The black hole fields of Kihooyr IV are well known
for their extremely dense gravity pockets. Theoretically,
this dense field could pull the entire universe into it,
crushing anything that dares to wander anywhere nearby.
It has been said that planets that have broken chain
with their orbits have been pulverized by this force.
These same people also drive Shriner cars on the weekends
and claim that "My Girl" was a cinematic masterpiece,
deserving of an Oscar.
In any case, Kihooyr (which, cleverly uses the same
trick of name switching as in Castlevania), is a natural
wonder of the Universe. It is to be feared and respected,
and is a sight to behold, especially from the seat of a
touring shuttle. It is truly a great masterpiece in the
grand scheme of things.
...our story does NOT take place there.
Rather, it takes place upon a large exploratory/defensive
space vessel simply known as the 'Blade Runner'.
Continuing on it's 5 day mission...to exploit every
possible merchandising avenue by selling the public inane
products like Official 'S.S. Anime' potty training seats
and socks. There's also the Official 'S.S. Anime'
boardgame, the Official 'S.S. Anime' lunch box and, of
course, the OFFICIAL (were talkin' O-F-F-I-C-I-A-L here;
as in, some guy in a boardroom needed to scrap up some
extra capital for the company and sold it to another
company for an embarrasingly high price) 'S.S. Anime'
Enema Device (for kids 30 and up!).
Uhh, and there's some other stuff about swearing to
protect the Coagulation from enemy presence, act tough and
beat up weaker alien races, and to boldly traipse where
there has never been traipsin'.
Oh, can we interest you in the Official 'S.S. Anime'
hemmoroid(sp?) cream?
S.S. ANIME
THE FIRST (AND HOPEFULLY ONLY) GENERATION
CHAPTER 2: SHADES OF PLOT? NAAAH....
Yuri Somethingorother (named so because the author
didn't really care to research to find if she even HAD a
last name), waved a portable brain scanner over Mackie
Stingray's head as he lay in place, strapped to the
medical table. At first, they just laid him on the table
since he seemed to give little need for struggle. It was
when he started levitating that it was decided he should be
strapped. Had he been conscious, he might have truly
enjoyed the experience (the little pervert).
Captain Hodgson stumbled into the pitch black room, banging
his head on a nearby convenient wall. He then remembered he
needed to open his eyes to see and he did so. Glancing
around the bare examination room, he noticed several things.
He wasn't about to reveal them to the audience, but he *did*
notice things. Clambering over a table, he forgot the fact
that he could simply walk around it, and decidely made a fool
out of himself in the process. Ah, the privilages of command,
he supposed. He excused himself to the unconscious medical
officer laying on the table as he accidentally brushed
(copped) her generous chest. After actually making it to the
side of Yuri, the author decided to stop typecasting him as a
buffoon.
"Did you find anything, Yuri?" he asked, stretching his
tongue and moving his mouth in the form of communication known
as 'speaking'.
"Nope, not a darn thing," replied Yuri, who then sat down on
Mackie's head, pouting. She checked the brain scanner, and
suddenly discovered she'd been using a salt shaker instead.
Oops. Well, if any aliens wished to eat him, at least he
was well-seasoned.
"Hmmm," hummed the Captain, sounding not unlike a
high-voltage tower.
"Yup, yup" answered back the medical assistant.
"That's fur shure," the Captain retorted, wondering how
they could break the ice.
"Yuppity, Skuppity, doobity doo."
"Umm, wanna have sex?" asked the Captain, having already
stripped off his clothes, revealing the thing that made most
women shriek in peals of laughter.
He took off his novelty t-shirt. (The Official "S.S. ANIME"
T-shirt! $29.95, no CODs please.)
"Sure, why not?" she answered, serving nothing more than
to answer the author's wet dreams.
-----------------------------------------------
The materialization fields of transporters are a marvelous thing. First
you stand on the standard transporter pad, they flick a switch, and next
thing you know, your atoms are rattled and beaten like eggs in a blender.
You then get tossed against the space-time wall, get splattered into an
plasma-puddle of goo; the transporter recontruction matrix somehow
manages to put you back together not unlike Humpty Dumpty. And
all this is powered--THANKS TO RADAR!!! Uhh, well not really,
but it's kind of cool to say that line. Try it sometime in your next
stimulating conversation, as such:
Joe: So Bill, did you get the Johnson account done?
