(Note: In the the tradition of Michael J. Nelson's (MST3K
ring a bell?) famous, heavily edited masterpiece,
'Tek-Tek' (featured in one of the Satellite News'), I
present you with this mix of insanity, Monty Phython, and
right-wing republican values, AKA "SS ANIME" (for lack of
a better name). This story is not to be taken seriously, is
a complete parody of Star Trek and serious anime space shows
like Yamato, and Macross, self-insertion fics, badly conceived
crossovers, and lemon fics. It was written at a time when
there was no caffeine in my body (at least, very little).
Already I'm nodding off with the rest of the readers.
Please keep in mind that this was written weird intentionally
and is only for the express purpose of humor and bathroom
reading material (if you enjoy using a laptop while grunting).
Enjoy this tongue-in-cheek piece of plagaristic crap.)
WARNING: THIS FIC FEATURES FULL FRONTAL NUDITY...THE CAPTAIN'S
HAIRY CHEST IS NOT TO BE LOOKED AT WITHOUT PROPER EYE
PROTECTION!
Oh, and there's a couple of semi-lemony scented scenes
too.
"Klandorks to full Wingdons!"
SS ANIME
THE FIRST (AND HOPEFULLY ONLY) GENERATION
CHAPTER 1: THE BLADE RUNNER VS. SDF-1
SUB-PLOT: THE DEATH OF MIN MEI! (HURRAH!)
INTRODUCTION
-------------
Admiral Fujitsu examined the ship register on the small
blue-tinted screen planted on his desk. The blinking parser on the
DOS prompt (something even hundreds of years of technology couldn't
get rid of, even with Windows 95; 20'95 to be exact) irritated his
eyes to the point of weeping. He quickly shook off the sharp pain in
his head and neck and resigned again to examining the station's
dockings and departures for that week.
A chime at his door rang out signaling someone was requesting
to enter his office. (but you knew that, right? ;) )
Lt. Marko rushed in the room, after the solemn Admiral
permitted him entrance.
"Admiral Fujitsu, the new Captain and clones have arrived."
The Admiral nodded, receiving the full range of the Lt.'s
voice and pitch.
"Send him in," was the reply.
Newly promoted Captain, Michael J. Hodgson entered the door to
the Admiral's room and just as suddenly tripped on the persian rug
laying near the door's entrance. Having succeeded in completely
embarrassing himself in front of one of the highest ranking Admirals
in Earth's newly-formed "Knight Fleet", he pulled himself of the
furry floor decoration, the first he'd ever fallen on, and hit head on
into a run-on sentence.
He held out his hand to Admiral Fujitsu and shook it like a
pump used by an old lady.
"Greetings, sir. Captain Mike Hodgson reporting for duty," he
said in an almost grating, cheerful voice.
The admiral seemed most amused as he surveyed this plucky
individual. His dark-brown hair was ruffled, uniform wrinkled, and
stupid smile was in place. (Mike's I mean, not the Admiral's.)
"Perfect cannon fodder," the Admiral said aloud but thought
had said to himself.
"Excuse me, sir?" quizzed a confused Knight Fleet officer.
(not to mention the reader).
The Admiral decided to say outright what was on his mind, if
not to satisfy his guilt, then to add more cheap gags to this story.
"Captain Hodgson, you are to be assigned with a group of
clones on the Steel Ship 'Blade Runner'."
"Blade Runner, sir?" retorted Hodgson recalling the ancient
holo-movie which had just recently been rerun on Fox after
"The Universe's Funniest Galaxy Police Chases XVII." "When
Nerfherders Attack III" was pretty entertaining, too.
The Admiral nodded, careful not to fling his head off his
shoulders. "We'd of named it 'Crisis'," he said, "but eventually every
Crisis will 'Crash'." He gritted his teeth at the bad pun.
The Captain nodded in turn as well, while still wondering
about what his crew would be like.
The Admiral spoke, "I can read the look on your face, Hodgson.
I can tell you're still wondering about what your crew will be like."
Mike responded with a simple, "Well, gee golly gosh sir, yes,
I _was_ just wondering about what my crew would be like."
The Admiral rapidly responded with yet more nodding to fill up
the time while the author thought of what to write about next. Writer's
block sucks.
