Posted by NL on August 10, 2005 at 14:30:04:
Hyperspace Is Just A Place, And I Don't Go There Anymore
There's nothing really wrong with me. Some say I'm confused at times, and I'd even say that I'm confused, at times, but most of the time my brain is keen as the edge on a knife, well-sharpened and fitted with a hilt well-shapen to the hand-- something I think about when the jets are especially noisy, down when I'm taking a bit of a nap down among the black back bulkheads of TechTow Two, that tug of space. My name is Spaceman Bout, and I'm a Secret Agent. Terran High Command faked my Spacer Papers, you see, and got me signed aboard Tech Tow Two, that tug of space, to snoop and pry and get the goods on the crew and especially the Captain, Captain Bout by name. We were not in space but a sleep-cycle or two when I had the deepest suspicions. Things were not right. The First Mate, a man named Bout, and a shifty, dodgy, edgy, wily type he was, smelled suspiciously one day of Pookah Leaf, that Scourge Of The Solar System. Pookah leaf, dredged up from the deep ice-covered oceans of Europa, dried, pulverized, smoked or snorted, proved highly addictive as well as disorienting. Yeah, it was Pookah Leaf that caused many grave misunderstandings, many derelictions of duty, many crimes too numerous to mention, once it got loose in the Sol System, transported around the colonized planets by vessels much like Tech Tow Two, ostensible scavengers or mere humble transporters of humble cargoes, like oil of bob, caffee-caffee, hootch, spam, shoeblack, tintops, shortbread and biscuits and bacon, rosehips, and butch wax, cargoes much desired by the poor ravaged, brain-washed, diseased and dying colonists. Comic books, and coloring books, and snuff films, and transmission fluid. That's the sort of thing a wholesome colony runs on, and not the ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf, that, once snorted, smoked, or rubbed on any part of the body, render one confused and all pleasures equally fungible. That's what we were paid to combat, lest the great work falter, lest the Pookah Leaf alter, man's glorious destiny in space. Destiny! In Space! In space, you could do anything! It was only in space that the snuffporn industry really took off, and I've heard it said and I really believe it too, that a woman murdered in space finds the experience really not that bad, not bad at all, and in fact quite pleasant, and any prolonged fucking of the corpse that might go on afterwards, why, that's not so bad, they say, those dead ones, and what the fuck anyway because life on a colony world is such unmitigated horror, yes, by all means, go out with a garrot around your throat and a swollen cock rammed up your dead twat, because it was all fucking meaningless anyway. Destiny! In Space! I turned one day to the Second Mate, a man named Bout, just as he blew his nose and begrimed his great mustaches with a great bout of snot, green and pearly gobbets, and he said to me, he said-- this is what he said and never shall I forget it: Ah, gods, why oh why do we do it, eh? Eh? The call of the stars, that's what it is! Flame-flung the burning balls mount the black walls of doom and so we follow, we mere men, we mere mortals. And with the sleeve of his Second Mate's uniform he wiped his great mustaches, transferring pearls of dew from upper lip to sleeve, and I had to say something, so I said: yeah, I guess you're right. Just then the claxon sireeeeen blew and a man named Bout, I think, ran burning and screaming through the room, a room that smelled strongly of the ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf. I thought to myself, if these people really are all fucked up on Pookah Leaf, well, that would explain a lot. But I couldn't be sure. Just then the Captain, Captain Bout himself, called us all into his cabin. It was quite a squeeze, let me tell you. We could barely breath in there. Men, Captain Bout said, you have no doubt noticed something strange about our mission. Uh Oh. Yes, men, back a while ago when we took off from Space Wheel Two, and chanted that chant of Destiny! In Space! (Ignite the stern jet! Fire the intestinal flare! It's to space I go, not on a whim, but on a dare!) and we all felt so good about life in general, or, at least, I know I did, and men, while we are at it let us all thank the gods, especially the great Walladoobie, that we are not being exiled, yet, on any great horrible big stinking hellhole colony planet (all cheer) you might have thrilled at the pulse of the jets the throb of the rocket's rumble and had sexual thoughts. You are forgiven. It is, afterall, part of the lure, the allure, the call, of the burning balls in the void, beckoning us poor men on and onward, upward and outward toward our inevitable Destiny! In Space! Yaaaay! Weeeee! But there is something else seriously wrong. And that is that we have been chosen by Solar Authority to test out a new sort of space drive, a thing called a hyper-drive, that, if it works, will propel us into a place called hyperspace, where, if it be proved true, the snuffporn industry may prosper as never before! Yes, I think hopes are very high that any and all varieties of necro/snuff/porno films can be created in hyperspace, which, we are hopeful, will prove to be a space much like any other space, and not to be feared. All I have to do, Captain Bout continued, is to push this button sewn on to the lapel of my uniform, a thing I was supposed to have done privately and in secret, but as you all must know, I eschew all privacy and secrecy, and lo, you have even seen me pulling my meat in front of you, at all hours, stroking the rocket of lust to the beat of the snuff films you have all seen flashing upon the dilated pupils of these my very eyes, or eyen, from hidden projectors all around us, cleverly concealed. I have no secrets and think it only just and even merciful to make these confessions to you, on the eve of the first great ascent into hyperspace, where, surely, all norms as we have known them shall be stripped from us. And acts and thoughts and deeds once regarded as unthinkable will seem quite OK, and not really so bad. At least, so we hope. So we believe. Remember what happened to the snuffporn industry once we slipped the surly bonds of gravitus, or graviton, and flung our seed flameflung outward upon the emptiness, that void, that empty expanse populated by burning balls of thermonuclear fire, that place, as it were, that must surely contain our Destiny! In Space! And before any of us could stop him Captain Bout fingered the secret button sewn into his lapel and it seemed that a sort of confusion and dislocation came over us... I remember very distinctly hearing Captain Bout say: and say, by the way, let's all smoke, snort, or rub all over our bodies some of those ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf...
