Wednesday, May 31

Mirlad Prime, Team Ozzie. Part 3/4

Personal Log. Chief Engineer, Ped Varook. 04.10.3001.

I take full responsibility for the failure of our mission to Mirald Prime. As I was the only person to have even visited the planet before, I suggested we use their Vacuum Capsules to explore the city of Giroque. They are the most efficient means of transportation on the planet. I had no idea that human anatomy would react in such a way.

What happened to Chief of Security Rumson, and the Commodore reminded me of an old Cretian story where the infidel Posnoke was punished by our supreme goddess, Kundak, for being born a male. Posnoke was tied to a flhan tree and then his skin was secured to two rhoos beasts. Kundak whipped the beasts into a charge which resulted in pulling Posnoke's skin clean off his bones.

My actions I feel were not adequately punished by the Commodore; therefore I will give myself ten lashes to the back of my thighs with a Cretian barbed switch.

Both Commodore Ludwig and Chief of Security Rumson lost control of their bowels. Given my heightened senses, I could deduce that Officer Rumson ate a ham sandwhich for lunch and Commodore Ludwig had lamb chops with Gouda cheese, if I'm not mistaken. The stench to my sensitive Cretian nasal passages nearly caused me to evacuate saline drops from my tear ducts.

Such a reaction from a Cretian female is horrific. On top of my other punishment, I shall give myself ten lashes to my buttocks as well.

Sunday, May 28

Mirald Prime, Team Ozzie. Part 2/4

Personal Log. Chief of Security, Fran Rumson. 04.10.3001.

I am forced to type in my log because my face feels like pudding. Ironically, that is one of the few things I'm still able to eat. Pudding. I prefer vanilla.

Today was the first away mission for me in over six years. And now I look like a British Bulldog. My skin is so loose I can pull my cheeks up over my eyes. Dr. Leary said he could get me back to normal with some simple cosmetic surgery after the swelling went down.

Our mission was to observe the Miraldese and take note of their culture. Being a member of the UIN Armada for over fifty-two years, I realize a crock mission when I see one. Culture observation is just a way for new crew members to wet their wick. Nothing to get your britches in a bunch. Not like having your scrotum removed by an Arcadian Torture Officer.

When we landed I was afraid that we would stick out like a virgin in a whore house, what with the Commodore's exotic attire. I felt like it was Mardi Gras and he was the Grand Marshal of Ceremonies. However, Communications Officer, Mao Ling taught us a Miraldian phrase that seemed to appease anyone who eyed our appearance. "Chi und po-dunk", which is similar to "We're from France."

We boarded a transportation system much like Earth's subways only the Miraldese use a vacuum tube to propel capsules about the city. It's similar to the message delivery chutes once used in old, large office buildings. Air pressure pushes the capsules through the plastic tunnels.

Ped Varook, having visited Mirald Prime before, suggested the tubes to traverse the city quickly. What we didn't know is that the Miraldese, along with Varook's Cretian people, though similar in physiology to humans are more resilient under intense G-Forces. What is a normal pressure force for the Miraldese is potentially threatening to humans.

I swear, when our pod kicked into gear, I could feel my face splayed out against the back of my seat. My testicles pushed into my gut so hard, I thought they were going to pop out my ass. Lucky for me I was wearing my adult diaper. I can't say as much for the Commodore.

I think it was after he ripped one that he drew his stun gun and fired into the controls of the capsule. The result was a pod pile up and one constipated vacuum chute.

When we tried to duck out during the confusion a group of curious onlookers stood in our way. I thought our goose was cooked, but suddenly their eyes rolled to the back of their sockets, heads turned towards the sky and the Miraldese let loose a high, piercing chortle. I'm not sure what the hell was going on, but they all appeared incapacitated by this behavior. Whatever had caused it probably saved our ass.

Friday, May 26

Mirald Prime, Team Ozzie. Part 1/4


Mission Report. Commodore Jonathan Ludwig Jr. 04.10.3001

Mission Code Name: Ozzy

It is with utmost regret that I must report that the Mirladese of Mirald Prime, once known as a peaceful planet, has developed into a potentially hostile environment. Due to the seriousness of this serious discovery, I will use a serious tone.

Incidentally, due to injuries sustained during Mission Ozzy, I am forced to manually type in my Mission Report versus dictation as I have yet to regain full control of my lips and facial muscles.

