied pink normally-internal organ appeared there, thumping with a beat. “I said HEARTH!” he cried, and the heart turned immediately into a large brick and wood arrangement with several big red socks tacked to it’s topmost edge. Most unfortunately the Cheerio rolled straight through the opening where no actual fireplace existed and then rolled off the edge of the pit.

Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle watched this all with mounting horror and stepping to the pedestal’s rim he flung out a tentacle and snatched the giant Cheerio just as it was tumbling into the air with ought but eternal doom below. In the same motion he wound the kibble up like a yoyo and then snapped the tentacle like whip, releasing it so that it flew like a frisbee right back at Lady Peejchelly. She caught it deftly, and just in time to have it belch a cloud of instant sleeping gas at a pair of attackers. “Sweet dreams,” she muttered as they fell about her feet.

The battle fared the way of the wearers of white from the outset and in due order the Tweeporans for the most part had been knocked silly or had retreated to cower beneath their work stations. Only Bing and a few of his most staunch supporters remained at the end when the lantern bearer cast back its metal shield. Beams of magnificent light shot out; one for each enemy. They were each struck in the face by these beams and screaming, they fell to their knees. To the prisoners o’ the pedestal it was like being in a welding chamber without sufficient eye protection. They all diverted their gazes at once, throwing up hands before their faces.

These last defenders suffered a temporary blindness which began to abate once all the Detex One forces were subdued and rounded up. All of their staves had been damaged or destroyed in battle. The wearers of white all came to gather at the edge of the pit and greeted their associate, the Admiral Premiere.

Chapters Eighteen and Nineteen

Chapter Eighteen
Like Comment




“Who the hell,” said Pamela, staring at her device, “Is Post Dramatic Test Syrup?”

“A-ha!” said Bleeekxpritzle “Cheerio!”

“Huh?”

“Leggo my Eggo!” A tentacle whipped out and snatched the device away from her again. The Admiral checked her latest facebook comments.

  Corey Bigjohnson Givner 
  u scaning barcodes?? hahahahahahaha! 


  Pamela Baker 
  i h8 u all. im going to die bcuz u all suck. :(


  Fanita Whelming 
  ha ha h ah a! wtf! lolz


  Post Dramatic Test Syrup:
  DcV  fR4% # )( 3d55g67nu7 tGbHnY6  &uJm  ;P0_[cvz“
Kgf ED# $5  6kj  ^b^&ToOoB7t 2wp[poh  fd3  2 ][o)  {[likjyg  t%6j  $E#7  ,ostyo  Pf
36t367 2490-98763691 8908652b3908091 635781670 97231e8963 891 69083 6871 643zz560913


“Well then.” said the Admiral. “Buck up, little beavers! The cavalry’s a-comin’.”


* * *


Chapter Nineteen
All Around The Kitchen, Cock-a-Doodle-Doodle-Doo


All around the lower part of the Detex Chamber; beyond the enmoated pedestal, the uni-horned Tweeporan personnel were growing louder; more animated, and they were drifting toward the only visible entrance to the place; a pair of massive double doors, fitted with portviewers, chittle bars, multi-locks, bio-coms and optical recesses [A full explanation of these features can be found in appendix II of this book which will be included only if you purchased the full-price version. You can also verify that this is the full-price version of the book by observing the title of chapter eighteen. It should read To The Rescue. If it reads something completely asinine such as Flying Tickle Dumplings or All Around The Kitchen, Cock-a-Doodle-Doodle-Doo, then you are one cheap bastard and it’s no wonder the author is poor].

Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle, Fifth Colony of the Twin Dwingeloo Galaxies Federation and his five fellow prisoners; Bill Blake Senior, Mickey Mouse, Bunny McRascalrabbit, Philbert Dickerson and Pamela Baker, now became interested in the brewing commotion and found themselves standing upright on the great pedestal on which they were stranded, watching the big doors to see what was happening or about to happen.

Several of the aliens were armed with staves and one of them approached the great doors and held forth his or her staff. A section of one of the doors then became blurry, swirling into a spiral pattern. That precise circle then faded away like kettle vapour, leaving an opening through to the next chamber.

A great jumble of voices emanated from the space beyond the opening. To the earthlings they sounded like English though they could not assemble enough clearly-heard words to devise any meaningful content. Suddenly a bare foot appeared in the portal followed by a leg in black trousers and then the full body of Bruce Willis, chauffeur (of no relation to Bruce Willis, the Hollywood actor) was stepping through the hole, a giant super soaker squirt gun carried in both hands. He waved it around wildly.

“Back off!” he yelled as the Tweeporans began to close around him. Some jumped back. Some laughed uproariously and some edged closer, as if to egg him on. Behind him the sudden portal began to fill with the horsey faces of other Tweeporans; those of earlier acquaintance with Willis; also known as Cake man. And some of those faces were smeared with soft serve ice cream. There was altogether a great clamour of voices which might have been amplified through terror or hilarity or the full gamut between for all the pedestalled humans could interpret.

Mr. Willis wore a grim tight-lipped expression as he pushed through the crowd, waving his gun. It seemed some kind of schoolyard game or a running of the bulls with Tweeporans dancing out of his way but some daringly returning to his path. Several of the more persistently daring personnel were shot in the head with some white stream from the gun and none of those seemed to mind too much.

Willis glanced twice at the pedestal prisoners before calling out to them. “Come on! We’re getting out of here! Follow me!”

Bleeekxpritzle and Philbert looked at each other, then down at the moat of no return and then back at Mr. Willis. The Admiral shrugged his shoulders.

“You know this guy?” said Philbert.

“My chauffeur.”

“This is the cavalry?” murmured old Mr. Blake.

“Hardly,” said Bleeekxpritzle.

Finally Willis charged through the crowd screaming, “Ten…! Forty-six…! Twenty two…! Hut hut hut!” A path opened for him but barely wide enough as he raced toward the pedestal and then spying the chasm for the first time, skidded to a barefoot halt at rather the last second. “Yippers!” he screeched; staring wide-eyed into his deep near-doom. He then spun around to face his adversaries who were now ecstatic with wild chattering. Only Bleeekxpritzle knew this for certain to be a bout of riotous Tweeporan laughter.

“Come and get me, y’all long-faced bitches!” Willis cried. “We’ll all go down together!”

An unusually straight-faced soldier then separated himself from the crowd, stepping forward with a staff in hand. “Copacapocabingo!” he hissed.

“What do you want!” cried Willis.

“Copacapocabingo!” cried the Tweeporan with additional urgency.

“Speak English, turd muffin! I know you can!”

“Copacapocabingo!”

“Bingo this: B-fourteen, fucker!”

The soldier responded with a great sweep of his staff which, though without making contact, seemed to be the cause of Mr. Willis, super soaker and all, being launched through the air and over the channel to come crashing down onto the pedestal. He landed on his side with a tremendous “Oooff!” as his great plastic gun flew from his hand and slid across the pedestal’s surface to its rimless lip. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaa

[Editor’s note: That last bit was written as the author dozed off to sleep in his chair. How he shifted case right before the end is a mystery we are still working on. The offending sleep-blurb, as well as this explanation, will be edited out of the full-price version only.]

