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Jules
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Chairman & CEO, Dallas Oil Company
Jul 2001
time: 00:26
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Several hours later, the sandstorm has died down quite a bit. DR and JP are heading into the more seedy part of New Dallas, the Spacer's District. Each is wearing an ordinary brown cloak with a hood loosely covering his head so as not to attract any unwanted attention (or sexual advances for that matter  ) A cadre of security guards also similarly attired accompany them, forming a loose perimeter around the two. Finally they arrive at their destination, Docking Bay 94. JP goes in first, followed by DR, with the security guards taking up the rear. An oddly-shaped, quite unfashionably-looking starship towers before them...
JP: (pulling back his hood) What a piece of junk!
Carlo: (from inside the ship) Who's there?! Whaddaya want?!
DR: (likewise pulling back his hood, wearing a kickass pair of sunglasses) Carlo, my boy, it's all right. Come on out.
Carlo peers out cautiously from atop the boarding ramp, blaster rifle at the ready.
Carlo: (warily) You aren't a bunch of misguided leftists, are you? I really hate those bastards! They're in love with Sadman Hussein you know.
DR: (laughing) Hell no! I'm your wealthy patron, DR. Remember me, the guy you owe a sh*tload of money to?
Carlo: (relaxing a bit, slowly walks down the ramp) Oh, yeah. Uhm...look...the thing is...I don't have your money right now. I spent it all on gay porno DVDs. I swear I'll get the money somehow...even if I have to sell my body for it.
DR: (chuckles) Carlo, my boy! No need to get extreme here. I know you're good for it. I just have a little mission for ya.
Carlo: (quite relieved) Oh, wow, that's great! Thanks a bunch. By the way, what do you think of my ship? I call her the "Millennium Pinochet." She'll get point five past flaming-speed. Tubee and I here have made some special modifications. Tubee? Come down here and say "hello."
Tube-acca: ACK!
DR: (reaches his arm out to shake hands) How d'ya do?
Tube-acca: (ignoring DR's outstretched arm) ACK!
JP: (nervous wave) Hi there!
Tube-acca: (turns toward JP) AAAAACK!!!!
DR: (to Carlo) Is that all he says?
Carlo: Pretty much, yeah. Ever since he and his planet were enslaved by Grand Admiral Gudunov's "Gaylactic Storm Cadets." Must've traumatized him pretty bad. I took pity on him and, well, he's hung around me ever since.
Tube-acca: (nods head mournfully) Ack!
Carlo: So what's the mission?
DR: Oh, yeah, that. Right. JP, the script. (JP pulls out his PDA and hands it to DR)
DR: (scanning) Ok, if my intelligence is correct, you're about to be visited by an angry young man named Albert Speerwalker. Some kind of half-crazed urban ghetto philospher, I dunno. With him will be an equally mad sage named obiwan18 kenobi, claiming some kind of disturbance in...the Force? God, this is worse than a George Lucas flick! Two robots...one programmed in Linux, can't understand anything it says. And they'll be worried about a certain Princess BlackWidow, want you to take 'em to some kind of Resistance HQ, thwart the Empire's plans and all that. (hands the PDA back to JP)
Anyway, what I want you to do is pretend to go along with the whole thing. Once you get to this rebel base thing, spread some money around, ask questions, find out all you can. Then report back to me. Understood?
Carlo: (scratches head) I guess so. I suppose I can handle that.
DR: (puts his arm around Carlo's shoulder) Good...good. And remember, if you screw up, I'll be sending the bounty hunters your way. I don't think you're gonna like that.
Carlo: (angrily pulls away from DR) Let 'em come! They're all a bunch of commie leftists anyway! They can go straight to hell!
DR: (gently) Now now, Gian, you're BAMing again.
Carlo: Yes, I promise I'll never do that again. I really mean it this time. I just have strong emotions about these things.
DR: (chuckles) Don't we all? (motions to one of his guards, who pulls out a metallic briefcase and opens it) And just to make it all worth your while, I've added a bonus...gay porno DVDs!
