Space Pirate: A Story [Part 2]

By Darth Nat 2004

Part II: The Meal of Champions

In the infinity of space, there are more types of beings than you can shake a stick at. These beings vary in all aspects. For example, there are the Tripatians, who have three arms, three legs, and three heads, yet, surprisingly, they only have a third of a brain. Then, there are the Fuglings, whose reproductive organs are in the palms of their hands (not surprisingly, the handshake is strictly outlawed on their home planet until marriage. However, the national animal is the illegitimate child).

However, there is one race that is of particular interest. Imagine, if you will, a race even less intelligent than the Space Pirates, a race so infinitely stupid that it took them a millennia to learn how to walk, even though they are clearly bipedal creatures. In fact, they look very similar to a human teenager at adulthood, albeit a very stupid and obnoxious teenager.

Life was very cruel to the Gruglings, as they came to be known throughout the universe because they tended to say "grug" and little else. They were very unskilled and didn't excel at any type of trade. Yet, every being has to work, skilled or not. So a corporate executive somewhere in the universe came up with a great idea: he would think up the least desirable job requiring the least skill and employ the Gruglings to do it for next to nothing, since they were to stupid to know anything about economics. So, he began contemplating the perfect job for this race of pitiful morons. At first, he thought ditch-digging would suit them well, but decided against it since he could find stronger, yet slightly more intelligent, beings to do the job more efficiently. Then it hit him: fast food. The Gruglings would make the perfect fast food workers. It is well known throughout the universe that the one thing fast food isn't is fast, so the Gruglings could take as long as they wanted preparing the food at serving customers. Yes, the executive liked this very much. All they would need for job training would be to know how to say "Would you like fries with that?". So, almost overnight, the entire population of the Grugling homeworld, Grug, was employed as the cashiers, burger-flippers, and pizza delivery boys of the universe.

---

The search had been on for hours now, and still no sign of food. If they weren't hungry before, they were now, since thinking about food seemed to increase their appetites. They had turned lab Hydra upside-down looking for food, and had came across nothing but an old sock, some puzzle pieces, and Private Blurgar's wallet, all of which they wolfed down hungrily.

But, that hadn't kept them filled for long, and soon they were rummaging around again in hopes of finding food they had missed in their first search. Opening the mini-fridge, Corporal Slobberjaw was greeted by some cobwebs and Zorbak's snow collection, all 347 jars of them. "What happened to all our rations?" he asked furiously.

The other three Pirates looked at each other, then at Slobberjaw. "Um, sir, don't you remember?" Private Glormoth asked.

Suddenly, Slobberjaw remembered. It had been his first day stationed at Hydra, and he was giddy as a psychiatrist at a Schizophrenic convention. The looked around in awe at all the expensive looking equipment and strange scientific specimens.

The commanding officer at that time was Lieutenant Jones. Jones was always ridiculed for having such an extremely odd surname (note the following entry in the Space Pirate Dictionary of Really Big Words: Jones: 1. Steaming pile of poo, typically associated with Space Pirate military rations. 2. To have a kid with. More than one relationship has ended bitterly because of this single entry.), and because of this he had developed a particularly grisly attitude. In fact, Jones had grown to hate his own race. He found that every Space Pirate but himself was a bloody moron. In fact, he coined the following phrase when asked about the secret to success in the military: "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, then shoot them all." To Jones's disappointment, the motto never caught on. After joining the military in order to get away from the tedium of the local harmful chemicals plant, he quickly rose in the ranks and finally achieved Lieutenant. It was at this time he requested to be transferred to Hydra, assuming that the best and brightest of the Tallon IV troops were stationed there. However, upon arrival, he found himself surrounded by some of the most mind-numbingly dumb Space Pirates around. This only contributed to his disillusionment with his race. But, if life gives you lemons, you squirt the juice in someone's eye, he figured. So, he became the quintessential conman. He was gonna get everything he could out of those jerks at Hydra so he wouldn't feel that his time was a total waste. He had already succeeded in selling Tallon IV six times (a couple of the guys bought it twice after he started offering an all-day sucker to go with it).

The day that Private Slobberjaw arrived would be forever remembered as the worst day ever by Lieutenant Jones. He noticed Slobberjaw walk in the door and knew he would be trouble immediately. He had a look in his eyes like a spoiled kid in a toy store. Jones slowly rose from his hard and cold, yet somehow surprisingly comfortable, chair and slowly made his way down the catwalk toward the base floor of the lab.