While thirteen eyes watched the weapon sliding toward certain long-haul dropitude, it was only Bunny who sprung into action. With a giant hop she landed on one big rabbit foot, bringing the other big rabbit foot down on the gun, trapping it at the edge of the pedestal.

“Well done!” cried Philbert.

“That’s my lucky foot,” the rabbit offered, with a shrug.

Admiral Bleeekxpritzle loomed over his prone wincing chauffeur. “Oh Lucy,” said the Admiral grimly. “You got some splainin’ to do.”

“You look well and intact, Admiral. Thank goodness I arrived on time!”

“Don’t play the slippery eel with me, driver!” gurgled the admiral. Your absence at the very moment of the attack against me did not escape my notice. The implications are ever abundantly clear!”

“What!” said Willis; aghast.

“Book him, Danno!” said Bleeekxpritzle. Everyone looked about to see who he might be referring to, but nobody stepped forward to claim the title, Danno.

“I came to rescue you, you fat tub of green ungrateful goop.”

“Oh really? With this?” A hip tentacle fired out and returned with the super soaker wrapped tightly. “What is this; ice cream? Did you suppose you were rescuing me from a small child’s birthday party? Where were you when the shit hit the fan?”

“In the men’s room.”

“For so long? Did you have a digestion issue?”

“What?”

“Plop plop fizz fizz?”

“Unbelievable. I risk my life for nothing. I even brought you strawberries.”

“You sold me out and then the Tweeps no doubt betrayed you. Now you run back to me for protection.”

“I’m going back to driving rich kids to school. If I get out of this mess of yours alive.”

“Wait! What did you say?”

“Lazy rich kids-”

“Did you say strawberries?”

Willis slowly climbed to his feet. “I figured you’d all be hungry. And I know how much you like strawberries.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out handfuls of them.

“Oh!” Bleeekxpritzle blurted. “Gads, but I’ve misjudged you!” He gently picked a strawberry from his open hand and ate the barest nibble of it. “Mmmmm,” he swooned. “But I do love these so. They’re just like chompberries back home but without the eyes and teeth. There’s no greater delicacy in the universe!”

“Did you say eyes and teeth?” said Pamela with a look of horror.

“Indeed,” said the admiral. “They’re very difficult to pick. You have to sneak up on them. Hence the prohibitive price tag.”

The others, all hungry, gathered around and ate strawberries. The admiral used the gun and squirted tiny ice cream toppings on each of them. At floor level the Tweeporans mostly went back to their nondescript and ambiguous work.

“Did you happen to bring any tea?” asked Bill Blake Senior.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“How did you lose your shoes?” asked Philbert.

“Oh, I always perform rescues barefoot given the opportunity,” said Bruce. “I need to feel the earth - or the floor; really feel it. You know? It’s a cosmic, Karmic, Zen kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

“Will you ever forgive me, Mr. Willis?” said Bleeekxpritzle.

“Already done,” said Bruce. “But I have failed here. However will we escape now?”

“There is hope yet,” whispered the admiral. “Just hold tight.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen
Special Delivery

Two pink-haired Tweeporans stood at the inside of an exterior door, armed with staves.

“What is he doing?” asked Companion Frabbbles

“What is he doing?” said Companion Spish, but with his finger in his ear. His eyes shifted. “He’s just standing out there pushing a button over and over?” He started to remove the finger but then thrust it back in his ear.  “What does the button do…? Nothing?” He turned to Companion Frabbbles. “Nothing.”

“Perhaps it’s a doorbell for the grocery store,” said Frabbbles.

“Good thinking.”

Frabbbles opened the door. “Hello, who is it?”

The man was barefoot and clean shaven with black suit pants, white dress shirt and three-tone blue visor. He stood behind a two-level plastic cart loaded, apparently, with cakes. “Delivery,” said Mr. Willis.

Frabbbles and Spish exchanged glances.

“Delivery for the cold department - ah - fridge department - dairy. Dessert department that is. Dessert Manager. Cold room. Cake aisle” He nodded and smiled. “Cake counter.”

“Do you have the appropriate documentation?” said Spish. He glanced at Frabbbles and shrugged.

“Of course,” said Bruce. They all continued to stare at each other. “Oh - I mean - well, not on me. Not on
my person. It’s all in the truck.” Frabbbles and Spish looked expectantly out into the yard. “Oh, the truck broke down - a few blocks away. I didn’t want this stuff melting while I - while I waited for a replacement vehicle so I just - you know - humped it over.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Spish.

“Humped it over?” said Frabbbles.

“It’s electronic. They’ll fax it - the documents - email - from the bakery. Dairy, that is.”

“Okay,” said Frabbbles. “You may leave it with us.”

“Oh. No - ah. I have to - you know - stock the - I have to inventory… the merchandise. I have to merchandize. Plan-o-gram. Quality control.” He nodded toward the long dark hallway behind them.

Frabbbles and Pish - wait a minute. Who the hell is Pish…? Spish. Sorry. Frabbles and Spish gave each other a look. “Very well,” said Companion Spish. The two backed apart and away and Willis smiled and pushed the cart over the threshold.

He started down the hallway, taking a good look around; especially at the looming darkness above. “I see you’ve been up to some renovations. Nice. Real nice.” The two sentries followed Willis along the hallway; featureless but for the subtle tiny rainbow undulations in the rubbery surfaces of the floor and walls.

He came to a fork in the passageway. The right fork curved away to the right; the left curved away to the left. Bruce looked back at his escorts. They offered no suggestion. He took the right path; following it’s curve to the right until he came face to face with two sentries identical to the others in every way.

“All done?” said Spish. Mr. Willis frowned. He looked behind him and saw the original fork he’d been earlier confronted with.

“That’s impossible,” he murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” said Frabbbles.

“Nothing. Sorry. I - I forgot something. One moment.” He turned the cart around and took the left passage this time. It curved around seemingly ninety degrees to the left but yet he came face to face with the two sentries again.

“Okay?” said Frabbbles. “All done now?”

“Sorry. No. I got turned around by mistake. I stopped to tie my shoe.” He then remembered he was barefoot and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. He then backed away from them slowly, keeping the cart between his feet and their eyes. When the curve of the path took him out of their sight he reached down between the two shelves of the cart, brought out a magnificent yellow and blue super-soaker toy which he had so recently purchased for his son and which had miraculously survived the class nine Zan-wave laser attack, and he abandoned the cart, striding backwards down the curving passage. Then he turned and ran…

… Right into Spish and Frabbbles of course.

“Dammit!“ he cried. “Okay! No more funny business!” He raised the super soaker, levelling it at one sentry’s head and then at the other while serving them each a menacing look.

“Is something the matter, cake man?” said Frabbbles.

“No more fun and games, Horsey Boy!” said Willis. “Where are the prisoners!”

“Prisoners?”

