The dread Kneumsi awoke with a minor start and fluttered his eyes open. His pupils darted around the room, a utilitarian, gunmetal-grey chamber with occasional rust blossoms being the closest thing to decorations or décor the bland-ass cell had to offer.
Experiencing a moment of unfamiliar panic at his lack of recognition of his surroundings, Kneumsi’s heart began to beat faster and he sat up quickly in his small cot, which was affixed to the gunmetal wall with rusty chains that shook slightly with his movement. A tired female voice broke through the ambient, vaguely motor-oriented sounds and the slowing rhythm of the screech of the chains. "Dammit, Kneumsi, could you please not shake the bed? It’s bad enough that I have to share a bed with you at all, but if I can’t even sleep in it? Fuck!"
Kneumsi turned his head and recognized the woman lying on the thin plank next to him and reality came rushing back in. "Zantorion the Conqueror’s yacht. Shit… I’m still only on Zantorion The Conqueror’s yacht. Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in San Diego. When I was there after my first Thanksgiving Turkey, it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word-"
"GAAAAAAAAAAAH! No Martin Sheen impressions. It’s too fucking early in the fucking morning for Apocalypse fucking Now!" the woman’s voice moaned in completely justified annoyance with the critic.
"BLASPHEMER!" he shouted, and then, "Fine… if you can’t handle the classics.", Kneumsi muttered and laid back down next to his bedmate and proceeded to curl up around her romantically and run his hand up her arm to her shoulder.
She responded with a slow, stationary roll to face him and look directly into his eyes. Instead of a bad-breath kiss from his pillow pet, Kneumsi received an annoyed slap on the face from Flynn. "How many times do I have to tell you it’s never going to happen? Just no."
"You know, maybe we did already and you just… forgot?"
"Not something I’m likely to forget!"
"That wasn’t a compliment."
"Well, you know-"
Flynn barked, "That we’re literally the only two human beings on this entire ship? And what if we’re forced to breed the next generation of humanity? I’m gay. And even if I wasn’t, I’d like to think I could do a little better than you!"
"Yes, you are LITERALLY the LAST MAN on this ship… and I’m still not interested. I’m only even here because Zantorion the Conqueror asked you who you wanted for company and I was, inexplicably, the first person to pop into your head."
"Hey, I’d change that if I could!" Kneumsi said, sitting up, holding his fiery cheek and watching Flynn get out of bed to get dressed. "Where are you going?"
"To get some shawarma.", Flynn said as she donned her futuristic clothes. "We don’t have that in my century and it’s delicious."
"Fucking vegetarians." muttered Flynn as she slammed the thick, alien alloy door with a big bang.
The fucking vegetarian in question rubbed his face and put on his own pants and boots (both of which were, ironically, leather) and exited the now-familiar chamber to chase Flynn down the equally drab and rusty hallway. He ignored the tattered, unfolded posters that read things like "Win Part of a Guitar" and "Speed doesn't kill... IMPACT DOES!" and "Full On Godhead!" and even the one that had the complete lyrics to the "I Can't Get Over Ovaltine" Jingle, including the rare, radio-only, musical bridge, all printed out in that nice, clean 2001 A Space Odyssey font (Kneumsi had learned to look away, as the ship didn’t have his Adderall and without it lyrics easily got stuck in his weird head… unfortunately the space ship didn’t have alcohol either). Shortly after Flynn’s own arrival, she had violently torn down the Village People poster that Zantorion the Conqueror’s crew had hung up, possibly out of spite. At least Kneumsi had HOPED it was out of spite, because… damn. As Kneumsi recalled, Flynn had first urinated upon and then incinerated the poster.
Zantorion’s Zeta-Reticulan Monsters of Doom, as Kneumsi called them, had a thing for Earth cultures.
"Flynn, wait!" Knuemsi shouted after her as he ran, melodramatically avoiding other aliens in the thin hall as if he was running down a high school hall between classes (although he smoked a lot of cigarettes in high school and probably wouldn’t have been much of a runner).