Slobberjaw was still gawking at all the impressive looking stuff in the lab when Jones approached him. He saluted half-heartedly, as something in the distance had caught his eye. "You're Private Slobberjaw?" the Lieutenant said more as a statement than a question. Without waiting for an answer, he continued on speaking. "I'm Lieutenant Jones, commander of this facility." Slobberjaw hadn't heard a word he said, as he was too busy staring in awe at a small, green, jellyfish-like organism in a columnar glass container. Without speaking a word, he began to walk toward the container, his mouth wide open. "Hey, where are you going?" Jones asked angrily.

"Is that..." Slobberjaw stuttered. "Is that...is it...could it be? It is!"

"What is?" Jones asked, obviously irritated. "What are you babbling about? Jeez, this one can't even speak coherently... Why me!" He put special emphasis on the last statement, complete with an upward glance of pure contempt.

"It's a...Metroid!" Slobberjaw blurted out. "Can I touch it?"

Jones pointed to a notice on the Metroid's tank. Slobberjaw, squinting his eyes, read the notice. It went something like this: "Warning! Do not, under any and all circumstances, release the Metroid from this tank! To open this tank would mean suicide, or worse, death! So unless you want a poorly written letter and a box of stale chocolates sent home to mom and dad, don't open this container! Oh, and don't press the red button either."

Now, any psychologist will tell you that if you tell someone not to do something, it will only heighten their desire to do the very thing you told them not to do. You can try reverse psychology to eliminate this problem, but then there is always the smart-alec who will take you seriously. Because of this, the Space Pirates had practically done away with all warning labels of any kind. While deaths due to being sucked out of open airlocks decreased dramatically, even more Pirates died due to the consumption of rubber cement and attempting to use abnormally small beach balls as flotation devices. However, the guys who designed the Metroid container felt that this device deserved a warning label just to emphasize the point. Also, for an unknown reason, they decided to install a big red button on the container that would case the class casing to self-destruct. The engineers swear this has nothing to do with the fact that their superior happened to be co-owner of Buttons, Switches, and Other Things Not to Press Inc.

Slobberjaw could not take his eyes off of the shiny red button. It was perhaps the most perfect shade of red he had ever seen. It was so sleek, and had absolutely gorgeous curves. It seemed to call out to him in a sultry voice "Press me! Press me! Press me!" Small beads of sweat ran down Slobberjaw's face. He bit his lip. His right hand began to twitch. He desperately wanted to press the button. But what would happen if he did? He thought back to the warning label. Words like "suicide" and "death" floated through his mind. Eh, they didn't sound too bad. With childlike glee, he pressed the big red button. The glass tube holding the Metroid shattered, and the Metroid bobbed out into the room.

For a brief moment, there was silence. In what seemed like slow motion, everyone in the lab turned around and looked at the Metroid. In the next moment, only Slobberjaw and Jones were left standing in the room. The doors closed with a particularly menacing noise. Jones looked as if his life were passing before his eyes and beating him silly on the way through. His eyes had become so large it was amazing that they hadn't exploded from his head and bounced around the room like deranged pinballs. Slobberjaw simply stood beside the shattered tube, shaking with excitement and being close to a real-life Metroid. Suddenly, the gravity-defying creature shot forward, latching on to Jones's face. The silence was broken by his screams of "OUCH OW GET IT OFF MY GOD IT HURTS MY BRAINS ARE BEING SUCKED OUT BY A COFFEE STRAW AND I CAN'T FEEL MY LIVER!"

Slobberjaw simply watched as Jones ran around the lab screaming various curses and crying for his mother. He clawed at the Metroid and beat it with his fists, but it was firmly latched on to his face. Suddenly, he cried out "Are you just gonna stand there and watch or are you gonna try to get this thing off of me?!"

"Oh, right," Slobberjaw said rather casually. He glanced around the lab in search of something he could use to help Jones. Strangely enough, he found a lone crowbar sitting by itself in a dark corner of the lab. Brandishing this weapon, Slobberjaw began to pummel the Metroid on Jones's face. Jones didn't seem to enjoy this very much, as he responded with some very strong curses not fit for casual conversation. Realizing that this plan of attack wasn't working, he looked around the lab again while he pondered on a new plan. He generally ignored Jones when he repeatedly yelled out "Food! Use the food! Metroids blow up after eating to much! For the love of God man, feed the thing!"