Bruce shook the giant gun furiously. “Don’t be cute with me, fucker! I will blow you to bits and pony pieces! Now where are they!”

“What’s that thing loaded with?” said Spish.

“Krypton!”

“Krypton?”

“Nite!” blurted Willis. “Kryptonite!” Frabbbles and Spish looked at one another. “Liquid Kryptonite that is!”

“Sorry, cake man. I have an itchy ear.” Spish pushed his finger into his ear. “Say again; what’s in the gun?”

“Liquid Kryptonite. Kryptonite plasma!” said Willis.

Cow’s milk and sugar for the most part, said the voice in Spish’s ear. Same thing’s in the cakes.

“What is it you wish us to do?” said Spish

“Take me to your prisoners!” said Willis

Put him in Detex One, said the voice.

“Right!” said Companion Spish. “This way, then!” He and Frabbbles set off down the right-hand fork and Willis followed.

“That’s right, my little unicorndogs,” Just cooperate and no one gets hurt.”

Somehow the passage did not pull its little roundabout trick this time and the trio emerged into a wider hallway with small workstations along one wall and several white-haired Tweeporans standing around in conversation. Wide metal grates lined one wall about nine feet high.

“Nobody move an inch!” Willis shouted, “Or these guys get vaporized! Not an inch!” The spectators all remained in place and silently watched the trio go by.

“Are we still on for lunch, Frabbbles?” said one of the standerby Tweeporans.

“You want lunch-frabbles!” Willis shouted, pointing the super soaker now at the speaker. “I’ll give you lunch-frabbles! I’ll give you lunch-frabbles right up the wazoo! With a side of Kryptonite plasma! Is that what you want, Mister Ed!”

The speaker frowned and gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah sure, but I might be just a bit late,” said Frabbbles, coming to a stop.

“You shut UP!” screamed Mr. Willis, shoving the super soaker up against Frabbbles’ cheek. “Or so help me!” In his excitement, Bruce pulled the trigger just a tiny bit and a little squirt of Queen O’ The Dairy soft serve oozed out on to Companion Frabbbles’ face. It trickled down to the corner of his mouth. “Okay - that - that’s not the Kryptonite there! That’s the bit that comes out right before the Kryptonite! You got really lucky just there! That’s like - the seal. That’s what that is. It’s a new cartridge. You get it?”

“It’s tasty,” said Frabbles.

“Never mind! Just get moving. Get moving now! Take me - you know - where we’re going. Don’t say it out loud though.”

“Pluck a solar-pigeon. It really is tasty. Spish, you got to try it.” The three began moving again. A wide door awaited them at the end of this narrow room.

Spish suddenly halted. “I refuse to obey your commands, cake man!”

“Move it!”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Move it or die!”

“No.”

“I swear to Jehosifats! I will kill you where you stand!”

Spish stuck out his tongue. “Your mother was an army boot!”

“Fucker!” Willis cried as he sprayed soft serve all over Spish’s head. The Companion dodged about trying to catch the stream in his mouth. Willis finally stopped and backed off a step. He was red-faced and seething with rage.

“Oh my sugar-blossoms!” cried the goopy-white-faced Spish. “It’s delicious! It’s fabulous! Oh yum!”

Willis looked about wildly, trying to think; trying not to panic.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Spish suddenly wailed. “It burns! It burns!” He dropped his staff to the floor and clutched his throat in both hands and made a serious of squorking and snorfelling noises as he slowly sunk to his knees. “I’m dying! Errrrrrrrrrg!”

“See!” cried Willis, pointing the giant squirt gun back at Frabbbles who stood frowning at his dying partner. “Now get moving or you’re next! MOVE IT!” Frabbbles backed away toward the door as Willis followed, his gun pointed at the sentry’s head. “Through the door. NOW!” Frabbbles touched his staff to the door and it dissolved away like a passing rainbow. The two exited into another featureless rubber hallway and the door rematerialized behind them.

Spish then burst into laughter and so did all his peers as he picked up his staff and regained his feet. “It really was delicious though!” he said.

“Did we get the recipe?” someone asked.

“Central Scanning will have it.”

“What was that thing?” said another.

“Earth monkey, I think. Or a human maybe.”

“Human,” said Spish.

“Wow. They’re weird!” said another. “Kind of creepy.”

“Well, they don’t get out much.”

Chapters fifteen, sixteen

Chapter Fifteen
Pest Control


“Captain, you’ve got Officer Fryppr on C-2,” said Fleaman Gaakk.

“Who? Fryppr?” said Vaugnobbler. The Ouija cube floated between them unobserved. The two each had their noses in separate Earth magazines.

“Maintenance,” said Gaakk.

“Seriously?” The captain fingered his ear. “Go for Vaugnobbler.”

Captain, this is Officer Fryppr; maintenance.

“Yes.”

We’ve got a stray human on the Tesseract Deck.

Vaugnobbler slapped the magazine closed and rolled his eyes. “Go on.”

That’s all, Sir.

“That’s all?”

Yes Sir.

“Maintenance Officer Fryppr, are you aware that I am the captain of this ship?”

Yes Sir.

“Well, Obviously then, I’m not the snork-piffling extermination department, am I!”

No Sir.

“Then why are you calling me!” Vaugnobbler made exasperated eyes at Gaakk who shook his head in disgust.

Well, Sir, I’m sorry Sir. It’s just that - it’s in such close proximity to the Dwingeloopian prisoner. I thought it might be of critical - ah - sensitivity.

“Dwingeloopian? What are you talking about, officer!”

In the detex chamber?

“How would a maintenance officer possibly come to know anything about detexees? Such information would be privileged and confidential, would it not!”

Um…

“Yes?”

I don’t know anything about - I mean… Um…

“Officer, is there an exhaust port nearby your location?”

Yes, Sir.

“Blow yourself out it.” Vaugnobbler rammed his finger into his ear and changed the channel.

Detex One. Go ahead.

“Captain here. Get me Officer Szhueeszscheezse.”

He’s in his quarters. Shall I-

“Get me the duty officer, then.”

One moment…

Go for Acting Officer Mythros.

“Vaugnobbler here. Are you aware of any stray human in the Tesseract?”

Yes Sir. We’re tracking it. We believe it was a third party incidental in the restaurant extraction. We don’t believe this guy knows where it is. It might even be a transient. It has no shoes. Shall we exhaust it?

“Where is it now?”

One moment... Ah - it’s at our back door, actually.

“No. Leave it be as much as possible. Just observe. Prepare a full report on its actions and have my secretary file it some place where I’ll never come across it unless I get really fucking keen. Is that clear?”

Of course sir.


* * *


Chapter Sixteen
Net Working

“Dammit!” said Pamela, staring at her personal device.

“Losing at Bubble Poker?” said Philbert.

“I’m not playing games, loser! I’m trying to get us rescued!”

“You’re not actually online, are you?”

“Yes!”

“What!” said Bleeekxpritzle. “You’re on the interwebs?”

“I think so. But facebook is the only site that works.”

“Let me see,” said the Admiral. One of his tentacles swiped the device from her grasp in the blink of an eye. He looked at the web page.