Our mission involved two teams: Team Ozzy and Team Harriet. My group (Team Ozzy) jettisoned down to Giroque, Mirald Prime's largest city, whereby Chief of Security Fran Rumson, Chief Engineer Ped Varook and I instantly integrated into the local population.

Or so we thought...

During our investigation of Miraldian culture, we discovered a Top Secret vehicle capable of sustaining untold speeds. This advancement in technology obviously escaped UIN detection as it was disguised as normal public transportation. However, once we boarded the vehicle, the Miraldese must have become aware of our presence because Team Ozzy was immediately struck by some invisible force. This unseen energy made us immobile, prayed upon our sanity and even began to deform our bodies. Obviously the Miraldese meant to incapacitate us and then torture us until we divulged vital information.

Luckily, I was able to fire my stun gun, thereby disabling the mechanism that powered this heinous device. We then escaped capture by melding into the crowded city streets. If it wasn't for my quick reaction we would have surely perished.

It is my suggestion to the UIN council that a list be tallied of all such questionable planets that pose a threat to our magnanimous coalition. Mirald Prime, particularly the city of Giroque, should be placed on this list. Possible titles for this inventory could be the Foundation of Evil, the Axis of Infamy, or maybe the Nefarious Nations of the Nebula.

Wednesday, May 24

Mirald Prime and Jean Sprat Moping

Personal Log. Commodore's Liaison, Jean Sprat. 04.10.3001.

I am a bit remiss. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm pissed off.

It's no secret that my position is cosmetic at best. In a way, I'm the foundation to Johnny Junior's leadership blush. Still, I think I could be afforded an amount of respect by the Commodore, given that I practically raised his regal ass since he was in his pampers.

Today was the first away mission assigned by Central Command. Two teams were to jettison down to Mirald Prime to study various aspects of their culture. It was a perfunctory mission, one designed specifically to give the crew experience without putting them in harms way. We have several such away missions before we rendezvous in a couple months with the Paath for our primary goal to relocate their Terraquadonis mining community.

Mirald Prime is inhabited by a pre space travel humanoid species, one that shouldn't pose any threat. Chief of Communications, Mao Ling said that there isn't even a word for "war" in the Mirladian language, though they have several words for canoodle. Still, given my experience, I thought my presence on one of the teams would be beneficiary. Chief Engineer, Fran Rumson, said that he would be more than willing to give up his position on the Commodore's team, but Johnny Junior was adamant about adhering to the predetermined team rosters. That little brat even went so far as to pull rank. "I'm the Commodore," he said. "My word is final." Who would have thought my dutiful tutoring would have produced such a pompous windbag.

Oh, I guess I can't fault Johnny Junior. He was following orders, something that he was never really good at before. Still, I would have liked to visit Mirald Prime. The Mirladese are renowned for their shoe making abilities and Miraldian footwear is very difficult to obtain.

I guess I could have had Johnny Junior pick up a pair for me, but God knows what monstrosities he'd come back with. Per military code, the group wore attire indicative of the Mirladian fashions, but the Commodore insisted on wearing a pair of white leather loafers with a large gold decorative buckle. He said they went well with his cane, which looked more like a parade conductor's ceremonial baton than a cane.

However, I do feel somewhat comforted by the fact that neither team had much success. Johnny Junior's team was required to set down in Mirald Prime's largest city, while 1st Mate Beck's team investigated a Mirladian jungle said to be home to an ancient Pygmalion tribe. I haven't spoken with the Commodore or 1st Mate Beck since their return, as I'm still moping in my quarters, but from what I heard on the grape vine things down there were not all lemons and oranges. In fact, it got down right nasty.

Whatever happened down there, all I can say is, "good." Serves them right for denying me my right to luxury footwear and being the envy of all women (and men who were once women) throughout the galaxy.

Monday, May 22

Mirald Prime

United Intergalactic Nation (UIN) Archives: A Brief Background of the Miraldese of Mirald Prime

Mirald Prime is a relatively small planet located in the Gary Brooks Google sector (The grand prize of Gary Brooks being the 10 to the 34th power Google user)

The Miraldese are a pre-space travel species known for their exotic footwear, a national past-time called "oolapu" (sort of a combination of hula-hooping and river dance), and their propensity towards nonviolence. In fact their last documented act of violence was an overtly brisk "talk to the hand" by a frustrated wife to her husband. Apparently, the woman could no longer tolerate shopping with a husband that didn't know the difference between egg-white heels, pearl, mother of pearl, or vanilla bean. The incident was so out of Miraldian character, it was the focal point of news stories for weeks and an official judgment by the Miraldian High Court is still pending.

