Space Gods: The New Generation

"Captain's blog, Stardate eleven point six point forty-three point twelve point three-thousand," the captain typed out loud for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. "We have drifted far off course due to our Conn, walking GoBot Mister Matrix, forgetting to turn on the autopilot when he got off shift last night, so excited was he to hit the ship's bar, The Watering Hall, before the end of Happy Hour. And so, we find ourselves deep in Romann space, desperate to find our way back to Planet Club territory without drawing the attention of our sworn enemies."

"Captain on the brink!" announced Mister Matrix, in that funny way he had, as the captain entered the bridge.

"At ease," the captain announced to everyone, all of whom were already taking it pretty easy. "Mister Matrix, what is our current heading?"

"We are headed toward the HEPA quadrant at a heading of 'Hauling Balls' sir, as per your orders," answered the well-hung android Mister Matrix, who looked exactly like a human except for his boxy metallic body and accordion-like arms.

"Very well, Mister Matrix," the captain approved. "What is the status of the crew, Miss Mude?"

"The crew is very irritable, captain," ship's counselor and purported empath Cherilynn Mude replied. "This is not a good time to bother the crew."

"Are you sure it's not just the… crew's time of the month, counselor?" the captain inquired.

"Don't start with that shit, sir," Mude ended the discussion.

Suddenly, out of fucking nowhere, a Romann ship materialized on the viewscreen. It resembled a frigate from Earth's eighteenth century, only the sails were black for space camouflage.

"E-zounds!" shouted the captain. "It's a…" the captain paused and waited patiently.

"A Romann warship, captain," lietenant Dorn added, finally.

"Exactly," confirmed the captain. "Open a shouting channel."

"BOOP" said lieutenant Dorn, pressing a button.

"Romann bird of prey, I am Captain Pepe LeBlanc," announced the captain. "Of the Planet Club's Elantra."

As if in response, the Romanns fired their space catapult, peppering the Elantra with big-assed space rocks.

"Damage report!" shouted the captain, seemingly to himself.

"Casualties on decks nine and forty-seven," Security Chief Dorn answered. "And an ensign on deck eight has a snuggy."

"A snuggy?" the captain queried.

"Yes, sir. That's when the crack of one's ass is invaded by underwear."

"Oooh!" cringed the captain. "I hate that! Dispatch an emergency medical team at once!"

"Aye-aye, captain." Dorn answered.

"And see the speech therapist on deck ninety-six about that stuttering problem, lieutenant," the captain finished.

"…" Dorn replied.

"All hands to battle stations! Ready the electric torpedoes, Mister Dorn. Lock onto the Romann warbird. Aaaand… Hold up! Gotta take a piss!" the captain announced, jogging off to a special room off the bridge where the crew's waste was transported out of their bodies and into Romann space.

"Okay, back!" the captain returned. "Where were we? Oh, right. Fire at will!" At which point the Security Officer Dorn shot first mate Will Ferrill at point blank range with his phaser, cutting Ferrill in half.

"Woah! Holy space-fuck!" shouted the captain. "The Romanns, Dorn, the Romanns! And somebody get a swifter in here to take care of number one. I'll be right back, I need to take care of number two," and the captain once again disappeared into the shit room.

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