Carlo: (astonished) Woah, neato! I don't have any of these yet. And do I get a cabana bondage boy too?
DR: (grins) Sure, whatever you need. My treat.
Carlo: (taking the briefcase) Then I'll do it! (shakes DR's hand forcefully)
DR: I knew you'd see it my way. (waves to Tube-acca) Nice meetin' ya, Mr. Tubee!
Tube-acca: (in a tone that sounds curiously like, "Hey! Please take me away from this crazy Carlo guy! PLEASE!!!") ACK!
(freeze-frame of DR's big, malevolent smile; sinister transition music cues up in the background)
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Imran Siddiqui
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The Potterverse
Jan 1970
time: 00:26
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I used to be funnier in my youth... and more patient to write a story too. What ever happened? Guess I got old. All I have left to look forward to is walking on a cane and drooling into my keyboard while posting on this hunk-a-jun -- wha? Oh yah, story.
The entire screen flashed and shifted and wobbled a bit as well, just to get some more props to capture that Special Effects Oscar we all want so much, because lord knows we won't be winning anything else. In the viewscreen (or tv, for the unimaginative) there appeared a planet.
It was green, well sort of.
It was also big, kinda.
And the people there were very indicisive, maybe.
But on this planet lived a man in a nice little house. He was always kind to people and loved to make pottery. He also was the biggest serial killer in the known Gaylaxy. He was an assassin who would kill straight men for the Starchild. He was good at his job and loved to do it. For this, he was payed in little boys, which fit in with his Catholic religion, who after realizing priests were buggering boys decided it wasn't worth the effort to stop the practice and instead legalized it.
Pretty soon, of course, the number of Catholics in the world dropped to 304, which coincidentally were the number of priests left in the world that weren't shot by angry parents.
Where was I? Oh yea, the ASSassin. He was refered to by his close friends as Billy, but to all others he was feared as Redjon!! How he got this name remains a question that has never really been solved, but some believe that it involves a cow, a gecko, and tooo much vasoline.
He had a job. He was to go after the Hetero Jedi, led by one, Civnation, who was a small green blob that looked as if he'd been blown out of the nose of a large elephant (or whatever your species call them).
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Jules
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Chairman & CEO, Dallas Oil Company
Jul 2001
time: 00:26
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Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the Gaylaxy, yet another subplot is unfolding. Bounty hunter Che-ga Fett is seething, seething over the recent demise of the industrialized system and the rise of the New Gaylactic Order. "How are ya supposed to make the Revolution when there aren't any proletariat to make it with," Che exclaims, but taking care to check dials, switches, readouts, and other gizmos as his sickle-shaped "Trotsky I" whizzes through space.
Yes, times had been tough since the disbanding of his organization, "The Communist People's Popular Front." (Or was it "The Popular People's Communist Front?" He could never keep those straight.) Making a living as one of the bounty hunter dregs of the Gaylaxy was quite undignified for a great Marxist organizer such as himself. But Che had a plan, a plan and the evidence to back it up.
Putting Trotsky I on autopilot, Che switched on his onboard data retrieval unit (ODRU for short) and called up the necessary files: a number of compromising photos involving the Imperial Darth Redfern and a certain Gorillean named Gian Carlo. "Oh, they'll pay all right. By Marx's beard are they gonna pay!" Then perhaps the Gaylaxy (make that Galaxy) will return to the way it was, the way it SHOULD be...with rallies and protests and mass demonstrations. "God, it's gonna be great!"
But enough of that for now. They'll be plenty of time for petty blackmail schemes later. Right now Che had a job to do: to strike a terrible blow against the very heart of capitalism itself. Che switched off the lewd photos of Redfern and Carlo and called up a very different photo on the viewscreen. The grinning face of the "Prodigal Shyster" himself, "Ol' Greedy" to others, the infamous Texas oilman D.R. appears. "Oh, you're definitely going down, beeyatch!" Che smacks down on the viewscreen. Suddenly the nav-computer beeps frantically, indicating that the ship is fast approaching the gravity well of fubutooine...
