Monday, July 31

Greeg'u's Punishment, Greeg'u. Part 2/3

Personal Journal. 1st Lieutenant Greeg'u. 05.05.3001.

(English Translation)

Today I went before the Arcadian High Command to hear their judgment on my failure. I was much surprised to see Emperor Plu'boi in attendance, and even more amazed that he was there to pass judgment personally. After my crime was read back to me, Plu'boi stood to a thunderous applause by the hundreds in attendance and with two words determined my punishment.

"Flooed Gauntlet," he yelled to an equally boisterous applause.

On the outside I was careful to keep my head held high and level and my tentacles in a respectable motion, but inside I was drowning in mortification. The Flooed Gauntlet is one of the most grievous humiliations. It was devised by Emperor Plu'boi himself, and entails the condemned to walk a long stretch of road with counsel members crowding the sidewalk on either side of you. As you walk, the counsel members pelt you with the testicles of captured humans. Since the conflict with those repugnant humans began, their reproductive sacks have been considered prized trophies. So to be bludgeoned by human testicles is a vile degradation.

Still, I am an Arcadian, and I walked the Flooed Gauntlet with as much dignity as I could muster, even as testicle after testicle in varying degrees of freshness, slapped against my exposed body.

Despite the jeers by all who watched and the lasciviousness of the situation, Emperor Plu'boi appeared impressed at my resolve to accept my punishment. He has granted me the opportunity to regain my pride which can only be achieved by hunting down the vile humans that escaped me in the first place.

When I returned home I threw out my past trophies. I'm about to start a new collection. It will begin with the testicle of the commander of that ship – the one our intelligence has discovered to be the S.S. Liberace.

Death to humans.

Friday, July 28

Greeg'u's Punishment, Plu'ngi. Part 1/3

Personal Journal. Plu'ngi, Wife to Arcadian 1st Lieutenant Greeg'u. 05.05.3001.

(English Translation)

Oh, my poor, wonderful Greeg'u – my pitiable husband. How I wish I could whisk away the past few weeks for him, and save him from the humiliation he has endured. He came home a week ago, dejected, head hanging low and totally beside himself. There was almost no life left in his tentacles, and he just lumbered to the couch, turned on the proto viewer and watched game shows all day and infomercials about floor wax. It took me the whole afternoon pestering my husband before he would explain what was wrong.

"I totally 'flooed the coodle' (screwed the pooch)," Greeg'u said. "After what I did I'll be lucky to be a commander of a sewage transport."

Apparently he abandoned an extremely important mission into human territory because of a misinterpretation of mission codes. He allowed a human vessel to escape, compromising an assault that had been planned for months.

I tried to console him, but he just moped around the house in his bathrobe drinking hot cocoa, and playing with his collection of human testicles.

Then today, Greeg'u went before the Arcadian High Command to answer for his actions. He refused to allow me to attend, not wanting me to see his embarrassment. When he returned Greeg'u refused to say what happened, but he went straight to his office and dumped his entire testicle collection in the incinerator – even the one that looks like the Arcadian celebrity, Sung'du'kee, which Greeg'u has pined over since he sliced it from the human's scrotum.

I don't know what happened, but at least he will be allowed to make amends. He ships out tomorrow, which means I should give my husband a very special night to remember. I'll have to break out the lotions and jiggle-nibblers.

Death to humans.

Wednesday, July 26

A Brief Description of the Arcadians

United Intergalactic Nation (UIN) Archives:

A Brief Description of Arcadians

The Arcadians are a skeletal looking creature, often referred to with the clich̩ "skin and bones". Their head is asymmetrical, being more prominent to their left side. They have two eyes, two slits that may or may not representa a nose, and no distinguishable mouth, hair, or ears. The odd shaped head is perched on a stick of a neck. Their chest is a spatter of ribs with a bit of flesh stretched over them, and a long, slender torso. Their legs when at rest resemble frog shaped legs, but rather than hop, their legs work on rotator cups Рone at the hip and one at the knee. When they move, their legs rotate in a forward or backwards motion in a pedal like fashion. Instead of walking or hopping, they sort of motor.

Arcadians have four arms – two on either side. They are boneless appendages, comprised mostly of ligaments and muscles. The arms are constantly moving, flittering about them like wiry ribbons. When they "motor", their arms are less fanatical and take on a wave like motion. Their speech or means of communication is a "gulping" of the throat, sort of like a bull frog. To humans they sound like they are saying "gump", "gump", over and over, but the Arcadian language is known to be quite diverse.