"Your crew will be complete with cloned versions of Japanese
Anime characters. They will retain the same characteristics they did
in life, and will eventually lead to you tearing your hair out" continued
the Admiral making sure his point would make its way into
the Captain's well-armored orb atop his head.
The Captain stared in awe. He loved Anime! Working with the
semi-real McCoys ("Dammit, Jim! I'm an Otaku, not a writer!")
would be a dream come true. Mike sang a verse of "These shoes are
made for walking" before realizing his mind was off topic with the story.
He straightened out his mind, and, before leaving, tipped his hat at the
Admiral (Editor: which came out of nowhere!; Josh where are you
getting this stuff?!) and crashed through the door because the film
crew that usually opened them had fallen asleep. At least he heard
that cool 'shhhttt' sound the doors always make. He stumbled
towards his ship in props...errr, shipbay.
The 'Blade Runner' crew consisted of 12 anime clones.
Priss Asagiri: in control of security and the bartender in
"5 Up-Down-Back-Kiss-Myself-Forward."
Ataru Moroboshi: Ship reproduction counselor.
Lum: Ataru Moroboshi's counselor.
Mackie Stingray: Ataru's assistant.
Linna Yamazaki: Aerobic instructor and organizer of the
dances on Fridays. Leader of the ship's PEP club.
Nene Romanova: Computer expert and ship malnutritional
advisor.
Ranma Saotome: Away team guy who usually gets injured
becuase he pisses off short, dark-haired tomboy aliens.
Miyuki Kobayakawa: Ship's upgrading engineer. Usually uses
nitro glycerine for warp boosts.
Natsumi Tsujimoto: Helmsman and tough as nails speed demon.
Got last year's Knight Fleet record for most speeding
tickets rivaling the champion 'David Letterman'.
Kei: Rushed medical student. Lost job as security
officer to Priss with a coin toss. Everyone under her
care usually dies.
Yuri: Kei's assistant. A bit more capable than Kei.
Sylia Stingray: Jeffrey tube cleaner. (slight mix-up in
assignment protocal) Also doubles as 2nd-in-command.
And the usual hack cast.
And now, our story (what's left of it)...
--------------------------
Cmdr. Stingray sat in the main command chair examining the
lastest ESPN2 updates on the big screen but ordered it turned off
when the captain walked on the bridge.
"Captain on the Molar!" responded Ensign Natsumi Tsujimoto
while salutuing.
"Molar?" asked Hodgson. Lt. Cmdr. Miyuki Kobayakawa
walked up behind them both causing their bladders to loosen a
bit.
"Please excuse Ensign Tsujimoto, sir. She has always been
confused with dental terms", exclaimed Miyuki putting a hand on
Mike's shoulder.
Natsumi blushed slightly and said, "I meant to say,
'Captain on the Bridgework, SIR!'"
Hodgson walked past hissing a repressed feeling, "Close
enough, Ensign."
Sylia Stingray stood up from the main command chair
and bowed slightly toward the captain.
"Captain Mike J. Hodgson, I presume."
Her dark eyes seemed to reflect no determinable emotion or
passion, so he decided not to look at them anymore. He looked in
other places. Not too much there either. Instead, he politely
responded, "Where the hell did you get your emotions from,
Commander?"
Ms. Stingray blatantly slapped the Captain and snapped
his neck, killing him. However, due to plot convenience, he soon
regained his life, "What was that for?" asked the Captain.
Sylia smiled and killed him again.
By this time, Mike's lungs were aching for air. He was
brought back to life, and this time was sitting in his chair. Sylia
was seated next to him, Natsumi was at the helm, and a red-head was
seated at a control panel behind the command chairs. Mike got out of
his space-chair and climbed up the space-stairs to the red-haired
space-girl. His space-hormones were running out of space-patience,
and his space-you-know-what was feeling rather uncomfortable right
then in his space-pants.
The red haired CPU expert turned her head, and smiled at the
Captain. "Captin Hogspm, I presum", she asked, with half a crab leg
sticking out of her mouth. She was cute, she was a little overweight for
a 24th century teenager, but her eyes won the Captain over. Actually,
her OTHER partners in crime weren't doing so bad in the contest as
well.
"Yes. Yes I am," responded a bemused Captain. He held out his
hand, and shook hers, to the point of snapping it off. "You must be
the ship's CPU specialist", he continued dronelessly.