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Uh, oh! Somebody's out to kill D.R.! Will they finally finish the job this time? Or will Ol' D.R. get out of yet another tight spot? These questions and more will be answered on the next episode of Dallas the Humorous Gen--...err...Apolyton Wars. Yeah, that's it! 
*cue theme music; cue aerial shot of the Mansion; roll credits*
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Starchild
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a raving alcoholic drama queen with a penchant for the biosciences
Jan 1970
time: 00:26
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Meanwhile, in the massive yet cosy inner sanctum of President Starchild, the fate of the Gaylaxy was being decided.
"What should be the trendy drink of this year, iced coffee or exotic ethnic tea?" President Starchild wondered outloud while trying to figure out what cloak to wear. His three rent-a-minions, Taurus, Siro, and Eli, stood humbly nearby.
"In my most useless and insignificant opinion glorious one, I do quite like iced coffee," Siro offered cautiously.
"Yes, oh most far seeing and trendy one, I do agree," Eli said.
"I'm thinking ethnic tea," President Starchild said as he activated a holographic mirror and started trying on Martian-Armani shirts.
"What a great and wise idea most perfectly stylish one! Exactly what we thought. Forgive and forget our prior and misguided judgements," the three servants said, toadying in unison.
Starchild turned to look at them, "Don't you guys wonder if I get tired of the constant toadying and fearful worship of my being?"
"Um...." the three minions looked at each other. Siro was visibly sweating. "No?" Taurus offered.
"Damn right! Keep it up. Anyway, I think it's about time to begin the construction of the new superweapon."
"But most perfectly moisturised yet never greasy one," Taurus said, "The Pride Star hasn't even been unleashed on the Gaylaxy yet."
"The Pride Star is like so last year. Gotta keep up with the neighbours and all that."
"Forgive my treacherous and most likely ill informed tongue but, um, don't you run the entire Gala...err, Gaylaxy? We don't have any neighbours," Eli said.
"Even better!" Starchild said, throwing on a jumper that was worth more than some solar systems, "I can be a trend setter! Yes, the Pride Star II will be bigger, better, and, like, so incredibly cool."
"What about the current Pride Star, most..um...good one?" Taurus asked.
"What? Oh, that one can just continue doing whatever it does until, you know, the next one is built. I mean, it's not like I'm in a hurry to get Bori Wori back anytime soon. Pfff. 'I hog the sheets'. Man's bordering on insane. Sigh, all my clothes are so last season. Kill the designers and then clone them. Maybe a new perspective is needed. Oh, be dears and pack all these things into boxes and burn them. Ta!" President Starchild said with many hand gestures as he left the room.
Siro, Taurus, and Eli were left looking at a collection of clothes so vast that it threatened to collapse into a small star. They decided right then and there to undertake a secret pact that could get them killed, if not worse. They would confront President Starchild and...
....
....
....demand an extra seven cents an hour for their jobs as rent-a-minions.
Or kill the bastard, whatever seemed easier.
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Q Cubed
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t3h y3ll0w p3ril
Apr 1999
time: 23:26
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IN THE SECRET UNDERGROUND space laboratory submarine base in space, the designer of the first Pride Star, Q Xux 3 meditated in a sensory deprivation enhancement chamber, seeking answers to a question that had eluded this devlishly ravishing and strappingly handsome man.
"Solaris? mm... yes, yes... but does it work? maybe... VMS?"
He was, of course, deciding what would be the basis of the Solar Smasher's primary OS.
"The Empire, naturally, likes fruity operating systems, which leads me to believe that Apples would be in order. But their bright tangerine color scheme clashes with the interior of the main computer core, which must be an brilliant and clean titanium white. Oh, what to do, what to do..."