Pamela Baker
help! call FBI & CIA. Im trapped in piggly wiggly at n. broadway & chester. aliens r goin to kill me. not jking. hurry!
LIKE - COMMENT - SHARE

  Felicia Cairns
  WTF?? LOL!!! to much tekila last nite @ jj!! lolz!!!


  Brittany Boucher
  lol!!! wtf?? jenfer rat u out agn???


  Corey Bigjohnson Givner
  hey pampam got ur nelk nbmic wtf??? lol!!!


  Pamela Baker
  REPEAT: NOT JKING. CALL ARMY CALL WHITEHOUSE. I M CAPTERED BY ALIENS 4 REEL! PLEAZ HELP.


  Dawnella Jackson
  u 2? lol!!!!!! call me L8er


  Ken Fayer
  by me sum chetos thx


“What language is this?” said the Admiral.

“Duh! English!”

The Admiral looked again. “Curious dialect, this Duh-English. Still, there’s something rather dysfunctional with these people, isn‘t there?”

“Hey! Those are my friends, ass hole.”

The Admiral began adding a new comment to the page. “Don’t delete this, whatever you do.” When he handed the device back, Pamela looked and saw this:


Pamela Baker: 1QaZxSw@  3E  dCvFr$5TgBnHy  ^7 UjM,Ki*9Ol<.:p)-k{ITYD‘?\}  =3898hgU
B09 eDu5Glty7676   !qAzXs  W2#eDcV  fR4%tGbHnY6  &uJm  ;P0_[cvz“ Kgf
ED# $5  6kj  2wp[pohfd32DFjkPpk jDEDeY|  234\9 \7654|#rfHJ3  6  76 #k8^%o6o  yC34v5&


Pamela heaved a long sigh.

“Is something the matter?”

“My friends are going to think I’m a moron.”

“That’s nice. If you get any more comments, let me know immediately.”

Chapter fourteen... the plot revealed...

Chapter Fourteen
A Sad State Of Earthly Affairs

“What’s going to happen to us?” said Pamela. Tear tracks lined her cheeks.

“Us meaning this group here or your human race?” said Admiral Bleeekxpritzle.

“The human race,” said old Bill Blake.

“I meant me,” said Pamela.

The Admiral looked at each of them in turn.

“Don’t you think you owe us an explanation,” said Philbert as he approached the group. Bunny and Mickey sat huddled together about fifteen feet away. The pedestal’s diameter would afford no greater separation.

The Admiral’s three eyes seemed to examine each of the three humans individually. He nodded. “I suppose I do. You deserve to know for what you are paying this price. Though I can not promise you’ll find any of it believable.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Philbert, looking around the strange cavernous room. “My horizons have been somewhat widened today.”

“Very well,” said the Admiral. “I’ll be blunt. Your race of humans is the most notorious in the universe. You are infamous. There are more than nine billion super-intelligent civilizations in the O.U.C.H. and all but one-”

“O.U.C.H.?” said Philbert.

“The Official Universal Community of Humanoids.”

“Ah.”

“And all but one civilization is united in wanting humans exterminated.”

“Ouch!” said Pamela, frowning.

“Was it something we said?” asked Philbert.

“Basically your essential numbers are just way out of whack,” said the Admiral.

“Our essential numbers?”

The Admiral nodded. “Your procreation and territorial sprawl rates are out of control; right off the charts. It’s like all you humans want to do is screw and travel.”

Philbert shrugged. “Is that unusual?”

“More importantly your Blyxwhipple Ratio is two thousand and eighty nine to one favouring technological evolution to evolution of consciousness. Two thousand and eighty nine to one! It’s the worst ever recorded.”

Philbert frowned. “Exactly how bad is that?”

“Well, the second worst Blyxwhipple Ratio in the history of the universe was three to two. And every other intelligent species in the universe has evolved in favour of consciousness.”

“Pretty bad then.”

“Practically inconceivable. God knows how you’ve managed it.”

“How the hell do you measure something like that?” said Philbert.

“Easy. They just examine a package of standard possible evolutionary milestones. You’ve got nuclear bombs, automobiles, alarm clocks, the Nazi holocaust and two thousand and eighty five other atrocities versus… Woodstock.”

“What’s Woodstock?” said Pamela. The Admiral shook his head sadly.

“I’ll explain later,” said Philbert.

“Your Gazoo Equation is running an even fifty-fifty and the crux is drawing near.”

“What does that mean?” said Philbert.

“It means that your chances of self-destruction versus PTA is an even shot. And you’re not far off from doing one or the other.”

Philbert sighed. “PTA? Parent Teacher Association?”

“Post Terrestrial Ascension. What it all adds up to is this: By intergalactic standards you are at the eleventh hour. You’re either about to kill yourselves off through native resource depletion-slash-destruction or you’re about to make the interstellar leap, continue to furiously multiply and swiftly deplete the resources of the entire universe and kill us all. Understandably, seven hundred million trillion responsible universal citizens would prefer to limit your options.”

“By blowing up planet Earth?” said Pamela.

“Goodness child, of course not!”

“How then?” said Philbert.

“Oh, probably just a few covert interventions to ensure you stay on the wrong path. Divert your remaining major oil reserves to make them more accessible to you. Bankrupt the U.S.A. and, if necessary, any other nation that threatens to sufficiently back a useful space program and that would pretty much clinch it. You’ll have the biosphere destroyed in no time at all, with nowhere to go. You’ll be extinct and the universe will be safe from an incurable plague of zombies and psychopaths.”

“Oh please. You flatter.”

“Is anyone on our side?” said Pamela.

“There is a very slim majority, in just two galaxies in the entire universe, who would prefer another solution: To, in effect, make Earth into a stable but guarded asylum, so you could rot here indefinitely without threatening the rest of us; a position of extraordinary generosity if you could manage to see it from our perspective. They are the Twin Dwingeloo galaxies. That is who I represent.”

“Wait a minute,” said Philbert. “Why aren’t we part of the Official Universal Community of Humanoids?”

“It’s only for sufficiently intelligent humanoids. If it’s any consolation though, you’re current intelligence ratings place you high enough you’re on the official watch list for possible promotion.”

“Well this is all bloody insulting.”

“And so are your dolphins, actually.”

“Dolphins? They’re on the list too? Seriously?”

“Very much so.”

“How far behind us are the dolphins?”

Bleeekxpritzle winced. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re ahead!”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“The dolphins are ahead of humans! They don’t even have feet! Okay, wait now! Wait. How can humans not be part of a group whose very title includes the word humanoid! It comes from the word human!”

“The actual word is not humanoid, Philbert. I’m translating all this into English in case you haven’t realized.”

“Oh,” said Philbert. “Damn. I guess I should have figured that out for myself.”

The Admiral shrugged.

“We really are stupid, aren’t we?”

“Hey now, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll always have Woodstock. Oh, and facebook.”

“Facebook?” said Philbert.

“The other reason humans are infamous. There are tens of trillions more users than Zuckerburg knows about. If he was getting the royalties he really deserves, he could buy half the Milky Way.”

