Hand Shandy

Condensation dripped onto the gleaming black marble floor of the papal bathroom, sending ripples across a pool of sudsy bath water which shimmered in the reflected light of a thousand candles lining the similarly black marble walls of the cavernous chamber. Pope Danzig reclined in his sunken bath and gazed upwards at the clouds of steam and incense partially obscuring the bas relief frieze depicting The Fall of Man in, for dramatic effect, black marble against his bathroom ceiling, and sighed, allowing his eyelids to droop as he contemplated the recent demise of his foe. Word of Beefheart's death had reached him within moments of the martyrdom of the entire VII Fleet at what would come to be known as the Holy Battle of Port Salut, and had come as something of a disappointment. That his arch enemy should die an ignomineous but swift death due to a mechanical failure rather than a slow, agonising death at the inquisitorial hands of Mother Church Inc. pained Danzig. Oh yes, he had spe...

Beefheart sat in stunned silence for a moment, jaw gaping, searching for a suitable opener. "- ", he began, then stopped. "Uh...", he ventured. "OK", shrugged the doppelganger. "We'll start. We have assumed this form partly to conceal our true nature from you, but also partly to get your attention. We brought you here for a reason and we went to great lengths to make sure no one else would know where you were so we'd have enough time to tell you what you need to know before we send you back." He smirked at Beefheart and took a long drag from his cocktail. "Back? ...from the dead...?" slurped Beefheart through his own drink. His gaze drifted toward the ocean and the two naked giggling figures splashing in the surf. "But maybe I like being dead...." His train of thought was rudely disrupted by being slapped hard across the face. Head swimming, he dragged his attention back to the sight of his own face glaring angri...

In these enlightened times, most right thinking persons (as opposed to " Right" thinking") were against the killing of sentient or even semi-sentient beings for pleasure. There were, of course, a few exceptions and the hunters were quite vociferous in their opposition to laws banning the killing of other life forms solely for personal gratification. Politicians, lawyers and activists wrangled for centuries until at last a solution was arrived at which all concerned finally - however grudgingingly - agreed to. The rationale was this: If the hunters want to hunt, let them - but let them hunt each other. There were a few token voices of dissent but secretly even the hunters were overjoyed. At last, they would get to waste someone with a gun and no one would call a bad on them. And so it began, the great Hunting Forest Reserve planets of Ursa Major. The rules were simple: 1. To avoid anyone gaining a tactical advantage, all hunters were to carry biometrically tagged weapons ...

Momentarily blinded by the exhaust of yet another Arcturan Porn Freighter, Beefheart instictively threw up his hand to protect his eyes and was so startled to actually see his own hand he flung himself backwards into - to his further shock - a sandbank. Looking down at his own body which had been so noticeably absent from view for the past three days, Beefheart found it as disconcerting as if he had encountered a corpse in his bed and scuttled backwards across the sand in a futile attempt to escape it, stopping abruptly seconds later as his back hit an immovable obstacle. Sweating, heart racing, Beefheart closed his eyes for the first time in three days and forced himself to breathe normally, relishing the sensation. Gradually he allowed his awareness to expand beyond his own panic to begin to take in his environment. Warm sand. Cool breeze. Salty smell. Good start. He opened his eyes cautiously and, squinting against the glare, took in the vista before him. From the surf line twenty y...

Inside the nearby Doom Bringer, WhiteBoyBob's chin dropped to his chest as he expelled a deep sigh of beery air, almost as if deflating himself into the bucket seat of the cockpit. Suddenly he thrashed upwards and outwards at every random surface he could find, punching, slapping, mashing and bellowing forth a primal scream as he did so. The various consoles began to error and bleep their warnings at him as lights flashed on and off wildly in his eyes. He slumped back in his seat again, exhausted from the outburst, but not feeling much better for it either. "I ca'nt believe he's....gone!" He stuttered whilst wafting the smell of electrical burning away from his face. A small navi console to his right sparked randomly, it's screen rolling and parallaxing in hues of grey and green. Another stern whack stopped that though. It was almost a tear-worthy moment if it had'nt been for the emotio-empathy-inhibitor he had fitted years ago during his time as a mercena...

Cheyenne rambled on about power surges over the coms but everyone on the bridge had fallen silent. They were all slowly processing what had just occurred. Piebeard fell to his newly reconnected knees and his head sank low. His spiritless body was supported only by Ubermilf’s leg. She patted his head as reassuringly as she could, while wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “So you see, Captain,” Cheyenne continued, “we’re really no worse for the wear. How would you like to…” Ubermilf cut him off. “Cheyenne, report to the bridge immediately.” He protested “But the engines are…” “NOW, Cheyenne!” He did not protest this time he simply said, “yes ma’am” and headed for the bridge. -- Cheyenne arrived on the bridge to find everyone silent and staring either at the captain’s chair or at nothing in particular. He walked over to Lieutenant Milf, Piebeard still heaped at her side. “Ma’am, what’s going on? Where’s Captain Beefheart?” She pointed to the scorch marks that permeated the ca...

Beefheart rolled his eyes and sighed deeply in an exagerated attempt at nonchalence, while Piebeard's console glowed a lurid mauve and in a breathy, porn star voice announced, "Danger, Seaman Piebeard incapacitated! ...mmmmm.... releasing nanobots.....now.......ooohhh...!" The purple haze of glowing nanobots dispersed from their holding pattern around Piebeards seat and swarmed towards his unconcious form. Though battle hardened, each of the bridge crew studied his or her own console with a furious intensity and fought as a man to hold down their breakfasts as Piebeard's legs - suffused with the deep red glow of the nanobot cloud - straightened themselves. Bones crunched back into place and tendons squealed and grew together as the unfortunate pirate's knees returned to a more conventional configuration. "...Mmmm..." came a muffled moan from beneath the main view screen, "...dat's nice....fank'ou very much...." Piebeard grinned with a ...