Stepping out of his sensory deprivation enhancement chamber, Q Xux 3 dressed langorously, attended by numerous ravishingly voluptuous vixens and curvaceous females. He paid them little heed, of course, for he had eyes for one and one only: a secret project of his, which he had funded by "cost overruns" during the construction of the last Pride Star... The Solar Smasher, whose single projectile could instantly convert an entire sector into a baccanaliac festival, filled with promiscuity, alcohol, more promiscuity, and more alcohol.
"A message for you, my beloved Q Xux 3," a particularly attractive bronze skinned thong-clad platinum-haired girl whispered, throatily. "I think it's from Command. They want you to design the Pride Star II."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Interesting. Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Really. Is that so?"
"Yes."
"What happened to my last Pride Star?"
"I do not know, master."
"Mm. I like it when you feed me grapes, dear wench."
And with that, Q Xux 3 began the process of desiging a new Pride Star, a bigger, better, more powerful and cooler Pride Star. Perhaps one with a special docking port for the Solar Smasher, as well. He would enjoy docking. In. Out. In. Out.
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Jules
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Chairman & CEO, Dallas Oil Company
Jul 2001
time: 00:26
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From within the deepest, innermost chambers of Starcastle Franit, Datajack the Sage fondly recalled the time he "spoiled" his young apprentice, obiwan18 kenobi. It was a mystical encounter, full of wide-eyed innocence or whatever. He then became enraged at remembering how obiwan18 later refused conversion to the Dark Side of the Phallus...err, I mean, the Force (yeah, that's it, the Force )....
Suddenly, filming at Apolyton Studios is interrupted when a mob of militant feminists led by Gloria Alldread swarm over the set to protest the repeated references to the male genitalia in the story. (Quote, "Down with sexism! Down with forcible penetration! All men are lecherous swine!" - feminist chants)
Datajack is shocked, and retorts that he finds nothing wrong whatsoever with forcible penetration. The feminists are not amused and start chasing poor Franit around the studio lot, armed with rusty pitchforks and dirty knives. At any rate they've left the set, so the story can continue....
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Jules
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Chairman & CEO, Dallas Oil Company
Jul 2001
time: 00:26
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Back to New Dallas. DR is in his office with another Wild Turkey on the rocks in his hand. His feet are comfortably propped up on the desk, revealing a fine pair of crocodile-skin cowboy boots with diamond-studded spurs. He's consulting with Colonel jimmytrick, acting leader of the Intergaylactic Evil Capitalist Conservatives Clan (IECCC for short), via a flaming-space videolink:
DR: Can I count on your support, Colonel?
jimmytrick: The IECCC will sign your treaty.
DR: Good. And our friends from the Mercantilist Confederation have also pledged their support. When we combine their capital with ours, the Empire will be overwhelmed.
jimmytrick: Has Gian Carlo learned anything about the Resistance yet?
DR: (frowning) Not yet. We're still waiting on Albert Speerwalker and company. I wish those blasted screenwriters would hurry up! What do you know of these rebels, Colonel?
jimmytrick: (pausing thoughtfully) They do have one leader that I'm aware of, a former drifter if I recall--Mono Solo. Does that name mean anything to you, DR?
DR: Doesn't ring a bell. Of course, I'm new to this part of the Gaylaxy. (chuckles, then takes another swig from his Wild Turkey) Have you received that shipment of moisture vaporators and power reactors that I authorized yet?
jimmytrick: (smiles) Yes, they arrived in excellent condition this morning. Payment upon delivery, just as we agreed. We'll have our infrastructure upgraded in no time.
DR: Pleasure doing business with you, Colonel, as always. And give my regards to your Chairman DinoDoc. I hope he's feeling better soon.
jimmytrick: (chuckles) Oh, he's not really sick. We toppled him in a coup couple days ago. When President Starchild announced the Gaylactic Empire, the chairman went ballistic and wanted us to challenge the Imperials openly. Us military chiefs thought it'd be smarter to bring the system down from the inside, use our black ops capabilities and all that.