“Mister Bleek - ah - I mean, Admiral?”

“Yes, Pamela?”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“Oh, you’ll just continue to graze and die as always. You’ll be completely unaware of the existence of extraterrestrial intelligences and their covert tinkering with various cause-and-effect mechanisms here on Earth or that your ultimate destiny is controlled by powers you have no means to relate to. And if by some miracle you start to evolve consciously and your Blyxwhipple Ratio reverses, well, you might one day be invited into the interstellar community and learn how to live meaningful lives. There’s always hope, I suppose, slim as it may be.”

“No, I mean… what’s going to happen to us - here on this pedestal?”

“Oh. Well, personally, I’m up the creek, frankly. They will certainly assassinate me. But there are others who will carry on with my work. The rest of you will probably be let go after your memories are erased; once they realize how dumb and inconsequential you all are.”

“Thank goodness,” said Pamela. “I feel so much better now… I think.”

“Actually it would be less trouble for them just to cut you all loose in a 4D exactor loop. It wouldn’t cost them a single Unero and you’d never get out. To a 3D creature it would just seem like an eternal empty labyrinth. You wouldn’t age but you’d eventually die from the consequences of extreme insanity.”

Pamela and Philbert looked at each other.

“Yeah. Now that I think about it,” said Bleeekxpritzle. “I’m sure that’s what they’ll do.”

“Couldn’t you - I don’t know - call someone? To come rescue us? Your green alien friends?”

“Got a telephone?”

“Yes!” Pamela pulled a device from her pocket.

“I’m kidding. It won’t work here.”

“It’s always worked in grocery stores before.”

“Darling, we’re on a spaceship; not in a grocery store.”

Pamela pushed a couple buttons and held it to her ear. She frowned, hit a couple more buttons and listened again. “You’re right. I cant get through to anyone.” She sat and fiddled some more.

Chapters twelve and thirteen

Chapter Twelve
A Trip To The Grocery Store

“Well, that’s enough diplomacy,” said the Scorekeeper when finally he settled his laughter. He turned to his octet. “Bag them.”

His accompanying footmen then poured into the dining room with their staves held forth and with them shot streams of energy at the Earthlings and the Dwingeloopian. Each of the targets immediately then found themselves in very awkward positions; each cradled tightly into some kind of individual energy sack. They then found themselves floating through the air in this highly uncomfortable manner, seemingly directed by the staves of the Scorekeeper’s soldiers. In this manner they were delivered down the curiously quiet and empty street to a Piggly Wiggly grocery store which appeared to be most normal and open for business, though with no staff or customers present, according to the view through the great front windows.

But once inside they found the landscape not remotely in line. The environments within were dark with walls and floors all bearing a rubbery look and with colour patterns, if one examined closely enough, resembling the rainbow effects in the surface of an oil and water mix. No ceilings came into view, but only a yawning darkness above.

They saw dark rooms and dark halls; gates and grates and sturdy vault doors, and everywhere these unicorn people in military style uniforms.

Still they floated seemingly at the direction of the soldiers and now they entered an enormous chamber where they drifted toward a great pedestal surrounded by a circular channel offering no view of a bottom. The six captives passed over this pit with varying degrees of terror and alarm and once above the pedestal, were unceremoniously dumped onto its surface. Bill Blake Senior, by design or otherwise, landed squarely on the very pliant belly of Admiral Bleeekxpritzle and was thus spared any breakage of old bones.

The six found themselves sitting up and observing their surroundings. Beyond the moat-of-sorts several single-horned blue-haired Tweeporans sat at workstations or some things of that ilk, some singularly; some in pairs.

The teenager in Pamela name tag and golf shirt, now hatless, looked around, giggling in a soft way. She then lay down on her side, closed her eyes and went to sleep. Somehow her chewing gum had migrated to her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” said Bleeekxpritzle.

“I gave her Valium,” said Bunny.

“Is everyone else okay?”

The others looked wearily at the Admiral.

“Well I for one,” said Mickey, “Couldn’t be better. I am having the adventure of a lifetime. I am so delighted that Green Goblin here has dragged us into this monumental shit storm of fucked-uppedness, well, I could just shit golden butterflies! All of the thank-you cards in the world can not express how ecstatically grateful I am. Thanks Shrek. Thanks so much. And if there’s anything I can do for you in return - hey - don’t hesitate. You know what I mean, pal?” He glared at the Admiral, his ear-do so canted it looked like it was about to fall off his little mouse head.

The Admiral stared back at him calmly. “You seem so much more sincere on TV,” he said finally.

“Blow me,” said Mickey.

The Admiral pursed his great wide lips and blew.

“Whooah!” cried Mickey as the gust pushed him, flailing and hollering, almost to the edge of the pedestal.


* * *


Chapter Thirteen
Bathroom Hog


Bruce Willis (of no relation to the Hollywood film star) sat on the bathroom floor, his cheek firmly against the door. When all had been silent a short time, he untied his dress shoes, removed them, and his socks, and then quietly slipped out the door to find the ruined dining room empty of life. Through the wide window openings he spied a strange entourage of fifteen individuals moving down the street; six of them curled like macaroni noodles and floating through the air; the others horned, with staves and long flowing hair. He watched them proceed to the grocery store and enter. He nodded thoughtfully.

He turned and began searching what was left of the ice-creamery. The glass doors had been shot out of the wide upright freezer but the multitude of ice cream cakes within appeared relatively intact. He nodded at this. He found Pamela’s visor on the floor behind the counter and he put in on his head, ditching the chauffer cap. He tried the door to the back area and was appropriately surprised to discover the gaping black void instead. Another door, however, revealed a large closet interior which was still intact. A great slop sink was there and a cleaner’s cart and mop bucket. He nodded again.

He pulled the car keys from the pocket of his dress pants and proceeded carefully; alertly out to the remnants of the limousine. The trunk had thoughtfully been blown open for him so he put the keys away. The large box within had been badly charred by laser fire but he ripped it open and discovered that very thankfully, the gift he’d procured for his ten-year-old son was perfectly intact. Bruce surrendered a half grin as he peered inside the box.

Chapter 11: The Scorekeeper

More NaNoWriMo first draft fun...

Chapter Eleven
The Scorekeeper

“Anybody home?” came a cheerful voice. A unicornish biped humanoid with long red hair and enormous horn; nearly three feet long, appeared at the front door carrying some kind of staff. And on the staff was a headpiece which looked very much like an unsolved Rubik’s cube. Behind the visitor stood an octet of very similar creatures, with the wide flat noses and big eyes, but these all with brown hair, and each their own staves; these devoid of fancy headpieces. They had the horns also but theirs were shorter.

“How DARE you!” cried Bleeekxpritzle, casting his ice cream aside. The old man snorted and awoke. “This is a diplomatic mission as you very well know! What is the meaning of this murderish offense!”  

The red-haired beast who stood nearly seven feet high, turned to look behind himself and then came about again. “I’m sorry. Are you speaking to me?”

