Well here's another chapter for you viewing annoyance. This one
general gets me evil e-mail. TIll later.
Oh just in case your wondering, this is based on an RPG called
Teenagers from Outerspace. Enjoy.
Once more the camera focus's in on the scapecraft far above Earth's
surface. The only thing which distinguish's it from any other ships,
is a large bumper sticker which reads: "In space - No one can hear you
laugh." Well that and a colour scheme that sort of reminds you of
something that Godzilla would have cough up had it been eating Akane's
cooking.
Zeroing in on the bridge, we once again find the captain sitting in
his chair, brooding as he gazes on this small blue little world which
has become so prominent in the galaxy. To either side stands two
silent attendants waiting for their Lord to speak.
"We have stationary orbit, now Lord Tin-Lips", and the minion hands
the Captain a Note pad which says Orbit across the top.
"Are you sure no-one can detect us this time?" the dark lord asks in
a sinister tone.
The minion before him sweats visibly, "No Sir, we are quite
undetectable by the primitive Earthers."
"Good!"
"Excuse me! Is this Tokyo?", interupts a boy in a plain yellow shirt
and black pants, wearing a black and yellow checkered bandana. A
large backpack rests on his back, from which is hung a bamboo umbrella.
"No there's no Tokyo here." another of the faceless minions of evil
answers.
"Oh thanks, sorry for distrubing you." the youth exits the way he
had come and a moment later a cry of rage can be heard, "Damn you
Ranma, where in the hell am I NOW!"
All the minions on the bridge are visible sweating as they await on
the decision of their dark and terrible master.
"I should have asked him for tea." their dark lord muses.
The sound of the enitre bridge crew doing a facefault can be heard.
"It is time for this miserable planet to feel the wrath of The Doughnut
Liberation and really Bad people Society. Summon the 1st general to
the bridge."
The minion by the doors turns and bellows down the hall, "The 1st
General to the bridge."
A moment later a voice in the distance bellows, The 1st General to
the bridge."
The call gets repeated several more times with each getting fainter
and fainter in the distance.
The Attendant, dressed in a dark cowboy like attire, to the left of
Lord Tin-Lips asks, "Why not have him paged on the intercom?"
The dread lord turns to him, "This ship doesn't have one, the budget
only allows for an sub-economy class cruiser."
"Ah!" answers the cowboy dressed attendant.
A few minutes later a little midget enters the bridge. Dressed in a
three piece business ensemble with white pins striping, leaving a
impression more of a mafai don then a battle leader.
With a voice like sand in a grindstone he stands before his dark
master. "I swoon in admiration of your presence, oh great Lord
Tin-Lips," and then promptly faints on the spot.
With a frown the dark lord looks down at this collapsed flunkie,
"Who is this?"
The little man recovers with surprising alarcity and once again
stands in front of his master. "You summoned me to the bridge, oh
your mighty loathsomeness."
"I asked for the 1st general not the worst general." Lord Tin-Lips
growls.
The little man seems to deflat to half his size and sulks off the
bridge.
"Where the hell is General Bob?" Lord Tin-Lips growls again.
"I'm right here" replies the figure standing to his right.
Lord Tin-Lips turns and notes the figure standing next to him."Oh
yes I had forgotten."
[Side note: for you the reader it is understandable that the General
Bob went unnoticed, since his apparel seems to be a hawaiin shirt and
short set. With colours which would clash with each other and any type
of surrounding. Basically an eye sore at 2 parsecs. The mind in an
effort to protect itself and preserve it's sanity will make an effort
not to notice it. Since such appalling bad taste might actually be
contagious.]
Just then another minion enters the room and stand before General
Bob. He might have gone unnoticed as simply as another minion in the
room save that he's dressed all in grey and the outfit looks like a
stylized version of a janitors uniform. Lastly in his right hand he
carries a pristine white mop.
"Lord General, the men of M.O.P. are assembled and ready." Once he
announces this he makes a dramitic pose.
"We await your orders." and then dramitically poses once again.
The dark lord turns to his first general and beckons him to come
closer. Bobs bends down to listen to his dark master.
"M.O.P.?", the dark Lord inquires.
The gerenal grunts before replying, "yes, the Men of Pause."
The master of evilness gives his general a strange look before
replying, "Couldn't you have found someone else?"
"Ah well Lord Tin-Lips, it was either them or the Poetic Tea and
Sandpaper Society. I had to hire them from the evil minion surplus
and barter company. I was only given a budget of 35,000,000 Drachmar
to spend, and hell even at that they still cost 34,758,000 drachmars."
The dark lord winces at the cost, "Very well if they were all you
could afford." [Note: for the galactically challenged 34,758,000
drachmars is equivalent to $1.98 Canadian including the tax.]
"Also," the general continues, "keeping them in line is easy. All I
need to do is threaten to send any who disobey my orders to dig
ditches on alpha centuri zeta."
"Ah! yes," nods the dark lord sagely,"Labour Pains! By the way
general, why'd your parents name you Bob?"
"That's not my name, that's my title, Baron of Barbeque." the general
answers, "My name is Alexandre Alowish Phenona Galetc Weedwacker
Holan."
"Weedwacker?" Lord Tin-Lips asks is surprise.
"Yes, it's an honoured tradition which has been handed down from
Father to Son."
"Oh for how long?" inquires the terrible lord of mayhem.
"Two generations." replies the general.
"I see" answers the Dark Lord after a pregnant pause, before
continuing more briskly, "Are your plans ready to bring this miserable
planet to it's knees."
"Yes my Lord, all is in readiness." the General then turns to his
minion which has been shifting from dramatic pose to dramatic pose
while waiting for his master's orders, "Begin Operation Scrub."
"Oh yes, great and glorious leader!" the minion answers before yet
another dramatic pose, then turns amnd exits the bridge stopping every
10 feet or so for another dramatic pose.
The dark lord watches as the minion leaves before turning to his
general once again, "Were the Poetic Tea and Sandpaper Society really
that bad?"
"Yes Lord Tin-Lips, considering they should be called the Really
Lousy Poetry, Tea and Sandpaper Society. They hold someone named Kuno
as their Hero." The general replies blandly.
"That bad?"
"Yes that bad!"
The dark lord shudders in his captain's seat at the thought. A
moment later an Evil smile marks his face. "Yes this world shall be
taugh what true culture is. They will learn to worship Barney, dance
all 357 polka's and to appreciate the master of the Snuffledorf.
Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa......!!!"
[Note: for the more Galatically minded, the snuffledorf has no earthen
equivalent, since it generally requires 3 arms, 20 fingers and the as
for mentioned snuffledorf itself. Since this may also fall into he
hands of young children we'll refrain from describing the snuffledorf
as it has been known to cause nightmares in all of even the vagest of
intelligent life forms. In most alien cultures the Snuffledorf is the
equivalent of cleaning a toilet with a toothbrush on a friday night
with a wild party raging next door. In the more advanced alien cultures,
Snuffledorfing has actually been banned since it has been known to cause
psycotic episodes in teens or anyone else for that matter.]
With that last announcement the general casually steps aways from
his dark mentor, with a large sweat drop forming on the back of his
head. "With your leave, oh great and might purveyor of mayhem, I'll
proceed down to the surface and begin our first steps to humble this
miserable planet."
"You may proceed general," as Lord tin-Lips turns once more to the
view screen before him and his brooding once more.
The general turns and with a flourish exits the bridge to inflict
ridiculousness to the planet below.
--
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