Screw the Universe (18 page)

“Titties!” exclaimed the infant, when feeding time came around.

His mother looked on in horror. His father, knee deep in daytime strippers and several planets away, found himself smiling for reasons unknown, and completely unrelated to the bullet-scarred booty in his face.

Prudence would often tell little Oswald bedtime stories of the Federation and its adventures in space exploration and forced colonization. Grand, sweeping tales of far off worlds and majestic planetscapes, of endless oceans of stars and valiant space battles, of strange alien races and undocumented genocides.

When his mother fell asleep midway through telling these stories, young Oswald would gently cover her in a blanket and quietly make his way upstairs to his room. Then he’d flip on his holo-vidscreen and watch all the channels his mother was unaware she was paying for.

As a teenager, the future illustrious captain enrolled in many extracurricular activities. Among the ones officially sanctioned by Trouser Snake High School were co-ed Greco-Roman wrestling – which led to many, many sexual harassment suits – and co-ed gymnastics – which led to many, many,
many
sexual harassment suits.

Oswald was breastfed until he was fifteen. And not just by his mother. He would usually try to get his girlfriends pregnant and then…

Maybe this is better left unsaid.

Oswald attended the Federation Space Convoy Academy with the dream of one day becoming captain of his own vessel. His instructors were less hopeful. But, all the same, Grand Super Marshal Marshall Steelballs saw something in Oswald.

A six-foot, double-dong dildo.

Impressed by Oswald’s girth capacity, Grand Super Marshal Steelballs quickly promoted the cadet to first lieutenant and assigned him to the Federation’s newest two-manned ship, the Pussywillow.

“So what’s this do?” asked First Lieutenant Tyler of his commanding officer, Captain Forge Ironthrust.

“That button, right there?” asked the highly decorated captain and war hero.

“Yeah, the one that says ‘Don’t Press. Ever!’”

“That one blows the back hatch and we both die.”

“Ah, so I shouldn’t press it.”

“No. Never.”

“But I really want to.”

“We haven’t even finished our mission. Hell, we’ve barely even started it!”

“What are we supposed to be doing again?”

“You don’t know?”

First Lieutenant Tyler shuffled the papers resting on his lap and said, “Uh, I think it had something to do with... destroying an entire galaxy… or feeding the children. Something like that.”

Captain Ironthrust pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Those... are two
vastly
different missions. Are you sure you know how to read?”

“No.”

“No?!”

“I guess I could look in the back and see if there are any other documents. You know, with pictures.”

“Right, you do that. I’ll keep us on course.”

First Lieutenant Tyler, without actually opening them, rearranged some boxes in the rear compartment of the Pussywillow, then returned to the chair next to the captain.

“Anything?” asked Captain Ironthrust.

“Nope,” said First Lieutenant Tyler, whistling.

Ironthrust looked over to find Tyler equipped with a spacesuit and a jet pack.

“Oswald?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Any reason why you’re decked out in those duds?”

“I’m a huge fan of
The Rocketeer
.”

“And the reason you turned the oxygen on? Despite being firmly within the confines of the Pussywillow?”

“Oh, that. Well, you see, I was thinking... I’m getting pretty bored on this mission and we’re probably still close to headquarters, so –”

Tyler pressed the “Don’t Press. Ever!” button. Captain Forge Ironthrust was sucked out of the back of the Pussywillow along with Tyler and the rest of the cargo.

Space Marshal Phil Orr sat across the table from First Lieutenant Tyler in the Federation’s debriefing room. He did not look pleased.

“So, run this by me again,” requested Space Marshal Orr.

“Okay, so Ironcock –”

“Thrust,” corrected the space marshal.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Tyler, standing up and shoving his pelvis into his superior’s face.

“Right,” said the space marshal. “Well, go on.”

“The captain was all like, ‘Let’s just fly around a bit and bang alien chicks.’ And then I was like, ‘No! We must think of the children!’ To which he replied, ‘Fuck those needy bastards, no one ever gave me shit when I was a kid. Hell, if we had nukes on this shithole of a ship I’d bomb their entire galaxy.’ So then I distracted him, put the spacesuit and rocket pack on and thwarted his devious plan.”

Space Marshal Orr was dumbfounded.