“Do you see some other conscienceless psychopath around!” warbled Bleeekxpritzle.

The newcomer nodded and made a brief show of casting his eyes in a brief arc. “Indeed,” he said. “Seven billion or so.”

The Admiral snapped his fingers. “Damn. You got me there. But that is no excuse for your deplorable behaviour!”

“Whatever do you mean, Green Man! I only just arrived. Did I forget to wipe my feet at the door? It’s not like you’re up to snuff with the housework. Look at this place. You could have picked up a little. Even a little scurryfunge might have helped.”

“I have no time for your nonsense, Scorekeeper.”

Bunny was now peeking over the counter at the goings on. She and her companions looked on, bewildered.

“Ah,” said he who had been called Scorekeeper. “You would be incorrect in that assumption. You are likely to have quite a whole lot of time on your hands: for my nonsense, for tic-tac-toe, for picking your nose, twiddling your thumbs and whatever further pastimes you are yet to discover. Sudoku perhaps.”

“Gads! Never!” cried the Admiral.

“So we shall see. You will be brought to justice either way.”

“I’ve broken no oath or convention!” cried Bleeekxpritzle. “And you are no hand of the law! Release us at once!”

“Us? Oh my! Hello Earthlings! The red-haired cubist looked to the others. “Fear no longer. I have freed you from the clutches of the Green Monstrosity. Allow me to escort you to our Hospitality Lounge so we can assess your needs and get you back to your various states of normal as soon as possible! This way please!”

“I will finish my sundae before going anywhere,” said old man Blake.

The Scorekeeper smiled tiltedly and blinked his eyes in twice succession. “And good afternoon to you sir! I am Officer Joneybaloneybingdingeldeedoodleycrackers. But my friends call me Officer Jo. And you are?”

Editor’s note: [Tiltedly…? Really?]

“Bill Blake Senior. And you are interrupting my dessert, Mister Baloneydiddler. And if you are responsible for putting the baseball through the window then you’d better hope there is no glass in my ice cream or you and I will be having a little sit-down.”

“Enchanted,” said Officer Jo. “But we can afford no precious time for pleasantries I‘m afraid. This area is unstable. The Hospitality Center awaits. This way please!” He gestured toward the doorway with his staff.    

“The only hospitality I require,” eeked Mickey Mouse, stepping forward, “Is some consideration in terms of the replacement of one 1954 Rolls Royce six-seater. If your people would please see to that with due expedience, you can then contact my people at Walt Disney Studios to arrange delivery. That is all. Now if you will step aside, My hare friend and I have urgent appointments to keep. I am indeed Mickey Mouse, as you have no doubt observed. And I know that my dear friends at the American White House and at the Pentagon will all be very grateful to you for rescuing me from this Green Monster and for setting me free so promptly. Favourable rewards are yours, Scorekeeper!”

The scorekeeper raised one bushy eyebrow as he regarded the mouse. He then released an involuntary guffaw and then another. Then finally a great peal of laughter burst from him, followed by more and more. Mickey’s face reddened.

“Do not heed the spinnings of this horned trickster, my friends,” said Admiral Bleeekxpritzle. “You see here the face of the enemy of all Earthkind. His people plot solaricide!”

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten
The Calm After The Storm


“Well,” said Philbert as he raised his head and peeked out the absence of a window. “You’re definitely gonna be shopping for a new limo after all, Mickey-boy.”

All the commotion had settled and all was very strangely quiet. Much of the Queen O’ The Dairy lay in ruins though all five dwellers of the dining area were left unscathed. Mickey, Bunny, Philbert and Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle were now all risen from the debris-ridden floor and carefully peeking out the shattered empty windows. Six giant mechanical beasts lay in smoking heaps as did two limousines; one formerly white and one black; now one black and one extra-black.

“Start talking, Shrek,” squealed Mickey Mouse. “What putrid swamp o’ Dante’s ninth hell did you come slithering out of and who in all of creation turned this restaurant into a rip-roaring climactic scene from some apeshit Star Wars flick?”

“Inquiring minds want to know?” said Bleeekxpritzle.

“Fess up.”

“Much of that information is not fit for public consumption.”

“You pompous green land squid,” said Mickey, shaking his head, his googly eyes narrowed with malice.

“Don’t have a cow, mouse.” the Admiral gurgled.

“What do you expect I should do instead?”

“Run for the hills! They’ve blundered this attack but they’ll try something else in very short order.”

“Is this the end of the world?” said Bunny.

“No. That’s a little way off. Right now, they just want me dead apparently. Unless this was just a warning; unless they bungled it intentionally.”

“Who are THEY?” demanded Philbert.

“If I said, Elton John and Bernie Taupin, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“If I said, the rest of the universe, would you believe me?”

Mickey and Philbert exchanged glances. “No,” said Philbert.

“Then what would you believe?”

Philbert shrugged. “The North Koreans?”

Bleeekxpritzle smiled ruefully. “Then why ask?”

“Were you made in a secret government lab?” said Bunny.

“I couldn’t say,” said Bleeekxpritzle. “That sentence doesn’t really translate into my language.” He peered around through the windows. “I don’t know if you want to stick it out for the bonus round but I for one am getting the hell out of dodge. It’s been a slice. Live long and prosper!” With that he waved his hand and marched out the front door…

…Sort of.

He certainly seemed as if he were about to depart through the front door but instead he very suddenly halted at the threshold. His squirmy blue-green tentacles moved about before him in some form of extraterrestrial mime routine. “Shiver me timbers,” he said, and turned around.

“What!” said Mickey.

“What indeed,” said the Admiral. The rotund green alien bobbled over to the nearest window and thrust out his feelers. Two of his three eyes, on their stalks, turned to the others. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

Mickey ran to the open front door. “Careful!” cried the Admiral. Mickey was not. He hit the invisible force field head-on and bounced back, landing square on his little mouse butt.

“Oh, Mickey-Sweets, are you okay?” Bunny ran to him.

Admiral Bleeekxpritzle stared at his ruined limousine. Between him tearing himself out of the contraption and the fine mess the Zan-wave lasers had made of its remains, there was little the shell of an auto was capable of hiding from the Admiral’s eyes.

“Mr. Willis…” he murmured.

“Blake,” said the old man. The Admiral seemed not to hear.

“Where are you, Mr. Willis?”

“Blake. I’m right here.”

“What?” said the Admiral.

“Nothing.” The old man tediously returned his spoon to the cup where his half-dessert had become very soft and milky.

Mickey had risen to his feet with Bunny’s assistance. Philbert was reclined on a bench, slumped, his arms crossed. Bleeekxpritzle turned and surveyed them all. “My chauffer is gone,” he announced.

“Join the club,” said Mickey.

“The Mickey Mouse Club?”

“Never mind.”

“Something smells fishy in the town of Denmark,” said Bleeekxpritzle. Mickey and Bunny looked at him. “He sold me out. That bastard sold me out.”

“Huh?” said Philbert, looking up.

“My chauffer is suspiciously absent. I conclude that he is some informant who made possible this ambush. It’s elementary my dears.”