Bill: Yes I did...THANKS TO RADAR!
or
Jill: Oh, God, Ben...you were GREAT in bed last night!
Ben: (holds a pose of power) THANKS TO RADAR! HA HA!
See? Not only can you confirm what someone has asked, you
can also act as if you had some kind of supernatural ability over
the power of RADAR! Or not. It's really just neat. It really works!
Honest! Try it!
Anyway, as I was saying...
Admiral Yrag Nosral went through the very same process
described above. Phasing into view, he took note of the bridge
onto which he had teleported, and began to wipe the yolk off
his uniform.
A young ensign, full of energy and vigor, the kind that was present
in Wesley Crusher (and must therefore be killed in an accident of
some kind i haven't yet decided on), walked briskly towards the
Admiral and knelt down, letting the Admiral wipe his shoes on his
back. The admiral kicked him down the "Disposible Ensign Chute"
(ah, bliss) and made his way to his Admirality's Command Chair.
Punching up the chair's password, else have it blow him to
semi-noticeable pieces (or at least give him access to someone
else's goofy wallpaper), he turned towards the fairly plain-looking
communications specialist in front of him; her head moved back
and forth in rapid concentration, back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth, back and for--
"Lieutenant, turn off that damned tennis tournament!" he yelled,
throwing his 'Attention-Getting-Device-of-Doom TM' at her skull.
She evaporated into atomic-dust as yet another temp moved in from a
nearby closet silently to replace her. Next to him, a monitor displayed
a new tally on an electronic scoreboard.
"That would 5 for this week, sir. Your aim is improving." remarked
a wholly unremarkable, synthetic female voice. "It is becoming
costly to the secretarial pool, however."
The admiral sighed, and clicked "snide" and "sarcastic" to OFF in
the Options window of the 'Synthetic Female Voice Assistant' program
group. Some idiot around here kept messing with these settings. He
suspected the R.N. Black Shuttlecrafts.
"I want the daily status reports on this station, SFVA," he finally
spoke, beginning to yearn for the days of HUMAN-like Synthetic Female
Assistants. They never looked at your cross-eyed if you weren't in the mood,
plus they were good for a little recreational activity every now and then, heh...
...their heads made excellent punching bags.
The audience face faulted and returned to the situation at hand. The admiral
picked at his nose for a bit as he awaited the monitor to display the information
he needed.
"Hmmm," he thought he had thought to himself, but really said outloud, "..hog
futures are good. Mickeysoft isn't doing tooooo bad."
Suddenly, in the midst of all the excitement of the stock news, something totally,
truly, weirdly and exceptional happened! A shot rang out! The maid screamed!
The butler fainted! And, I might add, the communicator sprang to life.
A huge, tangled mass of hairy string convulsed on the screen, breathing in and out
in a totally disgusting pattern, globules of waste covering it's exterior.
"Knight Fleet," said a high nasal content voice, "we have come to conquer you."
The admiral yelped and jumped to the ground bowing, and making much ass-kissing
sounds, "OH, Mighty hairy ones! Do not hurt this pitiful space station! Your faithful
ones have been waiting for you!!!" He bowed up and down, managing to hit his head
on the bulk one or two times.
"Huh?" came the reply from the Super Intelligent Booger-Hair, as it appeared to look
off to the side, observing something and then, finally, realization dawning on it.
"Dammit, Smith! I told you not to zoom in so close!!" it yelled, as slowly, the hairy
mass became the inside of a nose, which was, not surprisingly, connected to a
face that eventually became a little more observable...and not nearly as nauseating
Still equally uncomforting, however.
A rugged man, capable of beating up the likes of "Urkel the Great", eventually came
into view appeared on the screen, his face shouting 'leadership', although it might have
prompted others to shout 'wedgie' if he were in the high school band. No one like
leaders there, and they aren't all that great out in deep space either, as the Admiral's
less cooler colleagues could certainly tell you; the Admiral was usually the one to give
them out, after all. After all, where do you think the term, "Rear Admiral" comes from?