In appearance, the Miraldese resemble your typical human with the exception of a black patch on the back of their neck which is responsible for releasing pheromones. This single physical trait is attributed to their peaceful existence. Anytime a person is agitated the chemical is discharged into the air and they along with anyone near by experiences a blissful euphoria. When a Miraldese is in heat, the potency of their pheromone increases tenfold. The affect is likened to a rooster's caw after being strung up by its testicles.

Humans, on the other hand, tend to find the smell of the pheromone less pleasing. It is often described as defecated lamb chops and smoked Gouda cheese.

Sharing the planet with the Miraldese is a pre-industrial Pygmalion species. There is nothing remarkable about this tribal people other than a fable that they hold the key to a vast cache of knowledge. The UIN officially denounces this myth as a gross fallacy.

Saturday, May 20

Flyn' Solo, Jean Sprat. Part 5/5

Personal Log. Commodore's Liaison, Jean Sprat. 04.05.3001

I averted a potentially catastrophic situation today. I didn't have any shoes that would match my pinstripe gray suit. Ultimately I took a pair of black loafers and placed them in a high intensity light chamber until they faded to a reasonable gray tone.

Oh, and the Commodore thought it would be a good idea if he piloted the ship today. Growing up with a personal driver his whole life, I wondered about his ability to fly an Intergalactic Cruiser. Unfortunately I wasn't able to say something in front of the crew, thereby undermining his authority.

Therefore, I transferred control of the Liberace from the Commodore's navigation panel to Pilot Vasquez and ran a session of the video game Asteroid 3000 on the Commodore's screen. Just to be on the safe side, I sent over Ped Varook to stand next to him while showing a healthy amount of cleavage.

If I've learned anything from being a woman, then a man, it's that men's attention span is severely debilitated when a pair of dirty pillows are bobbing in their face.

I was still a bit on edge, however. Officer Vasquez is so erratic. Without his medication, he could be mesmerized by just a shiny coin and never even notice that a star just went nova. Even when he is on his meds, he has the energy and fortitude of a slug on dopamine.

Thursday, May 18

Flyn' Solo, Ped Varook. Part 4/5

Personal Log. Chief of Security, Ped Varook. 04.05.3001

Today, Commodore Ludwig decided to pilot the ship. I did not find this unusual as Cretian captains often pilot their own ships, even though all Cretian captains are female because males are inferior.

Former female, Jean Sprat approached me and said that I should go and stand next to Commodore Ludwig and watch his progress. Before doing so, though, former female, Jean Sprat said that I looked warm and proceeded to unfasten three of the top buttons on my uniform. I found this to be unusual as I didn't feel any variation in my core temperature.

As I observed the Commodore pilot the Liberace, I was quite impressed. Cretians being a matriarchal society, I am unaccustomed to male leadership and I had no idea that human males could pilot a ship with such skill. Especially since the Commodore's eyes were never on the navigation screen, but instead they remained fixed on my chest. I guess this was his way to prove his leadership abilities.

Tuesday, May 16

Flyn' Solo, Pilot Vasquez. Part 3/5

Personal Log. Pilot Vasquez. 04.05.01

The Commodore came up to me and was like, "give me the controls."

I was like, "what?"

And he was like, "I wanna be a pilot."

And I was like, "OK."

Then the Commodore's Liaison, Jean Sprat came up to me and asked if I had like taken my meds today.
I was like, "Yeah."

And she was like, "Good."

Then she was all fiddly-diddly with the computer and she said I was going to fly the ship instead of the Commodore.

I was like, "But the Commodore wanted to pilot."

And she was like, "What the Commodore doesn't know won't hurt him."

And I was like, "But he'll know he isn't flying."

And she was like, "Leave it to me."

She went over to Officer Varook and they had their own little pow-wow for a minute. Then Varook went over and stood next to the Commodore.

I was like, "What's that all about?"

Jean Sprat was like, "Don't worry about it."

And I was like, "OK."

Then the Commodore said he was taking us into an asteroid belt. Jean Sprat asked me if I could fly through an asteroid field.

I was like, "A big one or a little one?"

And she was like, "Are you sure you took your pills today."

And I was like, "Yeah, I think so."

Sunday, May 14

Flyn' Solo, 1st Mate Beck. Part 2/5

Personal Log. 1st Mate Beck. 04.05.01

I don't know how Commodore Dip-Shit did it, but that crap stain navigated through a class five asteroid field without so much as a fender-bender. I'd sooner vomit tacks than admit that he might be a better commander than I thought. Something stinks and I aim to find out exactly what that stench is.

