Space Brats
In the latest installment and continuing
banal saga of our priggish, incompetent, and silk swaddled space
hero, 'Rusting Scrap', we find him totally frustrated and peevish,
seething in squid-like anger at the obnoxious and sniveling clump
of pre-pubescent worshiping syncophants thwarting his every effort
to save the universe with graceless fortuity. He is finally driven
to launch them spaceward on flaming lawn darts where they land
on a planet lately inhabited by Pearl and her cohorts in nefarious
scientific atrocities.
One look at this pulsating clot of brats, shrill with witless
drivel, driven by a clumsy esprit de corps, tells Pearl she has
met her match, and she has the presence of mind to peal out for
the Club Medusa galaxy where she can watch Agar tapes and swill
Bud by the keg. Bobo, not quite as agile, is abducted and pressed
into service as a landlocked leviathan suitable for harpooning
who can escape only by disguising himself as a jumbo hairball.
This leaves Brain Guy who, totally averse to humanity at any stage
of evolution, as the only logical babysitter, to which he demurs
heartily, but not fast enough before finding his brain ogled like
a blueberry snow-cone and himself catapulted about like a box
kite, with only enough psychokinetic energy left to beam the little
varmints aboard the Satellite of Love. And so our story begins.......
You can imagine the reception given to these unusual and somewhat
disturbing little gnomes. Servo performs introductions all around,
Mike offers a manly greeting, Cambot records for posterity, while
Gypsy, her maternal instincts animated, immediately begins chortling
with glee. However, all this effusive greeting serves only to
assure the little monsters that they are in no immediate danger,
and they then proceed to loot and pillage at will.
First stop is the hydroponics lab where, assumed to be a giant
ramen factory, they weedwack and manifest a swinish gluttony unknown
for parsecs. Reversing the airlock and movie sign controls by
transposing logrithmic inversions, the resulting turbulence sends
everything not nailed down flying about in indistinguishable flurries
and, unlinking external torsion, causes the ship to glance off
a quasar and sets it shuddering like a badly balanced washer on
'spin'.
Taken in hand by Gypsy, her gentle nature prevailed upon, they
turn her into a traveling sushi bar and koi pond. Emboldened by
this triumph, the boys use Cambot as a soccer ball, invade Servo's
closet, replacing their vaguely upsetting knickers with neon bell
bottoms accentuated with Cher and Dolly Parton wigs. Immediate
inspiration comes upon them, and they commence to kareoke in shrieking
little tones, bringing acute hearing loss and cerebral hemorrhages
throughout six systems.
Our leader Mike, tethered and reduced to shoveling dark matter
out the cargo access port, watches in horror as the demonic tykes
practice extreme origami with storage boxes, ship's specs, his
voluminous memoirs, and end up testing various spitball trajectories
with Servo's dome as ground zero. Hungry once again, the boys
test their culinary skills and concoct a tempura delicacy consisting
of one-third saki and two-thirds nanites. The result, smelling
like sludge at low tide, attracts our interstellar friend Krankor,
who offers to either adopt or purchase this foul cherub heap,
and reduce them to bondage for use as detonation caps in an unscrupulous
attempt at quelling rebellions on his home planet. Mike and the
'bots think long and hard about this offer but, to their credit,
reject the temptation, resigning themselves to martyrdom.
Meanwhile, up in the dark recesses of the SOL, languid but astute,
is our molybdenum savior Crow T. Robot who, watching with mixed
mirth and alarm, has decided to rectify the mayhem by a thoughtful
application of revelation and extortion, turning a chaotic situation
into one advantageous for everyone. He begins by informing the
little party crashers that they could easily be returned to their
parasitic, resented, and anonymous existence in the human ant-hill
unless they start behaving, painful and heretofore unattempted
as that might be.
With minimal circumspection and malleable cunning, the boys immediately
reevaluate their position, their precarious status, and agree
it is best to do as Uncle Crow says. For the remainder of their
summer vacation, everyone spends time shining and refitting the
SOL until it looks like a freshly minted celestial palace, play
charades, dress funny, give vivacious speeches regarding the glories
of time, space, and maturity, watch 'Godzilla' 4,387 times, and
even broadcast 'Mighty Joe Young' and 'Congo' to pacify the hugely
offended Bobo. Crow's reward for fabricating this immediate and
felicitous orbital harmony is to finally possess the endless supply
of golf caddies that he's always wanted.