Flynn, who was dressed (probably intentionally on the part of their extra-worldly captors) almost exactly like Princess Leia in her Hoth gear (except for the braid, which Flynn simply refused), turned around in the hallway in mid-eyeroll and muttered a forceful "What!?" while slamming both fists down in frustration.
Kneumsi gave her a very direct look and said with a seriousness reserved for words said immediately after the phrase My Fellow Americans… "Have you seen my banjo?"
"No, seriously, I totally had it with me when I got abducted by these alien fucks. I was holding it by the neck-"
"No!" Flynn was starting to believe that the muscles in charge of rolling her eyes got the most workouts of any muscles in her body since this whole fiasco started. No, actually since she had first come across this Kneumsi guy in the history books in the first place. "And, yes, I know you were abducted with your banjo… the 2012 Thanksgiving Turkey was the last thing I read before I was abducted myself by these… wait, what did you call them? ‘Alien fucks’? Did you actually say that?"
"Yeah, you like that? I just need to make sure you didn’t piss on it and burn it like you did that poster of the-"
Flynn grabbed Kneumsi by the chin and dug her fingers into his cheeks. "Do NOT say the name of that ‘band’!" The way Flynn said "band" actually implied quotation marks. "And, trust me, being your roommate is difficult enough without hearing your vain attempts to play banjo. If I do find it… I’ll thank you for planting the seed of the idea to piss flame it."
"Okay, fine, but…"
"Can I have a hug?"
"Gah, no!" Flynn began to turn around and then turned on her heel to see Kneumsi’s puppy dog eyed look and she took the steps back to him and said "Aw, look… I’m sorry." Kneumsi smiled and put his arms out for a hug before Flynn could continue, saying "I forgot to give you this… it was waiting for you on the door."
With that, Flynn taped a folded rectangle of notebook paper to his forehead and kept walking. Speed-walking, actually. The lady really wanted her shawarma.
Kneumsi slowly opened the notebook paper, still baffled by the fact that a spacefaring race like those alien fucks would have enough technology to, in fact, BE spacefaring alien fucks, but would still use wood pulp torn out of spiral notebooks and taped to doors as their favorite method of non-oral communication. Scrawled, as Kneumsi knew it would be, in green Sharpie was the message "Zantorion the Conqueror will see you… now."
That’s the way these alien fucks talked, saying "he’ll see you now!", like it was a privilege Kneumsi was just waiting for, instead of "Get your ass into the head alien fuck’s office before we anal probe it and leave you in a field somewhere." For a split second, Kneumsi considered whether he would accept such a choice were it offered, but instead ran after Flynn.
"What do you want now, History’s Abortion?" (that was one of Flynn’s "pet names" for him).
"I gotta go to Zantorion’s office and it’s on the way, so…"
"So I get bothered. Okay."
Kneumsi smiled and nodded as he walked sideways next to her to keep her attention. "So, yeah, you brought up your abduction. How’d they do that, anyway? Aren’t we still in, you know, the present?"
"The present is relative, but if you mean 2013, I honestly have no clue, but I doubt it."
"Right, so how’d they do that? Is this spaceship a time machine, too, or something?"
Flynn was annoyed to discover that Kneumsi had found a subject that she was actually interested in and LIKED talking about. "Well, there is a certain amount of time travel involved in any space travel due to the time distortion of relative space… that is unless you use a Westinghouse-brand Time-Normalizing doohickey."
"All of your Westinghouse stuff has oddball names."
"Yeah, well, it’s an oddball future, partially thanks to you!" She watched while Kneumsi just blinked at her. "Anyway… Depending on how fast we’re travelling we can be anytime, anywhere."
"Yeah, I studied relativity, but you showed up like a day or two after I did, on account of Zantorion pulling your image out of my head."
Flynn interrupted, saying "Yeah, I’ve been meaning to really NOT thank you for that, by the way."
"So there’s no way this thing could move fast enough to span that many thousands of years to your time."
Flynn rolled her eyes again, stopped walking and turned to Kneumsi, saying, "Yeah, and they also serve shawarma and still use notebook paper… They’re a weird bunch of…" Flynn looked to the side, searching for the right term, "… alien fucks. My guess is, they have no idea how it works either, or they broke it or they have an ‘improbability drive’ or some such shit. But I’ll tell you what… I’m going to eat… and why don’t YOU go ask Zantorion yourself?"