The man on the screen smirked a 'Confident, Smug Bastard' smirk No. 341. It would
have been more unsettling had the crew not just witnesses his nose globules.
"Ano..." the admiral muttered aloud, scratching his head in confusion, but since this is
isn't a lemon fic, he decided to leave it alone.
"I am," boasted the rugged, womany-man, "Frederique Conquesitorio Manuel Roger
Fushuho Duke Michael Angelica Ipso Facto Tutti Fruiti No Habla Espanol Macekio
the Third!" He smiled, expecting to impress them.
The admiral blinked.
Frederique Conquesitorio Manuel Roger Fushuho Duke Michael Angelica Ipso Facto
Tutti Fruiti No Habla Espanol Macekio the Third sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.
The crew was never sure how he got them all restored and fit the huge structures on
the bridge, but, there they were. Aztec symbols, sacrificed bodies and everything.
The bodies were beginning to stink up the place a bit, but a box of fresh baking
soda took care of that.
"Just call me Carl," the owner of the voice finally said, turning back to the screen, a
hint of dissappointment written on his face.
"Anyway," he said, getting up from his chair to show off his immense 5"8' stature,
"I am the new ruler of the universe! Fear me, and worship me else I will hit thy
bodily bones with my immense "Super Deluxe, Official, Secret Decoder
Dub-o-ray! TM." He grinned again, flaring his nostrils in an icky way for the
proper effect of grossing out the reader.
The admiral blinked. "NEW Ruler of the Universe?" There had never been a
"Ruler of the Universe" before, so this was news to him, "Feh. We will never give
up to you, you silly has-been dubber! Our fleet is immense and will certainly
immobilize you! Commander O'Fluer, fire at will," the admiral ordered, striking
up a dramatic pose of his own.
The commander took out his Official "S.S. Anime" phaser, and shot Will, the
station mail room boy, in the most hackyened pun this fic has done yet. The
Admiral sighed, pushing a small button marked with a little skull and crossbones,
penciled in by some jerk ensign who had too much time on his hands. A small
beep registered, enabling the station's Gratuitously powerful Huge Satellite
Beam o' Death (by Kenner).
Cannons on the station spontaneously exploded as a voice rang through the
acoustical pickups of a horribly, shrieking singing voice whose originator
sounded like they had been hacked to bits with a chainsaw. Over and over
again, like in "Texas Chainsaw Massacre". Aren't those films great? I mean,
we must've been pretty damn inspired in the 80s to continuously write
screenplays in which victims die 1, 2, 10 times even! Viva Hollywood! Err,
anyway, the shrieking voice thingie, err...
The admiral dropped to saggy knees, covering his ears with his hands, because
really, what else was he going to cover his ears with, his feet? The voice, was
a voice unheard of, and spake of untold horrors upon horrors with its irritatingly
flacid voice. It went on for several minutes until it stopped.
Several crew members look dazed and almost Al Gore-like, errr, I mean
zombie-like. Only the admiral had enough strength to pull himself to his feet
and stared at Carl, who was pulling ear-plugs (his Official S.S. Anime earplugs!)
out, of all places, his ears. He grinned and rubbed his hands together in an evil,
Snidely Whiplash way...only he didn't have a mustache, he wasn't Canadian, and
there was no girl named "Nell" to kidnap.
"So then, shall we talk about handing the reigns of power over to me?" he
said, cackling like a million other maniacal despots have before in an equally
tiring fashion.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
What is the secret behind Macekio's horrible 'Dub-o-Ray?! Is it
possibly THE weapon that will undo Knight Fleet?
Or will it merely drive more otakus to go stark raving mad and write
death threats, and try to trip him at cons??
And WHY IS MINMEI STILL ALIVE??! DIE, DAMMIT, DIE!
FIND OUT THE ANSWERS TO THESE AND MORE NON-SEQUITAR(sic)
QUESTIONS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER OF-
S.S. Anime!
The sniffling, sneezing,
nighttime anime parody
that will give you a
headache this big and go
plop-plop, fizz-fizz and
let you stay awake dreading
the next chapter medicine...
err, fic.
Until next time, same ML time, same ML channel!
And other stuff we think that's funny but is actually
gratuitious to the overall nature of parodies EVERYWHERE!