It is often disputed when the rivalry between humans and Arcadians began, but Buck O'Neal, the famed UIN Captain and Adventurer attributes the ill will back to his first encounter with the species. Apparently, Arcadians find hair, especially human hair to be truly disgusting physical traits. During that first contact, the Arcadians were quite insistent that they be allowed to shave every bit of hair off all the humans' bodies. O'Neal, who was heading up the peaceful delegation, and who is well known for his flowing golden locks, poignantly refused the Arcadians saying, "Hey, your head looks like a mailbox, but I'm not about to start whacking it with a baseball bat." Relations went downhill from there.

Sunday, July 23

Slur Run In, Dr. Leary. Part 5/5


Personal Log. Dr. Timothy Leary XII. 04.25.3001

Haiku #62

My cure for the spins
is gin and hash with a hint
of fresh peppermint.

Thursday, July 20

Slur Run In, Mao Ling. Part 4/5

Personal Log, Chief of Communications Mao Ling, 04.25.3001.

1st Mate Beck and I met with the Slurs that collided with our ship. I had met the Slurs once before. Given the state of my stomach and their grotesque appearance, I asked Dr. Leary to give me a nausea suppressant. When we greeted them 1st Mate Beck couldn't keep his cool. He barfed before we could even give our names. To say the least, the Slurs were not sure what to make of a human puking on their ship. As I am well accustomed with interspecies relations, there were a number of excuses that popped into my head, but I caught Beck checking out my ass on the way over to the Slur ship, so I couldn't help myself.

I explained to the Slurs that this is a common human greeting. They shrugged and regurgitated their lunch, which traditionally consists of mealworms and blood sausage. It had the desired result. Beck started hacking up meals he had ten years ago. Then, unfortunately, I felt a bit queasy myself. Despite the nausea suppressants, I began to vomit along with the rest of them. However, I believe this actually led to them not just repairing our engine, but improving them. It was like a weird and disgusting brotherhood was formed during our vomit share group, and the Slurs proved most generous.

Still, I've heard of blood brothers, but puke pals?

Monday, July 17

Slur Run In, 1st Mate Beck. Part 3/5.

Personal Log. 1st Mate Beck. 04.25.06

God damn Slurs. I should have vaporized their hairy asses. If it wasn't for our little side agreement, I would have hunted them down, skinned them and hung their grungy pelts from our hull. They would have mad a nice coat and maybe some slippers.

After the Liberace stopped spinning and I was able to get away from my toilette, Chief Communications Officer Mao Ling and I met with the Slurs. I had never encountered one before. They are sort of a cross between a slug, hippo and gorilla. Their fur was thick, but where you could see their gray skin it was scabbed and slimy. And the smell – oh god the smell.

I couldn't help it. I vomited before I could even shake their truncated flipper. Mao Ling said something to them, then for whatever reason, both Slurs started vomiting too. It was a chunky, yellow and green vomit that smelled like Tabasco and sour milk. So I vomited more. Then Lang started barfing and it was a good ten minutes of "guess what I had for lunch".

The Slurs did agree to repair our ship. I saw an opportunity and convinced Ling to talk the Slurs into actually giving our engines a little boost. Unfortunately they couldn't do anything for our weapons. As Ling explained it, a homemade potato gun would do more damage than a Slur phase cannon.

It was a lucky for Jean Sprat the collision occurred when it did. Before the accident, we were engaged in combat training and I was baiting him the whole time, completely pretending he was kicking my ass. I was about to unleash a whole world of hurt when we were hit by the Slurs.

Friday, July 14

Slur Run In, Jean Sprat. Part 2/5

Personal Log, Commodore's Liaison Jean Sprat. 04.25.30001

Today, a Slur Explorer clipped us, causing our thrusters to fail and turning the Liberace into a child's toy top. When the Liberace was struck, I was in battle simulations with 1st Mate Beck and we were pinned to the walls of the training room like mounted mackerel. When Pilot Vasquez finally managed to bring the ship under control, Beck and I gave the floor of the room a nice gooey vomit coating.

Later, after things had "settled", Chief of Communications Mao Ling and 1st Mate Beck met face to face with the Slurs. After a meeting that Beck refused to go into details about, and Ling could only snicker over, the Slurs have agreed to fix our engines.