With that, Flynn reached around Kneumsi and gave a few light raps on the gunmetal door behind him and he shut his eyes tightly at the realization that not only were they at the door to Zantorion’s conquering office, but that she had just been "kind" enough to alert the alien overlord (fuck) to Kneumsi’s presence.
"Come in!" came the booming voice, while Flynn smiled at Kneumsi and walked away, her stomach growling like a terrier when the doorbell rings.
Kneumsi staggered in and greeted Zantorion with a hearty "YOU SUCK!"
Zantorion the Conqueror, scourge of a thousand star systems bellowed with avuncular laughter and said "You never fail to crack me up, J.C., have a seat."
"I’d rather stand.", the captive critic growled.
The Conqueror stood up from behind his desk and peered around his inexplicable pile of paper and said "Well, this might take a while, you’ll get tired, buddy."
"I’m not your buddy, guy!"
"I’m not your guy, friend!" the menacing monster laughed heartily and informed Kneumsi that he, Kneumsi, did, in fact, "rule". Zantorion was weird.
Kneumsi unleashed his complaint. "Dude, why her? Why Flynn? And can you send her back, now? Maybe for someone else? Because there’s this Mendocinian cosita that I’ve had my eye-"
"I know, everybody knows. You shouldn’t have thought of Flynn right away if you wanted someone else.", Zantorion advised with a super-friendly smile. Zantorion the Conqueror looked an uncommon amount like the title character from The Creature from the Black Lagoon, but with a lot more clothes on… sort of like he looked in the sequels that everybody’s forgotten about.
"Come on. At least send ME back?"
"Well, I can’t do that, amigo. You’re here for a reason that hasn’t gotten started yet." the Z-man said and motioned for Kneumsi to sit down (which he did, this time, not out of obedience, but because he was burned out on standing). "Besides… I can’t really comply with your requests because… our Westinghouse-brand Space-Time Jumpy Thing is on the fritz and we don’t know how to fix it. I… kind of blew our best mechanic out an airlock or something."
"He probably deserved it."
"Oh, he totally did. But you owe me something, dude!"
"No… No, I don’t, you asshole. Did you say that I’m never getting home?"
"Don’t change the subject, ‘cause yeah, you do… Lay it on me, buster."
"You’re not leaving till you do."
Kneumsi gave a grim look at the floor and mumbled "Fine. Ask."
"Okay, so you’ve got Michael Jackson captaining a ship of space puppets…"
"Gah, not Captain EO questions again!", shouted Kneumsi.
Zantorion looked serious and nodded "Yes, yes… explain that thing. So he’s supposed to be the captain of a ragtag crew, but they’re also part of an interstellar alliance who thinks they’re a bunch of losers."
"In spite of the fact that everyone knows that they’re ‘the best’."
"I told you, it’s a completely nonsensical movie, man!"
"But then they go to other planets, transform themselves into musical instruments, so Jackson could dance and sing and turn the borgified inhabitants into dancers for his own cause?"
"So that was…"
"Ugh, okay, it was the Reagan era and everyone was still worried about fucking communism’s domino effect, so whether they meant to or not, George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola made a short film about invading other countries and converting them to American values by exporting our culture forcefully. And that’s ironic because, let’s face it… Angelica Houston looked better as a Borg Bitch than she did de-assimilated."
"Totally." Zantorion agreed. "Still, making Michael Jackson a part of a conquering Alien Force is pretty cool."
"No… it’s really not. The whole thesis is proven by the fact that the closing song is Jackson’s ‘You’re Just Another Part of Me’, which, in context, is an imperialist statement if there ever was one. I can’t believe they showed this at Disneyland."
"And I can’t believe it was made by the creators of Apocalypse Now and Star Wars!"
"Me neither. Ugh, I am loathe to ask this, but what other questions do you fucking have?"