DR: Good thinking, Colonel! But you didn't kill the poor chairman I hope?
jimmytrick: Oh, no! We just sent him into exile, that's all. Last I heard, he hooked up with a Resistance cell out on the Gaylactic Frontier. He'll be fine!
DR: (sounding quite relieved) In that case, Colonel, I wish you and your junta good luck.
jimmytrick: Thanks! We're sure gonna need it!
DR: (switching off the videolink) Ahhh, JP, it feels so good to be back in the game again, wheelin' 'n dealin', just like old times!
JP: (with a concerned expression on his face) DR, are you afraid of death?
DR: (startled) What an odd question, but I'll tell ya one thing...I've lived the high life for a long time--the money, the backroom deals, the women, the drugs, the whole bit--but lately I've been feelin' like I wasted my life. Nuthin' I do seems to matter anymore. I feel alienated from my true self, my true destiny, whatever the hell that is. That's why I backed Lyndon LaDouche for president, until he went gay on me. That's why I'm doing this now. That's why we must succeed! (slams fist)
JP: (slightly embarrassed) Actually, I was thinking more along the line of are you afraid somebody might try to kill you again? Like the time that deranged Marxist, Brian Gaack, came after you with a shotgun.
DR: (laughing) Oh, yeah, I remember that! That was before he became head of them Peruvian guerrillas, who later kidnapped me and tried to convert me to socialism. Wonder whatever happened to that ol' boy.
JP: So the thought never crossed your mind?
DR: Well, maybe once or twice I suppose. But, ya see, JP, them commies need me.
JP: Huh?!
DR: It all came to me one night watching an episode of the O'Wily Factor on CoxNews. They had a right-wing fella on there who said that the reason them left-wingers want to bring in more Third World immigrants is to create a new exploited class, who could then make a socialist revolution. Now it may have been a lot of right-wing conspiracism bullsh*t, everything on O'Wily usually is, but it got me thinking. And that's the reason the commies need me. They need an old oilman like me to reindustrialize the Gaylaxy, to rebuild the proletariat for 'em. Otherwise their vision of a workers' paradise is just another pipe-dream. So that's what this is all about, JP. Industrial capitalism--socialism can't live without it. And that's what it's all about!
(DR knocks back another shot of whiskey and grins broadly for the camera)
Last edited by Jules on 09-03-2003 at 15:45
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Boris Godunov
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Portland, OR
Aug 2001
time: 00:26
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Back aboard the resistance cruiser...
A pall washed over the ship as it was snuggled into the docking bay of the Imperial Battleship. Security guards raced towards the main hatchway, knowing the Gaylactic Storm Cadets were always obvious, in everything they did.
Lt. Spink raised his blaster rifle as he heard the first sounds of a laser drill being applied to the other side of the hatch. He'd be damned if he'd let the Cadets overrun a ship that he was assigned to protect. He had rushed to join up with the resistance the second President Starchild had proclaimed the Empire. Hell, he'd wanted to become a rebel the second he had been elected. He knew you couldn't trust one of them pansies. But right now, Spink was gonna teach the Cadets a lesson. Yessirree bob, those Gaylactic poofs were in for a nasty shock when he--
With a thunderous crash, the hatch exploded inward, and the huge steel door clobbered Spink, pinning his limp body to the floor. He appararently had been so caught up in his musing, he didn't realized he was standing too close to the door, and his men's warning just didn't register. Oh well.
Chartruse laser bolts roared into the corridor, charring the walls and sending sparks flying. Through the smoke entered the first Cadets, awesomely clad in burgundy armor with black accentuation. I mean, they were just superbly dressed. Incredibly sharp uniforms, and the way the cod pieces...
*ahem* right, so, the first Cadets rushed in, firing furiously at the security guards, who became frozen with fear at their fabulous, frightful foes. Finally they snapped out of it and turned tail and ran. The Cadet ceased fire, of course, never wanting to harm an opponent's backside.