“Are we trapped?” said Philbert.

“Come look out this window,” said the Admiral.

Philbert rose. “What?”

“What do you see?”

“Dead laser gun machines?”

“What else?”

“Stores, houses, streets. Clouds. That one looks like an eggbeater.”

“Fascinating. What’s missing?”

“Eggs? Oh - sorry.” Philbert stared for a moment. “Cars. People.”

“Indeed. And what about the light?”

“Huh?”

“The sunlight.”

Philbert frowned. “It’s not quite right, is it? It’s like a couple shades off or something.”

“We are looking at an illusion,” said the alien. “We’ve been taken. The whole building has been taken.”

“What!” yelped Bunny. “But I have a nail appointment this aft. Mickey! Do something! What about my nails?”

“Sit down here, Baby. I’ll think of something.”

“Will we be rescued?” said Philbert.

“By whom?” squorbled the Admiral.

“By whoever shot up those machines; whoever saved us from the laser attack.”

“Ah. So that is how you see it? Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to hope. Whoa! Soup’s on!” said Bleeekxpritzle. He had suddenly noticed five large-size blitz cups standing on the serving counter. “That looks like my breakfast! Come and git it afore I slop it to the hogs!” He marched straight to the counter and picked up a cup of rather unadorned and half-melted ice cream. It immediately screamed the ungodliest of screams at him and he dropped it back on the counter as he jumped an involuntary step backward.

But then he realized that the scream had more likely come from the teenage girl who lay on the floor behind the counter in a foetal position, next to a cup which lay on its side in a fine puddle of dairy. She turned her head to peek again at the three hovering eyeballs gazing down at her from the ends of three green stalks and again she screamed.

“I think someone should comfort this child,” announced the alien. “But I may be the wrong candidate, frankly.”

Bunny and Mickey came forward. Bunny went to the girl while Mickey went to the door to the back area. “I’m gonna find a phone,” he squeaked. He pulled open the door and immediately closed it again. “No, I’m not,” he said. Bunny gently pulled the girl to a sitting position and sat on the floor beside her, holding her hand.

Bleeekxpritzle went to the door and opened it for himself to discover nothing but a black void on the other side. So he took his cup to the old man’s table to find the old man half-canted in his seat, his eyes closed. The Admiral sat across from him, took Mr. Blake’s bony little wrist and felt a moment for a pulse. Satisfied the codger was only sleeping, he then took up a random spoon and attacked his breakfast. It was disappointingly plain. Clearly the Tweeporan attack had interrupted the preparation of his meal. And he knew very well that only the Tweeporans could be behind it. And just to remove all doubt, there suddenly came a knock at what was left of the front door.

The Lurker Above

Chapter Nine
The Lurker Above


The C.H.B. Lurking Vulture was a Class VII ‘Invisiship’ reconnaissance vessel from the Crafts ‘R’ Us SpaceTrans Company of the planetary system Tweepora Major in the constellation of Orion. It was noted for its cloaking and holographic functionalities but more primarily for its multi-dimensional Tesseract Deck. At the time of the telling of this illustrious tale, this model of spacecraft was only available to the Tweeporan military.

Captain Vaugnobbler and Fleaman Bigbiggerpants sat in the frontal lobe of the ship with a rotating Ouija Cube hovering between them. The two officers each had tall pointed ears, wide flat noses, long flowing wavy blue hair and single horns resembling that of a unicorn. The Captain had the longer horn. Each of them held their palms toward the floating spinning cube and moved their hands in slight gentle undulations.

“We’re so fucked,” said Captain Vaugnobbler.

“She’s coming,” said Fleaman Bigbiggerpants.

“Her gait suggests agitation and incontinence.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sorry. Not incontinence. Superciliousness.”

“What?” said Bigbiggerpants.

“Priapism?”

“I think your C-3 nodule has become deflibwaggled.

Captain Vaugnobbler stuck his long index finger into his ear and fiddled for a moment. “You were correct, fleaman. Thank you.”

“Gesundheit.”

The hatch spiralled open and a similar looking creature marched in. This one had a horn roughly eight feet long; a length 133% that of her height. “Stop monitoring my gait!” she snapped.

“A thousand pardons, Commander Taumb.” said the captain.

“What the spleen is going on down there!”

“We’re losing the battle sir-ma’am!”

“How - I say - how… is that possible?”

“Bleeekxpritzle and his crew are returning fire. Damage to five out of six Drones-of-Salvation range from serious-critical to critical-alarming. The other is graded worrisome.”

“This was never supposed to BE a battle! I can’t afford to lose five drones!”

“The drone graded worrisome has now been re-graded doornail,” said the fleaman. He shook his head sadly. “Sorry.”

The captain winced and looked nervously at the commander. “We’d had no intelligence suggesting any existence of a Dwingeloopian support team nor of unearthly weaponry, until now.”

“Where in the liverschnitzel did they come from!” snapped Commander Taumb.

“The crew or the arms?”

“Either!”

“I can’t fathom, sir-ma’am.”

“What are Bleeekxpritzle’s vitals?”

The fleaman frowned. “Jaunty, sir-ma’am.”

“Jaunty? He hasn’t been hit even once?”

“No.”

“What kind of weapons are they using against us?”

“Class nine Zan-wave lasers,” said fleaman Bigbiggerpants

“Check again fleaman,” said Vaugnobbler. “The Zans belong to us.”

“Sorry” said Bigbiggerpants. He squinted and frowned at the Ouija cube. “Sirs, I assure you: The Dwingeloopian is also using class nine Zan-wave lasers. There’s no doubt about it.”

“I’m not hearing this,” said Taumb.

“Oh no,” said Vaugnobbler.

“I am NOT… HEARING… THIS!” said Taumb.

“Oh sweet Jiminy Christmas,” said Vaugnobbler

“What the holy high-flying solar-pigeon plucking formation have you got the drones in!” the commander wailed.

“They have the ice creamery encircled, sir-ma’am.” said the fleaman who was just beginning to look terrified. “Um… All fire has now ceased.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” said Taumb.

“Commander, I’m profoundly regretful,” said the captain.

“I want this fleaman scrubbing the emergency poop-drive accelerator for the remainder of this mission,” said Commander Taumb.

“Yes sir-ma’am.”

“Is the entire Dwingeloo crew inside the ice creamery?”

“Affirmative.”

“Take the whole restaurant and put it in the Tesseract Deck. Leave a mootcopy in its place.”

“Yes sir-ma’am.”

“And if you snork this up.”

“Yes?”

“Life as you know it will be over!”

“I understand, sir-ma’am.”

“For starters I will make you watch every… single… episode… of Married With Children.”

Vaugnobbler shrank back in abject horror. Commander Taumb brought her head around so that her elephantine horn pointed straight at the Captain’s eyes. She then turned and marched out the hatch. It spiralled shut behind her. Vaugnobbler clasped his cheeks in his hands and wailed the wails of the damned.

Finally he quieted and wiped the tears from his face.