"Yeah, shifting gears to that other movie. So… the whole film was a dream?", Zantorion the Conqueror asked with a wide-eyed, excited look.
"It depends on how you look at it.", Kneumsi responded. "Did Tom Cruise get disfigured in that car crash or was he dreaming the whole time? We don’t know!"
"But he wore a life mask of himself while Kurt Russell did his impression of Gregory Peck."
"But he looks nothing LIKE Gregory Peck."
"I know, Vanilla Sky made no sense."
"And when he took off the mask to reveal his deformity, he was totally okay looking?"
"Yes. Well, for Tom Cruise, anyway."
"The film made no sense."
"So you can’t explain this to me?"
"This is the reason you abducted me? To explain insane movies to you?"
"I tell you yes every time you ask that. So tell me again why Tippi Hedren didn’t play the same character in The Birds II as she did in The Birds?"
Kneumsi sighed. "Because it was a bad fucking movie, okay???"
Zantorion the Conqueror, whose name meant DEATH to a thousand galaxies sighed also and said "I don’t get it. Was the movie intended to be a loss for the studio so that they could collect insurance money?"
"No. Just… GAH, seriously? They don’t have bad movies where you’re from?"
"We don’t have movies at all… that’s why we abducted you!" Zantorion said in a pleasant voice that actually MIGHT have passed for Gregory Peck’s. "We wanted Roger Ebert, but he… died."
"Yeah…" Kneumsi said. "Yeah."
"Well you’re going to have to explain one more to us all."
Kneumsi’s eyes widened and he stood up slowly and dramatically, like one might in any soap opera to show the half-interested audience that something interesting was about to happen… so, half-interested audience… something interesting is about to happen.
"What do you mean?" Kneumsi asked with eyes the size of iPads.
"Oh, I’m sorry, did I not mention what day today is? Haven’t you kept up with your calendar?" Zantorion looked almost concerned… kind of like Jeffrey Combs’ character in Deep Space Nine.
"Time has no meaning here, right?"
"But you’ve been here for a full year and a week… that means… "
"It’s November 28th!"
"Yes… that means it’s…"
Kneumsi swallowed hard "Turkey Day?"
Zantorion smiled. "Yep. You’re hosting yet another of your Thanksgiving Turkeys... this time… in SPACE!"
Those last words echoed throughout the cacophonous office and if there had been a camera in the room, Zantorion surely would have quickly turned to gaze right into the lens because he was just that kind of melodramatic. Alien FUCK!
Before Kneumsi could, in fact, utter the words "Alien Fuck!" all four walls of Zantorion the Conqueror’s conquering office (still filled with inexplicable paper) were raised to the ceiling to the sounds of the opening notes of Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera, leaving Kneumsi (and Zantorion, who was snickering like Muttley) standing in the midst of a huge, gunmetal gray amphitheater… in… SPACE!
"Oh no." Kneumsi groaned.
"OH YES!" Zantorion exclaimed.
"Do I at least get to choose the Turkey?"
"Oh NO!" Zantorion laughed.
"Please tell me it’s Showgirls!" Kneumsi pleaded, finally looking almost bright.
"Nope!" Zantorion giggled as Kneumsi’s face fell, along with his crest (being, as you can imagine, crestfallen).
Suddenly the empty theater began to light up as familiar visages materialized all around Kneumsi. There was the butcher, baker, candlestick maker… the construction guy, Apache chief, cop and leather biker dude, Jeni, Lynelle, Shannon, Ricky, Roger, Ricardo (now going by his legally changed name of "James Dylan") and that new guy Keith Keesler. There was even a holographic image of…
"The TIME TENDER? How in the name of Timothy FUCK did he get here?" Kneumsi demanded, shaking his fists like a villain on a cheap cartoon.
Zantorion (still doing a really good Weyoun impression) explained "He’s not yet the Time Tender, but the bartender who will one day become the Time Tender."
"Understand, none of these here fuckers are actually here, man… they’re all astral projections from various points in the timeline."
The holographic image of Ricky groaned "Yeah, I’m an astral projection now… so THAT happened."