Moments later, a ridiculously tall figure strutted from the doorway, stepping on the destroyed hatch, and enjoying the satisfying crunch of the bones below. From the top of his helmet to the tip of his boots, this figure was clad in bright red armor. I mean, flamboyantly red. Nothing less would suit the most notorious lackey of Starchild, the ominous Darth Redfern!
"Commander Firelad," he said to the closest Cadet, "search every corner of this ship. I want Princess Blackwidow brought to me. And there is also a Lt. Spink..."
"My lord," chirped Firelad, "I believe you're standing on him."
"Oh...well, nevermind. Better get a large dustpan. Send a transmission to Grand Admiral Godunov that we have the Princess and will soon have that which he craves most. And I don't mean the Brewer twins!"
With that, Lord Redfern swept down the corridors, his cape billowing behind him gayly, as his troops went to pursue the security guards and lockdown the ship.
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DAVOUT
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AUERSTADT
Jun 2002
time: 05:26
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On the front, with the Dialectical Division.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : You see what I see, Dino D ?
Almost-Private Dino D : I never see what you see, Vice-Sergeant; in the rare cases where I see something, it is not the thing you are referring to; and assuming that some extraordinary circumstance produces the improbable effect that we see at the same time the same thing, it would definitely not be from the same point of view.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : OK, OK. Lets put it this way : do you see something ?
Almost-Private Dino D : Nothing worth reporting, Vice-Sergeant, all the more that I have caught an aggravated daltonism in discussing some political issues with a guy of the Division; the only colours I see now range from grey-green to green-grey.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : Too bad. Go take your stuff, we leave the position soon. Sloww, come here.
Almost-Private Sloww : Yes, my Vice-Sergeant.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : Take it easy, Sloww, call me Vice.
Almost-Private Sloww : Yes, my Vice.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : You do not suffer daltonism, I hope. Tell me what you see at the other end of the field in front of us.
Almost-Private Sloww : Yes, my Vice. I can only tell you what I see in the two or three meters just here, because I am badly short-sighted, due to all the hours spend in front of a screen, making dialectical posts for the good of the Division. As far as I can tell, it is just grass.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : Sorry, Sloww. Go take your stuff, we leave the position soon. MTG, come here.
Under-Corporal MTG : Here I am.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : Are you normal, MTG ? No daltonism, no short-sightedness ?
Under-Corporal MTG : The sight is good, Sergeant; I would not guarantee most of the rest, but the sight is good.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : OK, tell me if you see people dressed in mauve at the other end of this immense field.
Under-Corporal MTG : No problem, Sergeant; I am positive, I see a lot of mauve heaps on the other side.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : Heaps ? No people ?
Under-Corporal MTG : Could be crouched people, but what are they doing ? Could not be hiding, you would not take mauve dress for hiding.
Vice-Sergeant Monkspider : I will tell you, MTG, they are Gaylactic Storm Cadets trimming immaculate front lawns!
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Jules
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Chairman & CEO, Dallas Oil Company
Jul 2001
time: 00:26
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On the outskirts of the Gaylaxy, also known as the Gaylactic Frontier, there was a small Greek planet known as Apolyton. And there beneath its oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere stood the Resistance HQ in all its glory. Mountains appeared on the horizon; dense forests sprouted below. And rising above the tree canopies were structures, Parthenon-shaped structures, lots of ‘em, all over the planet. A lone sentry kept watch from one of those enclosed basket thingies (like on a cherry picker truck) that just hovered above the trees. The sentry appeared to be aiming a high-powered rifle of some kind, slowly arcing the barrel from left to right then back again. Well, ok, he’s not a sentry. He’s just up there shooting down clay pigeons for some unfathomable reason. Hey, might be fun! Anyhoo…
Inside the command center, temporarily housed in the dimly-lit depths of Solver Hall, Administrator Markos Mothma, glorious leader of the Resistance, sat at his desk poring over the latest sales figures for Official Resistance Merchandise. Chief of Strategy Solver enters the room:
Markos: No, no, no! This is no good at all. All sales are down this month, way down. Look at this: mug sales down 14%, t-shirt sales down 21%. And these are our best-selling items.