At first I wondered if he had two brains in that hollowed out melon on top of his shoulders. Sort of like the Crumgrog who have one brain for going moving forward and one brain for moving backwards (Unfortunately they have not evolved a brain for left or right). Maybe in his noodle he has the brain of an exemplary military leader and a brain in his ass that has corroded due to overexposure to noxious butt fumes. A quick bio scan proved that to be false.

Then I figured it was all a show, his whole "d to the ickle" and "p to the enis", but no one can pass such an erroneous fallacy by my scrutiny. Finally, I thought maybe he was an idiot savant, but I'm damn sure he's just an idiot. I'm not ready to believe that turd is a pilot of any caliber.

And what was up with Officer Varook. She was at his side the whole time, her giant mangos only inches from his shnoz. If Cretians get that worked up over flying a ship, I should take that lovely alien down to the VR training room and show her what I can do with a P-13 fighter and sixteen hundred rounds of plasma. That'll get her nice and juicy.

Thursday, May 11

Flyn' Solo, Commodore Ludwig. Part 1/5

Personal Log. Commodore Ludwig. 04.05.01

The Liberace has been out of central command for over a week now and the J-Lud has spent the better part of that time gettin' the 411 on his pepes. Today, I thought I'd pay some homage to the Liberace, cuz a cat that don't know his ride just ain't jive. We were cruisn' on through the Gold Nugget Solar System – so dubbed cuz a posse of 49ers found some major bling in an asteroid belt hummin' through the system – and I decided to bust out my piloting moves.

Now as numero uno of this bad boy, I can't just pop in a few commands and let the auto pilot do its thing. I've got a reputation to consider, being the youngest ever to command a star ship and all. So, I thought I'd get more props flyin' solo through that bitchn' plague of roids.

Let me tell you, jaws dropped when the crew witnessed J-Lud's mad piloting skills. Bet a wad of Benjamins none of them figured a dude with only thirty hours of simulation pilot training could cut such cool lines, but the J-Lud's not your run of the mill chinco. I got instincts like a Milotopian Wombat and reflexes like a Koosh Koosh tiger fox.

So impressed in the way I handled my hot rod, Officer Varook couldn't help but crunch on the J-Lud's rad vibes. I swear she was standing so close you couldn't pass a radio signal between us. Though she is one dope dame, I didn't let her feminine bits distract me from slicing scintillating s-curves around those rockin' roids.

Tuesday, May 9

April Fool's Day, Dr. Leary XIII. Part 8/8

Personal Log. Chief Physician Timothy Leary XIII. 04.01.3001.

Haiku # 36

It's a crime, a wine
Of my own divine devise
Is now a vile bile

Sunday, May 7

April Fool's Day, Jean Sprat. Part 7/8

Personal Log. Liaison Jean Sprat. 04.01.3001.

Unfortunately, Fergie #2 is no longer with us. Apparently, a series of events including a flight plan deviation, a weapons malfunction, the destruction of Corinthian television satellites and a miscommunication between Officer Mao Ling and the Corinthian government resulted in the bartering of a French dog. I had no other choice but to give them one of the Poodles I keep should the Commodore's pet dog meet her end and I need a quick replacement. Let's hope the poor pooch finds a good home.

There's no doubt that the Commodore had his dirty little fingers in the mix of things. I've known Johnny Junior a long time, and I'm more than prepared for his April 1st antics. He doesn't know that I know he dictates his pranks on his I-Pod cuff-link. My one regret is that I didn't check his other entries and only listened to "Jean's Sprout", and then maybe I could have prevented this mess.

For my part, Johnny Junior thought it would be funny to copy over my favorite movie, the 11th remake of Titanic (the director's cut) starring Leonardo Dicaprio's clone, with hermaphroditic pornography. So I switched my Titanic with the recording of his inauguration into the United Intergalactic Armada – his most watched personal video. He so loved his hair that day.

Then later, I had Fergie do her business in his Lebron James VIII classic up-towns.

Friday, May 5

April Fool's Day, Mao Ling. Part 6/8

Personal Log. Chief Communications Officer, Mao Ling. 04.01.3001.