Suddenly, Slobberjaw had a brilliant idea. He would find some food, and feed the Metroid until it exploded! It was such a great plan, Slobberjaw wondered how he thought it up. No matter, he decided, and noticed a rather large refrigerator against of of the walls. He threw open the door, and there greeting him was the largest stash of military rations he had ever seen. Taking on of the bars, labeled "Yummy Patties! All the nutrition of a three-course meal in one fun to eat bar! May cause diarrhea or abdominal pain. Ask your doctor before eating if you are pregnant, nursing, or have sensitive taste buds. Any injury caused by this bar is solely the responsibility of the consumer." Slobberjaw griped the bar tighting, and proceeded to fling it at the Metroid. It bounced off the Metroid with a comical "Boing!" sound. The Metroid detached from Jones, and began to suck on the spot of floor where the Yummy Patty lay. It grew a tiny bit larger, but the change was so little Slobberjaw could hardly tell anything had happened at all. Nevertheless, he began chucking the bars out of the fridge at a brisk pace. The Metroid happily began to suck away at the rations, leaving Jones in a pitiful mass on the floor.

After what seemed like half an hour, Slobberjaw ran out of food to throw at the Metroid. It had grown to enormous proportions, and began to hover lazily around the room. It bobbed toward the crumpled mass that was Lieutenant Jones, and flopped down on top of him. With one final suck, the Metroid popped. Now, most people prefer to say that Metroids "explode" when they suck too much energy, but that is really not the correct term. Pop, however, fits the phenomenon perfectly. The Metroid popped like a balloon, small shards of it flying across the room. Nothing of Lieutenant Jones remained buy a rather large, Metroid-shaped stain on the floor. Strangely enough, a cleaning crew emerged from seemingly nowhere and began to mop up the mess.

But the story doesn't end there. Upon reviewing this incident, the Space Pirate Military High Council had a difficult decision to make. Should they court marshal him? He had just gotten out of basic training. It would be a terrible waste to court marshal him at this point. But, killing your CO was a pretty big crime. So, they decided to promote him instead. After all, how could he possibly be stupid when he managed to indirectly kill his CO and eliminate the squad's entire provisions of nearly inedible Yummy Patties at the same time?

So that's what happened to all the food, Slobberjaw thought as he looked in the empty refrigerator. Closing the door, he turned to the others and said "So, who's up for pizza?"

There were no objections from the others, so Slobberjaw took it upon himself to dial up Greasy Gus's Pizza on a Pan. The phone rang a few times, and then an obnoxious sounding voice said "Greasy Gus's, providing hospitals with heart attack victims for twenty years."

"Hi there, we'd like... Say, what toppings do you guys want on the pizza?" Slobberjaw asked, holding his hand over the phone.

"I want extra Crocomire toe cheese!" Private Blurgar exclaimed.

"How about some Zoomer spikes?" Gormoth asked.

"No, those give me indigestion," Slobberjaw said.

"I kinda like peppered Kihunter bits," said Zorbak.

"Yeah, those aren't bad at all," Slobberjaw said. "Anything else?"

"How about some sauteed mushrooms?" Gormoth said.

"Ew, no one eats mushrooms on a pizza," Blurgar said with a disgusted look on his face.

"Yeah, where did you come up with that wild idea?" Slobberjaw said. "Mushrooms, what next? Next thing you know people will be putting sausage or something like that on their pizzas..."

"Ask for a couple gallons of Kraid Kola," said Zorbak. "Everyone likes that."

"Alright," Slobberjaw said. "Is that it?"

"Oooh oooh! Ask for some breadsticks! You know, the kind with herbs and spices baked into it!" Blurgar licked his lips.

"Alrighty then," Slobberjaw said, uncovering the phone. "We would like one Ultra Mega Large Greasy Heart Stopper Special, with extra Crocomire Toe Cheese and peppered Kihunter bits, some bread sticks, and four gallons of Kraid Kola."

"Will that be all?" the Grugling asked.

"Yeah."

"Alright, I've got one Ultra Mega Large Heart Stopper Special with extra Crocomire Toe Cheese and Geemer sauce and..."

"Whoa whoa whoa... We don't want any Geemer sauce. I said peppered Kihunter bits."

"Oh, yes, of course. Alright, I've got one Ultra Mega Large Heart Stopper Special with peppered Kihunter bits and Twin Tabula turnip slices and..."

Slobberjaw was a bit annoyed by this point. He couldn't take it any more. "JUST BRING US ONE WITH EVERYTHING ON IT!" He shouted into the receiver and slammed the phone down. "Sheesh," he said, "what an obnoxious guy. Some people just never follow directions. I just can't relate to those types of people, since I am a strict military man after all."

Now that the pizza was ordered and the Campaign against Hunger well underway, the evening festivities could finally begin...