Detective Roger O’Malley grunted "Shut up, you!", clearly having been taken from a different time than Ricky had been… because as of 2012, when Kneumsi was last on Earth, Ricky and Roger were living together (though they were quick to explain "It’s not like that.").
Kneumsi reached forward and passed his hands through the avatars of Ricky and Roger, then Jeni, then Chief (who said "How"), then Connie, then Flynn… But Flynn was real, Kneumsi realized when she slapped his ass for touching Flynn’s right boob.
Kneumsi held his fiery cheek again and grunted. "Zantorion, dude, you have the technology to astrally project all these fuckers from their own timelines to whenever now is and you can’t figure out how to send me home?"
"It hasn’t been a priority for me, stupid… now would you please introduce the movie?"
And with those words, three things happened… The "roast beast" fell to the newly materialized table (along with all the fixin’s of course), a screen slowly lowered from the gunmetal grey ceiling and a boxing ring-style microphone descended from that same gunmetal grey ceiling and Kneumsi grabbed it reluctantly.
"Ladies and Germs." he said with a sour face. "It’s time for us all to enjoy the new… Wait, Zantorion… where’s the green bean casserole?"
Zantorion groaned this time. "Dude, NOBODY likes the ‘Grass and Booger Casserole’!"
"What? Yes, everybody loves that. it’s the best part of Thanksgiv-" but Kneumsi was stymied by the shaking heads of virtually every one of the stupid-looking astral projections around him. "You DICKS!" he muttered.
Then, straightening his shirt and clearing his throat, he continued…" And now it’s time for us to all enjoy the new, 2013 Thanksgiving Turkey which just happens to be…"
He paused, having no earthy (or not-of-this-earthly) idea what the stupid movie was supposed to be until another of Zantorion’s Alien Fuck minions walked up and handed him another folded mess of notebook paper (even more inexplicable than the last). Kneumsi unfolded the paper and chewed out the words "Goulies II? OH NO!!!"
Zantorion laughed that same avuncular laugh. "Yes, fucker. Ghoulies II… it… really, really, really sucks."
Kneumsi scoffed directly into the microphone. "Oh, yeah, forcing people to watch bad movies on a space ship… how original."
But before the crowd could agree or disagree with such a statement the lights went down and the screen was darkened by the proceedings of a so-called film. Kneumsi envied the patrons around him who were merely astral projections… What a boon for them.
Still, nothing could ease the pain of even the opening credits which followed a lame-ass carnival convoy limping its way to its new digs with the idiotic logo reading "Satan’s Den!"
But it wasn’t this vision that annoyed the crowd so damned much… it was the directing credit for…
"Albert Band?" cried out Jeni in shock.
Kneumsi understood. "Yes, this thing… this fucking THING… was directed by Charles Band’s father. I was as annoyed as you are."
The cop threw his virtual hands in the air and shouted "You mean the director of this film only got the credit because he was the producer’s DAD?"
Kneumsi rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You’re asking the wrong question. The appropriate query might be ‘why in the name of Timothy Fuck would Charles Band give his father the director’s chair at all?’"
Connie Struction spoke up and said "Dude, you’re totally off… Albert was a veteran director, actor, producer and writer. He directed Young Guns, you know."
Kneumsi threw himself across the room and got nose to nose with the apparition of Struction and hissed "He directed the 1956 film The Young Guns, not the cowboy flick that was any good. He also directed I Bury the Living, the Prehysteria flicks and that CLASSIC known as Dracula’s Dog!"
The mostly ghostly image of Connie Struction fell silent.
But the idiotic film progressed beyond the opening credits, which Kneumsi was furious about. Veteran actor Royal Dano was relegated to the position of something of a clown for the traveling show (name of "Uncle Ned"), while the goofy J. Dowling attempted to shift the entire focus of the traveling charade from scary crap to female mud wrestling.
"Now THAT I could watch!" Kneumsi smiled as the virtual crowd gave either laughs or groans as was appropriate.
Zantorion steepled his fingers in glee. It was kind of his "thing".
"Wait, what the fuck is THAT thing?", the Chief demanded as a stiff, ugly rubber puppet walked into eyeshot.