"Yes, _and_ Ship Malnutrional officer" she replied.
"Care for dinner, sometime Lt.?," asked the Captain while
scratching his nose for longer than he cared to.
"Love to, Captain. Now excuse me while I work on this program
that will only infect users of alt.rec.creative.anime."
The Captain nodded rapidly, a technique he found worked well
for the Admiral, "Yes, yes. I understand. Good day."
He got up and entered the 'Boosterlift', but there was no rail car
there and he fell down the shaft to yet another death. "Do'h!" was
his only retort as he plummeted downward.
-----------------------------------------------
Away in deep space, farther away from the 'Blade
Runner', farther away than where any Science Fiction story
has ever been before, rocketed a giant space station-pseudo
city. The SDF-1 as Americans called her or the Macross as the
Japanese called her (you pick) was blazing a trail for Earth.
The resident celebrity singer, Lin Minmei was so excited to
share her new song with the people of Earth. She stood on the
bridge of the ship, gazing at the small blue sphere called
Earth. In the Captain's chair sat (instead of the esteemed
Captain Gloval) the wretched enemy of animes and subbed fans
everywhere, Supreme Kommandant Fearless Leader: Carl Macek.
He was actually using the threat of Minmei's song to gain
rights to some of the more esteemed anime series and dub them!
(As if that wasn't enough, backstory was plodding along at
an alarming rate as exposition reached an all time high!)
"Combustible Campus Guardress" was No. #1 on his list!
The horror...the horror!
------------------------
Chapter 1
========
"Captain's log: Starlog 34435.3 I have...dang!"
"...made plans..."
"...to meet with the Ambas--...oh, criminy."
"--sador of Q'egloties-"
"-tubasho VII to.."
"...negotiate a peace...Ah, screw it!"
Captain Hodgson tossed the lincoln logs over his
shoulder into the trash bin just behind him. The salesman
had pitched them as a space saver, but really, they're
weren't too practical for log entries. He picked up the
pen and started making plans for the perfect log cabin when
the door entry beep-beep that would annoy the hell out of
a normal person in real life went off, much like this
sentence.
He ignored it for several hours until the door was
pounded in with a battering ram. Priss Asagiri, Chief of
Security poked her suspicious looking face in. She drew
her pistol and shoved it in the captain's face,
blasting a hole in his nose. Fortunately, he already
had a hole in his nose (two, in fact), so little damage
was done since Priss remembered that the gun was actually
a cigarette lighter.
Captain Hodgson, more than a little annoyed to have a
tiny fire eating at his nose hairs threw a disapproving
glance at his Security Chief. She got off him then found
him strangely attractive and had amazing, passionate,
erotic, wild, physically impossible sex with him. The
Captain suddenly realized what had happened and blinked.
Asagiri kissed him up all and down the body, from his
lips, to his somewhat average, yet incredibly hairy
chest, and other places he didn't even know existed. He
felt reasonably pleased, and patted Asagiri on the back
for a job well done and promised her the Annual "Most
Outgoing Employee" award. They both sat in the afterglow,
waiting for the author to start typing something
intelligent and something that would possibly reposition
it into the path of the plot.
The author was somewhat mentally blocked since he had
already used up the hot sex scene in his story and didn't
really see a need to continue...plus his keyboard was
noticably sticky..umm...Damn, he hated when he spilled his
soda pop. Yeah, that's it.
Anyway, the plot kind of stood there, such as it was,
awaiting another line of intelligent, beautiful,
thought-provoking prose to be woven into its structure.
...so, Asagiri jumped Hodgson again and completed her
sexually deviant ritual of tongue lashings and all kinds
nasty, censored S&M stuff.
Meanwhile, up on the bridge Sylia Stingray II (the clone,
really) was studying the racing forms since there was really
nothing for her to do on the bridge and the jeffrey tubes had
been cleaned long ago. A long time ago. In fact, Sylia had
traveled back into time and modified the ship's plans so that
the tubes were dust-resistant. In the meantime, Sylia
guessed "Comet's Buttcheeks" was good in the runnings.
A tone dinged much in the same irritating way of a door
ding-ding, but not really. Sylia glanced up from her list of
statistics.
"Sick Bay here."
Sylia scratched her head and poured herself a cup of sake.