“Are you okay, sir?” asked fleaman Bigbiggerpants gently.

“Get out of my sight, poop scrubber.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“You can’t put drones in a circle formation and fire at will, you fart-snorting piffle head! Don’t you get it? They destroyed each other!”

Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams

Chapter Eight
Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams


“Take your time, Guerrero.” said Mickey. “It’s not like I’m in any way important or have anything remotely useful to do with my TIME!”

The driver tried for about the twentieth time to turn over the engine and received the same mechanical fart in response. “I’m sorry sir! Let me have a look under the hood.” He opened the door and rushed out.

“By all means, have a look under the hood,” said Mickey at the departing driver. “Fire his ass the moment we get home.”

“Yes sir,” said Philbert.

“And bust a kneecap. Just one though.”

“Mickey!” Bunny blurted.

“I’m not a thug, Mr. Mouse. I’ll do no such thing. Besides, the car is fifty-eight years old. You didn’t really think it would last forever?”

“The car is fine, Tubby. And if I wanted your pudgy opinion I’d ask for it.”

“You should get something newer. With a larger fridge.”

“And you should know when to shut the hell up, Fatso.” WHAM! Something made a loud booming noise and shook the Rolls Royce. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert stared at one another. “What the fuck is he doing out there?” Mickey demanded. “Go fire him now. Right now! Baby, call us a cab.”

“Call one yourself, you beast,” Bunny snapped. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Five more booms shook them.

“What the f-” Mickey started.

A series of high-pitched bursts then filled their ears followed by the sounds of minor explosions and the tinkle of broken glass. The door beside Bunny was suddenly yanked open and the driver appeared there, his eyes just about bursting forth on springs.

“What the hell’s going on out there!” Mickey snapped.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!” he explained. And these were his last words. Another high-pitched burst was accompanied by a bolt of blue light which passed through the driver’s body, leaving him collapsed and crumpled over the threshold of the car doorway. Mickey and his companions screamed their very finest screams to date and then beat each other near senseless scrambling to be the first out the opposite door.

Mickey was first out of the Rolls, which proved not to be the cleverest strategy after all, as he tumbled to the ground followed by the others who landed precisely on top of him. Bunny was the last out and was thus the first off the top of the heap and the first to run screaming into the presumed safety of the Queen O’ The Dairy Restaurant And Ice Creamery.

As Mickey followed Philbert along that same short path, terror and disbelief rose in him, flooding him like the worst acid reflux attack ever. He glimpsed giant mechanical beasts looming, a criss-cross of brilliant blue light beams, piercing noises, shattered glass and a glimpse of some beast; some giant green tentacled monstrosity in colourful shorts. Can’t be real can’t be real can’t be real! I can’t die this way! Oh momma I’ve done peed my britches!   

The old man drew the spoon slowly from his lips and savoured the cold creamy yumminess on his tongue.  He gave all his attention to his taste buds. He felt at one with yumness. He scarcely noticed the sound of breaking glass until shards of it skittered along his table; a piece caroming off his dessert cup.

“Oops,” he said. “Billy Junior’s put the baseball through the window again. He’ll be up here in a jiffy, head hanging like a hound dog; the little rascal.” Blue laser beams flashed overhead, unnoticed. One of them passed right above his cranium leaving two holes; an entry and exit, in his so recently pristine bowler hat. The glass front door burst open. “Here comes Billy Junior now…” he said. But instead there arrived a young rabbit in red dress along with the man in black suit and goatee who’d so recently departed, and then something else which he presumed to be a small child in Mickey Mouse costume. They came flying through the door in most chaotic of fashion, yelping and hollering and then they dove to the floor at his feet. “All right then,” said the old man. He ignored them the best he could and continued manoeuvring his spoon back down toward the cup.

What few windows remained in the Restaurant And Ice Creamery were now being blown out by laser beams. Most of these beams were passing through one window or another and exiting through another window at its opposite side of the dining room.

The front door banged open again, nearly coming off its hinges as a giant bluish green mass came bursting through. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert launched into a whole new screaming sensation as they scrambled up against table and chair legs, adding inches to the distance between they and this new threat. Laser beams crashed all around the beast in pretty shorts. His tentacles and eyestalks waved frantically as he too dove for cover, shouting, “Aye Karumba!” in a deep gurgling warbled voice. A table was battered into some kind of instant modern art sculpture as the beefy Admiral crashed into it.

“Do something! Dammit! Do Something!” Mickey screamed as he leapt atop his man, Philbert and wrapped his little three-fingered hands around his neck. He squeezed with all his mousy little might. “You are PAID..! To PROTECT ME, You BITCH! Use your freaking GUN, you fat tub of SHIT!”

The Admiral frowned at this and shot out a tentacle. In an instant it wrapped around the mouse’s neck and yanked him clear of his gasping employee. Now Mickey was the choking one. He spat and sputtered, his eyeballs bulging as Bleeekxpritzle’s tentacle turned His Mouseness to face him, though from ten feet away. “Hey!” said the Admiral. “Peace out, little dude! He’s not even fat!” With that he sat Mickey back onto the floor and released him. The mouse and his companions sat staring wide-eyed at the great squirmy beast while laser beams continued to fly; while the sounds of explosions reverberated outside, and while the old man calmly dined on his strawberry sundae in slow-motion.

“What the fuck are you?” said Mickey.

“Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle, Fifth Colony, Twin Dwingeloo Galaxies Federation at your service.” The three continued to stare at him. “And who so what the fuck are you, good sir!”

Mickey and his delegation all looked at one another and then back at Bleeekxpritzle. “I’m the single most recognizable celebrity in the history of televised entertainment… bitch!”

“I knew it! I knew it! Mickey Mouse! M-I-C…! K-E-Y…! M-O-U-S-E! I just didn’t wish to be presumptuous!”

“God forbid,” said Mickey.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” groaned the old man, drawing the spoon from his mouth again.

“Someone ought to warn him what’s going on, don’t you suppose?” said Bleeekxpritzle, nodding toward the white-haired old man; the only dining room inhabitant seated on a chair and not low on the floor.

“How about you start by telling us just what the hell IS going on here!” Mickey snapped.

The Admiral glanced up at the passing blue bursts of light. “Ah. Well. We seem to be under attack.” This was punctuated by the crash of a light fixture which had been blasted off of the ceiling and onto the floor.

“Oh, You don’t say? Well then. I‘m glad that‘s settled. Let‘s have tea, shall we.”

“Only in Canada, you say?” said the Admiral. “Pity!”

Mickey turned to Philbert. “Give me your gun.” said Mickey to Philbert.

“I don’t have it on me,” said Philbert.

“You’re fired.”

“I quit.”

“Fine. Get out.”

“Out?”

Mickey pointed at the battered doorway. “Get… out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“That would be unwise,” said the alien.

“Oh, and why is that, Admiral Bleak Pretzel?” said Mickey.

“Bleeekxpritzle. Ah - he wouldn’t survive the laser blaster attack. Those are class nine Zan-wave lasers. They’re rather unforgiving.”