However, our run-in with the Slurs (or their running into us) has caused a supply issue on the ship for Maylox DX. The collision had a ship-wide affect, creating varying degrees of illness throughout with the exception of Dr. Leary, who has apparently developed immunity to "the spins". Oddly enough, the debacle also cured Fergie, the Commodore's French poodle. After being frozen in space, and then rejuvenated by Dr. Leary, the poor dog could only walk upside down, sort of like a crab. We discovered high speed spinning temporarily solved the problem, but the collision with the Slurs has apparently cured Fergie permanently.

On a more personal note, I was upset that my training session with Beck was interrupted. I was kicking his precocious ass and was about to end our little competition with a strike to the wind-bags balls, when everything went to hell. I can't wait for the rematch – as soon as I can parry, thrust and slash without retching.

Tuesday, July 11

Slur Run In, Commodore Ludwig. Part 1/5

Personal Log. Commodore Ludwig. 04.25.3001.

Uh...gaw...J-Lud's got the blow chunks man. He's tossing cookies like a bulimic after a Girl Scout cookie rally. Not cool man, not cool.

We was cruzin' along, keepn' things melo' and on the d-low, when out of no where, some crazy kat side swiped us a mad fender bender. The impact took out our big rigs and left us without juice – y'know what I'm say'n.

Oh gawd, ug blurp...

That other kat bare-backed us a wooly one and it turned the old Liberace into a tilt awhirl, spinning us round and round on a not so merry go round.

Uh...grrrawl...blrawl....ga...

...before I knew it, I was a whirly bird flying all over the main deck. Cruel vibes, man. Cruel vibes.

I've been barfing up eggplant parm ever since.

burp...ggggrrraaaawwwlllbrlrbb...

Thursday, July 6

A Brief History of the Slurs

United Intergalactic Nation (UIN) Archives:

A Brief History of the Slurs

The Slurs are a space travel capable species, whose home planet resides in the Nanook sector. They are a mammalian species recognized by their thick fur, of which they are quite insistent in calling burnt umber in color. Their most distinctive trait is that their sole purpose in life is not to have a sole purpose in life.

About four thousand years ago, the Slurs were a species of remarkable intelligence. It is even said that they had cracked the aged old puzzle, "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" Unfortunately, their race was nearly obliterated by an army of "Lurrquips", which is similar to a human invention called the Slinky. In an effort to create the never ending Lurrquip, the Slurs imbued them with a nuclear power supply and an artificial intelligence. Unfortunately the Lurrquips were tired of descending staircases over and over, and rebelled against their creators.

Since then the Slurs, go to extremes to stem their intelligence and prevent advancement. For example, Slur infants are induced with a stroke to retard their brain development. Most Slurs have severe facial and muscle damage because of this process. Due to their speech impediments, they were named the "Slurs". They have also adopted an attitude of "no goal in life" rationalizing that by not striving for anything, they'll never receive it.

Despite this, they have developed a star-ship capable of speeds dwarfing that of any vessel in the Intergalactic Armada. Unfortunately, due to their propensity towards misdirection, their ships are heavily lacking in navigation technology. Since they tend to run into things during their travels they have heavily armored hulls for protection, but woe to the ship that may lie in its path.

Monday, July 3

Voncats, Greeg'u. Part 4/4

Report to Arcadian Command by 1st Lieutenant Greeg'u. 04.15.3001.

(English Translation)

After high-jacking a Voncat ship, the task force was on route to the UIN outpost at Sigma Prime under the guise of a Voncat Peacekeeping envoy. Our mission was to sneak into the central command station in that sector and disable there defenses, whereby an Arcadian Fleet would takeover the sector. The plan was sound. This section of space is virtually unguarded by UIN patrols, the foul humans believing that it is beyond our touch. A successful mission would have granted us a sizeable advantage in our war against the insipid humans.

Five Hours from our destination, we encountered a UIN Cruiser. Keeping with our cover as Voncat Peacekeepers, we attempted to convince the repugnant humans that we wished to dine with them. When their commanders were on board we would have slaughtered them and then gorged on their insides in victory. By means that are beyond my reckoning, they saw through our plan and fired upon us.

We took up a position behind their ship and were preparing to target their engines when they emptied their waste. I was at first confounded by this strategy until our sensors picked up the signature of a canine corpse of poodle origin that had been scalded by high temperatures. This of course is the secret code to abort our mission. Only later did we discover it was all a ruse.

How the wretched humans were able to discover our mission codes, we'll never know, but their captain must be a cunning man in order to pull off such a feet. I will enjoy engaging him in battle and when I have defeated him I will drive an Arcadian lance up his anal cavity and mount him on the front hull of an Arcadian Raptor.

Death to humans.