Today, I was speaking with the Corinthian alliance, trying to explain why we deviated from our set flight plan, circled two of their moons and for reasons that are still unclear, destroyed several of their cable television satellites. All of a sudden, my voice box malfunctioned and I was only allowed to speak in rudimentary French. It was most disconcerting to be limited to phrases like Voila le stylo (There is the pen), Ou sont le mutard (Where is the mustard) and Je voudrais travailler ton dindon (I would like to work your turkey).

Luckily Corinthians are fascinated with all things sensual and erotic. They have a deep fascination for French Cinema ever since the space explorer, Jacques Cartier Goldman exchanged a copy of Le Placard* for a pound of the Corinthians favorite delicacy, Jimmy Dean's Sausage. After a half hour of French misnomers I was able to communicate our apologies. Although, I fear in exchange for their forgiveness I may have bartered the French remake of Weekend at Bernie's and "une chien de Francais" (a French Dog).

After the debacle, Ped Varook discovered an outside carrier signal to my voice box that appeared to be the cause of my French dyslexia. However, we were unable to find the source.


* Le Placard is about Francois Pignon, or as his coworkers like to think of him, "Pignon le mignon"(Pignon the cutey). Pignon pretends to be gay so that his bosses can not fire him from his job in a condom factory.

Wednesday, May 3

April Fool's Day, Pilot Vasquez. Part 5/8

Personal Log. Pilot, Juan Vasquez. 04.01.3001.

While piloting the Liberace through the Corinth Solar System today, I caught sight of like, this beautiful blue comet with like, orange specks glittering in its tale. It reminded me of this shirt my sister used to wear. The shirt was like, blue with orange glitter and it had like, a unicorn on the front and I wondered like, if my sister's spirit was somehow in the comet and she had flown out here to say, like, "Hi," or something.

So I was like, "Hi, Sis."

And then I decided to call the comet, Consuelo, because that's like, my sister's name.

Then like, 1st Mate Beck came up to me and he was like, "What the hell are you doing?"

And I was like, "What?"

He was like, "You've been flying off course for nearly fifteen minutes."

And I was like, "No way. Really?"

Apparently, I had like, steered the ship around two Corinthian moons while following Comet Consuelo. I had been so out of it, I didn't even realize that our ship had a weapons malfunction and had like, destroyed some alien satellites. At first I thought I just had the Mun-days, but then I realized it was like, Thursday.

I reported to Dr. Leary to see if I had like, a flu bug or something. He checked my meds and found that my bottle of Ritalin 10.9 was full of like, Tic-Tacs. Like, spearmint flavored Tic-Tacs. At first I was like, "What the hell", because I like orange flavored Tic-Tacs, not spearmint. But then I took like a double dose of Rit-10 and the whole thing just sort of like, slipped from my mind.

When I felt better, I went back to the bridge to like, say "Goodbye" to Consuelo.

Monday, May 1

April Fool's Day, Chief Rumson. Part 4/8

Personal Log. Chief of Security, Fran Rumson. 04.01.3001.

Today, while running an integrity check of the hull, I initiated the program that commands the Liberace's nanobots to wash the ship's windows. Suddenly, our forward plasma cannons targeted four Corinthian satellites, destroying them.

We later discovered that the programs for the plasma cannons and window washers were switched, probably by some nit-wit junior programmer. If we had encountered any hostiles in that condition, we would have been caught with our pants down. (Unless of course those hostiles happened to be microscopic and could be easily destroyed by a mist of Windex Shine)

Still, after seeing those satellites explode, I couldn't help thinking of the war, recalling memories that I've tried so hard to bury - memories of that Arcadian P.O.W. camp, and the malicious ways in which we were tortured.

Later, I tried to take a nap to calm myself, but I had a dream where all around me I heard the voices of many men screaming. In the dream I was tied down and all I could see was an old hot-dog cooker slowly rolling several hot-dogs over the fryer. Even though I couldn't see the men who were screaming, I had this sixth sense about why they were in so much pain. It was because they were being forced to eat hot-dogs while their captors performed ritualistic circumcisions. Just as I saw a hot-dog floating towards me, and felt my zipper being pulled down, I woke up.

I explained the weapons malfunction, the recollection of my capture and the subsequent dream to Dr. Leary. He offered me a valium, but I explained that unless it erased my memory, it wasn't going to be much help. The Doctor pointed to his nose, gave a 'wink, wink' with his right eye and said, "Memories bad, memories sad, Dr. Leary make them go bye-bye with a quick dab and a jab." I declined, not really understanding his mumbo-jumbo. However, given that I briefly lost control of my bowels in both incidents, I did accept a package of Depends with black hole absorbency.