Solver: You mean this? (holds up a plain white t-shirt with black lettering, “I joined the Apolyton Resistance and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”) Honestly, I think our marketing campaign needs some work.
Markos: What’s wrong with it? Computer, bring up the latest ad banner on the main viewscreen please.
(A rectangular-shaped banner appears on the wall, orange background, black lettering. On the left side is a photo of Charlie Chaplin dressed like Hitler in “The Great Dictator.” The banner reads, “Don’t be gay! Buy Resistance! Note: that IS Hitler.)
Markos: Now what could be wrong with that?!
Solver: I just think the Hitler bit is putting people off, sir.
Markos: But ad banners aren’t supposed to mean anything. It’s just a bunch of crazy sh*t pasted together to sell merchandise. You know what I think? I think our customers are prejudiced against all things Hitler.
Solver: Exactly, sir.
Markos: (stroking his chin) Hmmm…ok, forget about it. But we still can’t go back on our threat.
(Markos presses a button on his command console, opening up a 15 x 15 foot section of floor. Underneath are a half-a-dozen or so adorable kittens playing around in kitty litter. Markos pulls out his Colt .45, aims it at a random kitten, and pulls the trigger. A loud bang echoes throughout the room. The kittens meow in terror as one of their siblings lies dead, literally blown apart, in front of them.)
Solver: (wincing) Ugh! Was that really necessary, sir?
Markos: (holstering his Colt .45) Yes! (sighs heavily) Oh, I’m sorry, Solver. It’s just this Solver Hall place is really creeping me out. And we can’t afford to move out of here until we start selling more merchandise.
Solver: (chuckles, then lights up a cigarette) Well, sir, it’s their fear of this place that keeps the troops in line. We give them fear, and they give us victory. And of course with victory, we sell more merchandise. That's the nature of existence. That’s why you hired me for this job. You’re not having second thoughts about The Plan, are you?
Markos: No, not at all. How’s the war going anyway?
Solver: (takes a heavy drag off his cigarette, then slowly exhales the smoke into Markos's face) Commodore Ming reports that the Dialectical Division has arrived at the front. They’ve encountered Gaylactic Storm Cadets…trimming immaculate front lawns.
Markos: (aghast) Good God, Solver! Do you realize what this means???
Solver: (nods) They’re about to put on their annual Gay Fashions Festival, and they want to tidy up the Gaylaxy beforehand. (notices the look of panic on Markos’s face) But don’t worry. I’ve made all the necessary preparations. Everything is in readiness.
Markos: You mean…agent paiktis22? He’s in position?
Solver: Yes. The 22nd iteration of the paiktis has been modified with a new highly unstable radioactive isotope our scientists have extracted from Fez I. In other words, paiktis22 has been Fezzed. I’ve secretly inserted him onto fubutooine, disguised as one of the Troll People, the indigenous population of the planet. He’ll lie low for a while, scavenging for scrap metal and spare parts, then ingesting them so as not to attract suspicion from the other Trolls. And then when Darth Redfern arrives, chasing after Princess BlackWidow…BAM…he goes off, taking out the whole quadrant in the process. The Imperials will never know what him ‘em! I’m afraid the Gaylaxy won’t be quite so tidy after all that Fezzed space debris passes through.
Markos: (grinning maniacally) That’s excellent. Solver, you’re a genius!
Solver: (bows head) I do what I can, sir.
(the scene ends with the two rebel plotters staring in awe at the dead kitten beneath the floor)
Last edited by Jules on 09-03-2003 at 16:03
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08-03-2003 07:28
Oh, yeah, I forgot to include something about Fez's crush on red_jon in my dialogue. 
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