"Um… that’s a Ghoulie, man.", Kneumsi responded in the tone he might use when speaking to a small, dull child. "Didn’t you see the first Ghoulies?"
"GOD no!" the Chief admitted. "Charles Band is a DICK!"
But the cop stood up and barked "How could you call him a dick with his own plethora of classic b-movies? HOW?"
The Chief, who had learned to dislike that word again, scoured at the cop and said "Did you see Ooga Booga?"
The cop frowned. "Ah, yeah. He IS a dick!"
"That he is!" Kneumsi agreed. "But, look how the Groovy Ghoulies are infiltrating the carnival including the women’s mud wrestling ring. That’s entertaining, no?"
"NO!" the crowd shouted in unison, around their mouthfuls of stove top stuffing (instead of potatoes).
But the crowd continued to watch in rapt annoyance as the stupid stiff puppets with ugly-ass faces took over the Satan’s Den funhouse (now surrounded by half-naked chicks, not that it helped) and started to off people one by one in increasingly silly ways. "It’s like watching Gremlins crossed with Garbage Pail Kids, with a big bowl full of Critters thrown in for bad measure!" the Cowboy said with a sour face.
"The big difference there," Jeni pointed out "is that there was actual workable HUMOR in those films." She paused and said "Oh, my GOD, a Ghoulie is driving a bumper car?"
"Yes." Kneumsi pouted.
Lynelle noted one of the more action packed sequences and shook her head. "All hell is breaking loose at the carnival and it’s still boring?"
But the next scene shut her up… as Downing’s character stepped into the men’s room, sat on the toilet and made the ridiculous looking poster (for both films) a reality.
The crowd (virtual and not) called out in a loud, braying "EW!"
"Oh what the fuck are you making us watch?" someone shouted.
Zantorion glowed. "Tell them the tagline of the movie, Kneumsi."
Unhappily, Kneumsi did. "It was ‘Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the bathroom.’" he muttered with a look of disgust one might give to the words "turd sandwich".
"Oh, wait what the hell is that thing now?", Shannon asked in equal disgust.
"Apparently it’s a giant Ghoulie-eating demon that walks around in a stupid Godzilla-esque costume… moving almost as slow and stiff as those stupid puppets.", Kneumsi laughed.
"So they bring out a demon that eats Ghoulies and… thinks that’s a good thing? Isn’t it trying to eat people now?" Zantorion shook his head, actually even more confused.
"Yeah, this makes even less sense than Captain EO." Kneumsi agreed.
Even Zantorion looked nonplussed. "I chose THIS film?"
"Yes, yes you did."
Then as the "explosive finish" came, the entire crows groaned in a pained, pained, pained noise as if they were all seated on a Ghoulie-infested commode.
"That was IT?", Lynelle asked. "I swear, this is the LAST time I ever interdimensionally time travel astrally to watch a bad movie with you, jerk!"
"Have you seen my banjo?"
Astral Lynelle (with kung fu grip) pointed into the corner and said "Yeah, there it is."
Kneumsi’s eyes widened. "Aw, wow, THANKS!" and ran to go get it.
"Oh GOD!" said non-astral Flynn (still with kung fu grip).
"What?" asked Kneumsi. "Zantorion never lifted up the walls before."
Kneumsi then grabbed the microphone (in his non-banjo hand) and asked the crowd the one thing he hated to ask this time around "Any…. Any… any questions?"
The crowd erupted in a rabble and began to shout out questions like:
"So who the hell was that Larry kid?"
"What was the point of having Paul Fondacaro’s character spouting Shakespeare all the time?"
"Who was that chick Nicole and why didn’t she get naked?"
"What color underwear are you wearing?"
"What was that bullshit intro from the beginning with the priest in the corrosive liquid thing?"
And Kneumsi shouted out his morosely informed answers:
"That was Damon Martin, he was supposed to be Royal Dano’s character’s kid… in spite of that character’s naming as ‘Uncle Ned’."
"To make his characterization as a carnival dwarf much more dignified. Not that it worked. Band made Phil look like an under-acting goof and the character name of ‘Sir Nigel Pennyweight’ didn’t help either."