Listening to intercom conversations sober sort of lost all the
fun the way listening to them drunk was.
"Bridge here, Doctor."
"Where's here," the voice called out, questioning in a
suspicious manner, "and why are you saying YOU'RE the doctor?
*I'M* the doctor!"
"Here on the bridge," Sylia retorted, waiting for the stuff
to kick in.
"But I thought the *bridge* was here, which is where I'm
trying to figure out. And who the hell is 'Bridge'??"
"Sylia gripped her hand onto her forehead, rubbing the
temples until the pain melted away," Sylia said, narrating
her own actions, forgetting to take out the quotation marks.
"What was that?" replied the intercom.
"Merely the product of my imagination. Go away." Sylia
noticed the sake was beginning to have its desired effect at
last.
"Look 'Buh-RIDGE'. I don't know WHO you are, or even WHERE
you are for that matter, but let me speak with the Commander!"
"Is that Kei?"
"Yes it is," finally providing Sylia with a reasonable bit
of information.
"Please put Yuri on the com."
There was a silence for a few seconds as whispers could be
heard in the background.
"Yuri here," sounded the pleasant voice, "how may I be of
assistance?"
"Could you please tranquilize the doctor until further
notice?" The sake bottle was becoming less and less full and
full. She smashed it over the head of a passing young ensign,
christening him.
"You bet, Commander," came the reply, cloying and cute enough
to put someone really famous and just as equally cloying out of
a job. The com clicked off, letting the bridge computer sound
thingies come back into full hearing capabilities. Sylia turned
her attention back to the crisis at hand: the broken and noticably
empty sake bottle.
"RED WINE ALERT!" Sylia screamed drunkily to get everyone's
attention. She stumbled head first over the back of the chair,
clawing for something that you usually would be getting if you
just knew what it was.
Lights and klaxons and brandy-colored lights...and lights...
and more lights...and gosh darn, those were pretty lights,
thought Sylia, just before she blacked out.
-----------------------------------------
Pain. Suffering. Light. Dark. More dark. More pain.
Much more pain. Hopeful smile. Intense, excrutiating pain.
Mackie turned off "Batman and Robin" and went back to his
computer readouts. According to the arithmatic, the crew ratio
was drastically mismatched. A woman-to-man ratio of 9:4 was
plaguing his calculations and his mind. He checked over them,
re-looking, and then looking some more before he realized he was
looking at a Playboy, and not the readings anymore. His eyes
tended to wander a tad too much these days. In any case, he ran
over the figures again in his mind and tapped a button on the com,
careful not to push it too hard or else risk appearing too eager.
He pushed it '3 Bears' style...JUUUUST Right.
It beeped. A beep not unlike the ping some machines make, but
far away in its own style enough to be considered a beep and not
a ping. Umm, hold on. I lost my train of thought.
Just then, the entire room appeared to explode in a colliape of
colors and other 60s kind of psychedelic stuff. Mackie blinked
once, apparently blinded into submission by the 4th of July
presentation in his quarters. And then...
"Eek!" yapped Mackie in a most undignified, unmanly way. As
it happened, "Eek" would be the last intelligent phrase to pass
through his lips for awhile.
The light engulfed him not unlike Roger Ebert would certainly
have had he been a tasty appetizer sprinkled with rich and strong
spices. Perhaps a little cajun pepper, and a lightly breaded
filet mignon, and...<much drooling and lip smacking sounds>
-----------------------------------------
Captain Hogdson finally had his chair. And it wasn't just any
chair. It was HIS. It was comfy. It was *very* ergonomical.
It had a small fridge built in for his cold brewskis. AND he
could nuke an entire planet with the push of a button...all from
this seat. Manly-man urges filled his body, hormones raging, and
he felt compelled to grunt. He did.
"Rrrggg."
Natsumi's ears perked up, "Hey Miyuki."
"Hai, Natsumi-san?"
"I think we'd better call a repair crew. I think this console
is making funny noises."
The boosterlist doors opened, and out stepped Mackie. The crew
turned to acknowledge the newcomer, and stopped stone cold in
their glances. There was something not quite right about him.
Perhaps it was his pale face, his empty stare lacking
intelligence..