“I had no idea Captain Ironthrust had this hidden side to him. Allow me to commend you on your heroic efforts to save all those children on Orphanaria 7. If they only knew how close they weren’t able to be to not being not destroyed they’d probably give you a parade… or at least a pat on the back.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, I know Super Grand Marshal Steelballs usually handles these types of things, but he’s in the can. Meatball sub night and all. Myself, I’ve had nothing but Vicodin and ice cream so I should be good for a while. How about you? How’s your pooper?”

“Emptied out, sir.”

“Excellent. Where was I?”

“Talking about feces.”

“Was I?” said the space marshal quietly. “Huh. I thought we’d decided on... But, then, if I offered you the position... I did, right? Offer you the position?”

“Uh... yes?”

“Well, okay then. Congratulations, Tyler. Until Commodore Feces is less crazy enough to be around people again, you’re in charge of the Zdravo... Captain.”

Screw the Universe

Mission 58008 - 069

The Zdravo made it back to Federation headquarters safely. The trip had been without incident: no casualties, only minor damage to the ship’s lavatory, and a number of alien species had successfully been wooed by Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler. Condoms would need to be replenished, but that was to be expected. It was simply the price one had to pay en route to banging the entire galaxy.

“The Earth is running low, sir,” radioed Senior Dockworker Hugh Johnson as he received the latest batch of extra ribbed condoms into the ship’s inventory.

“Running low on what?” Captain Tyler radioed back.

“Condoms, sir.”

“How is that even possible? They never use the damn things. I mean, seriously, have you seen Tokyo? They’re living on top of each other.”

“Sir, we’ve talked about your penchant for exaggeration. Now, do you literally mean they’re walking around on top of each other? Feet on heads and what not?”

“Did I say Tokyo or India?”

“Tokyo.”

“Then, no, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“Pardon me, sir,” said the ship’s onboard computer. “I believe I found a couple planets that you have left, uh, ‘unboned.’ As you like to put it.”

“Oh, I like to put it,” replied Captain Tyler.

“Yes, yes you do,” said the dockworker.

“That is why we’re out here,” said the computer.

“Oh, I’m out here all right,” said the captain.

There was a silence.

“Were you trying to imply that you’re... visibly extended?” asked the computer.

“You know it.”

“I’ve seen you naked, in the showers,” said Senior Dockworker Johnson into his headset. “There’s no way your ‘extension’ would be visible through our battle shorts. They’re really thick and you’re really—”

Captain Tyler hit a button on the console before him and emptied the entire cargo bay into the vast, airless vacuum of space.

“The rubbers!” shouted the dockworker, his voice fading as he and his oxygen were sucked into the dark nothingness.

“Damn the rubbers!” exclaimed Captain Tyler. “I’ve got a new mission.”

“Oh, Jesus,” said the computer.

“I’m going to impregnate the galaxy.”

“But that means…” said the computer.

“We have to re-do – ha! – all of planets we already did.”

The computer sighed. “That is a terrible idea, Captain Tyler.”

“Yes, but it’s my idea.”

“Was that a defense?”

“Are we being attacked?”

The computer sighed again.

“Get Dr. Porn up here, ASAP,” commanded the captain.

“He hates it when you call him that.”

“The man’s name is Siriporn Porniviriyakul. What else am I going to call him?”

“Siri? Dr. Porniviriyakul?”

“That’s just stupid.”

The computer called for Dr. Porniviriyakul over the ship’s PA system. The doctor appeared shortly after, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. White boxer shorts with little red hearts on them.

“Yes, Captain Tyler?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Dr. Porn, glad you could make it.”

Dr. Porniviriyakul sighed, much like the computer.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, my name is…”

“Poppycock! I’ll call you what I want to call you. It’s my ship. If you don’t like it you can go join Johnson.”

“Who’s Johnson, sir?”

“He’s a dockworker, currently floating out there in the ether,” said the captain, thrusting his hand toward the bridge’s side window. “Hey, look! You can still see him!”

Captain Tyler waved at Senior Dockworker Johnson. Johnson continued floating through the vast nothingness.

“He always was a bit of a dick,” explained Captain Tyler.

“Why am I here, Captain?” asked Dr. Porniviriyakul.

“Because, Dr. Porn, I need your assistance. Due to a recent change in inventory, we’ve been granted a new mission. Our priorities have shifted.”