"That was Kerry Remsen from Pumpkinhead and some other stuff. I think she had it in her contract that whenever possible she’d be in Mom Jeans."
"I’m actually… not."
"Lame wasn’t it? I think they just wanted to ‘show off’ the flying Ghoulie for some reason beyond sanity… it was a pretty bad prop."
The crowd was angry. Flynn was dejectedly munching on roast beast and cranapple sauce, though she was still full from shawarma.
"Now does anyone want to hear a song on the Banjo?"
The entire crowd shouted "NO!"
"Well, Happy Thanksgiving Turkey 2013 anyway!" Kneumsi smiled, thinking of all the people on Earth lining up outside of dinner theaters they thought he’d be at and how stupid they’d be feeling soon. "I hope you all enjoyed this year’s Thanksgiving Turkey… IN SPACE, no less. And never forget that on WorldsGreatestCritic.com a "Turkey" is known as a DOG! So you all just swallowed a big bowl full of-"
But Kneumsi’s last words were cut off as the entire ship shook with a quaking blast, the likes of which Flynn’s full stomach soon would be.
Zantorion stood up from his wooden chair as the still inexplicable papers flew all over the place. He was shocked. "Who DARES?" he said… an obvious choice, to be sure.
The live crowd of alien fucks from various conquered worlds scrambled and ran while Zantorion’s own Zeta-Reticulan Monsters of Doom suited up in armor to give back to the melee force that was attacking the stupid ship.
The astral avatars also ran around for shelter, which made no sense whatsoever as they were actually just avatars with no corporeal bodies on this plane. Those smart enough to realize this just stood there and watched or laughed at the others as shrapnel and pieces of the stupid bulkhead passed through them. In case you’re wondering, the artist one day to be known as the Time Tender was NOT one of the smart ones.
As more and more damage was done to the ship’s systems, more and more of the astral avatars blipped out and the room got progressively darker.
Kneumsi and Flynn ran to hide behind the shawarma counter and Flynn reached up to grab a chunk of the meat and munched on it. Kneumsi looked at her as if to ask if this was the time or place and she just shrugged at him.
Through the viewscreen, they could make out an armada of white space fighters with red trim attacking in force. Zantorion shouted orders, but having spaced his mechanic and not knowing exactly where or when they were, the conqueror was outmatched and outnumbered. And to think, all he wanted was to watch a cheesy movie on Thanksgiving.
At last the bulkhead was ripped open and one of the fighters broke through and its wings folded back to allow the small craft to land. An armored figure in the same white with red trim motif that his ship sported bounded out and fired several laser blasts. Spying the shawarma booth and recognizing that goofs like Kneumsi and Flynn might hide there, he rushed over, covering himself with laser blasts and put out a friendly hand.
"I’m here to rescue you!" the voice said from behind the breathing mask.
Behind him, Zantorion was shouting "Sieze him, and get them. I want the critic ALIVE!"
Hearing this, Flynn nodded and took the hand of the rescuer and Kneumsi followed, ducking the maelstrom of laser blasts and rushing to the ship like Hawkeye from the intro to M*A*S*H (albeit still holding his banjo the whole time).
"Wait!" Flynn shouted with wide-eyes.
"What?" shouted Kneumsi.
Flynn backtracked, jumping over bodies and sidestepping bulkhead fragments until she reached their previous hiding place. She grabbed the shawarma skewer with the big barrel of meat still looking great and rushed back to the ship.
Seeing Kneumsi’s incredulous look, she said "What? This stuff is delicious!"
The craft sealed itself and the rescuer lifted off and backed out of the hole, while Zantorion’s troops chased and fired after them.
And as the armada hit light speed, quiet returned to the big room. Zantorion’s troops and his friends stopped firing and just stood there.
"Well SHIT, just SHIT!" Zantorion screamed. "Oh this is great, this is just fucking GREAT, man. Fuck!" He just shook his head in annoyance for a while and said "Worst Thanksgiving EVER. I mean, it’s going to take me forever to sort out all these papers!!!"