...on second thought, that couldn't be it. That was standard
fare with Mackie. No, it had to be something more subtle...
something that just jumped out and grabbed you by your collar
and slammed you to the ground, and beat the crap outta ya and
gave you a wedgie, and then left you to gurgle head-first in a
toilet. Something quite diabolical.
Hodgson bit his lip and stepped out of his chair, taking his
time walking towards Mackie. He looked him up and down, trying
to note every little thing that was out of place and finally
reached a conclusion.
"Son, I'm afraid a birthday suit is not standard for the Knight
Fleet uniform dress code."
Mackie just stared forward, drooling a bit from his lip. The
captain patted him on his back, and led him back, ever so slowly,
to the boosterlift.
"Now then, why don't you get dressed and then we can meet in my
Ready Room for a talk on standard procedure on my ship, ne?" He
ever so slightly nudged (threw) Mackie into the lift who walked
headfirst into the back wall and collapsed. The Captain returned
to his comfy chair, sure that his leadership abilities and
reasoning skills had won over the young lad. He felt another
surge of manliness.
"Grrnt."
"Damn you! Stop that!" yelled Natsumi, banging her hand hard
on the console, while the reader hit their head on the
table/desk/wall/whatever nearest to them at the incredibly bad
attempt at humor on the author's part.
-----------------------------------------
"Kuso...first I have to run security for the ENTIRE ship, and
now I have to wait on drooling slobs who threaten to scare my
other customers away."
The snot bubbles in the sleeping ensign's nose popped in
agreement. Priss gritted her teeth in disgust and pushed the
slovenly 'man' off the bartop. He slipped off his stool, and kind
of rolled into a fetal heap on the floor. Exercise specialist
Linna pushed him away with her foot, and took his throne. But she
didn't have to go, so she sat on his stool instead.
"Sooo, Priss..." she started awkwardly, trying to be one of
those people thought to have good skills in starting similarly
awkward conversations that begin with 'Sooo', "any good catches in
here lately?"
Priss grunted and 'hack-tooied' into a glass and begin to wipe
it out with a dirty dishrag.
"Nothing that I would recommend. Of course, I wouldn't
recommend anything. All men are scum." She eyed the bottom of
the current glass, making sure it had enough phlegm(sp?) coating
the bottom so as to add an extra waxy look.
"Well, not all men are scum. What about Lietuenant Commander
Gabriev?"
Priss snorted, as if expecting Linna to have better taste, "Too
dumb."
"MedTech Simmons?"
"Likes to dance around too much. Kind of fruity, too."
Unflagged, Linna continued, "Rogers? Hammerstein?"
"Both of 'em like to play around too much."
"Ensign Crosby? Lieutenant Stills? Officer Nash?"
Priss just shook her head, eyeing that one glass for an
AWFULLY long time. I guess she didn't have much to do at the
moment other than be negative. She just didn't wanna show it.
"Why, how about that nice Mr. Stingray from Science Lab?
He's turned a few heads recently with the ladies."
As if to answer the incredibly cheap opening, and possibly
insert a cheesy gag or two, Mackie took that instance to enter
the bar.
"Kelloggs....Kelloggs...KELLOGGS...." murmured the naked
young man to no one in particular. He went to the back wall,
hit it, made a U-turn, and walked back out.
Silence prevailed much like hinted at in Simon and
Garfunkel's song.
"He turned a head all right...just not the kind I thought
you were talking about."
Priss went back to her glass, still polishing it, for what--
the third time this section?
-----------------------------------------
What is the enigma behind Mackie's puzzling words? Do they
point to some greater puzzle or perhaps to tomorrow's
breakfast? And why weren't there more sex scenes? Perhaps
the author is trying to tell us something?
And why the hell wasn't Minmei killed as promised?
And Trett Lott...what the HELL is his deal?
And, finally, while you're starting to nodd off, is there
any actual chance this fic will be cancelled? Please?
Maybe? Pretty please?
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!
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Umm, excuse me a moment. I'd like to come out and say
what a pathetic waste of time this fic was. I mean, really.
Fanfiction should be spent by writing only stuff *I* like,
and I'm clearly the most important person here...I mean,
look at this line:
'Grrnt.'
Clearly a caveman wrote this. Look, don't waste our
time with primordial 'FILLER', ok? Spend some time
writing '20th Century' fiction, k? All I can say about this
fic is, 'It Stinks!'."
"Until next time, this is Jay Sherman...."