Adelita thought, well, maybe I am some sort of nympho, but that don't mean I'm a bad person. Yes, and Adelita's fantasies weren't so terrible, most of the time. They weren't as bad as a Pookah Leaf junkie jag, for instance. No pain! She wasn't into that, thank Walladoobie. And in such a day, such an age, with snuffnecroporn raining down from the sky, from the great black spaces above, like ashes, what more could you ask for? She was in bed. She spent a lot of time in bed, one way or another. Bed was were she felt best, and most natural. She liked to explore and gratify herself using fingers and toes for hours on end, in bed, relaxed and alone, away from the hamburger stand and all the diseased shit in buckets on the floor from which the hamburgers were made. The manager disgusted her as much as the vomity horrors he called "chili dawgs". The things he did to food were unnatural and frightening.
And so that evening she lay on her back, in her bed, with all the coverings kicked off, naked and content, spread-eagled with the breeze of a bedside fan blowing up between her legs, riffling her thick, dark, pubic hair. It was Friday night, afterall, and her shift at the hamburger stand was done. The next morning she could sleep late, stay in bed all day if she chose to. Yes, and fiddle with herself all day! She giggled. Sometimes, especially of late, it seemed to her that a little spaceship came along and flew right up between her legs, right up her goona. What a feeling!
Confusion. That was the only after-effect of a trip to hyperspace we could all agree upon, after Captain Bout had pressed the little button sewn into his lapel a few times. That, and a loosening of standards. After our first jaunt into hyperspace we all lit up or snorted or rubbed upon our bodies the ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf, and what the hell? I confessed to everyone that I was a secret agent, and then I said, I said: to hell with it and lit up a big fat joint of the illicit Pookah Leaf I had always known was there, concealed in the ship, like those snuffnecroporn projectors Captain Bout had spoken of, and what the hell? There were enough projectors to go around, so we all all got stoned and we all lounged around after that, squeezing the cheese out of our rockets of lust. It sure seemed that hyperspace might indeed work a great revolution in the world of snuffnecroporn, just as that first bursting outward did, of the human seed into that more familiar but still profoundly disorienting space of Space! Where man would find Destiny! In Space! Weeeee! Yaaaaay! Just then the claxon sireeeeeeen sounded again and a man I had known as Bout sailed through the room, weightless and in flames, trailing shreds and shards of Pookah Leaf. ROOOOOT! TOOOOOT! That man said, emulating the claxon sireeeeeen: we got another hyperspace jaunt comin' up! Screw down the hatches! That was pretty funny, I thought, because Tech Tow Two, like all spacehips, has no hatches! No! We have PORTS! At least, I think that was the case...
Adeltia had that funny feeling again, that there was something snuggling up inside of her. It was kind of weird, but also kind of sexy. The only problem was, this time the thing she had come to think of as the "Ghost Pecker" was poking in the wrong hole! Wow! Maybe she was going crazy! Adelita, herself, did not indulge in the ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf but the psycho manager at the hamburger stand smoked or snorted or rubbed so much of that shit on his body that you could get a contact high just by standing next to him. Another possiblity was that she was playing with herself too much and maybe Great Walladoobie was putting the whoop on her. Well, the darned thing was IN there, so she decided to give in, turning onto her belly and grinding her pelvis slowly. She wondered if she would start liking it in the butt. Her psycho boss at the hamburger stand probably liked it like that. And if she found herself liking it back there, would she have to start buying carrots? She did have some carrots in the Amana, but she warned herself not to get as bad as her boss. There were some things you shouldn't do to food, not even if it was a vegetable.
Captain Bout called us all into his little cabin, and man oh man it was a really tight squeeze this time, especially since we were all watching snuffnecroporn movies unfold on our retinas from those cleverly concealed projectors and we all had at least one filthy mitt wrapped around our projectiles of affection. Also, the place stank of shit-- shit so deep it cut through the smog of Pookah Leaf that seemed, now, always to wreathe our heads. Men, Captain Bout said, we seem to have a problem and I see no solution but to don a space suit and step out the airlock, next time we head off into HYPERSPACE! Our New Destiny! and see what is out there. We can't expect the snuffnecroporn industry to build big studios and invest lots of money to make the films we all like so much, until we are sure hyperspace is safe to inhabit, at least as long as it takes to make a snuffnecroporn film, which, fortunately, is not very long. Now, of course, I don't intend to step out myself, since we do seem to have a problem out there-- hyperspace is very dark, we have discovered, and it seems to exert some sort of pressure, but, not lethal pressure, but, still, we know very well that I as your Captain do not tolerate pressure very well. So, uh, I have decided to pick a fellow named Bout, yes, Bout will do it, he will step out the lock, just as soon as I press this button cleverly sewn into my lapel. Before any of us could stop him, Captain Bout pressed the button. I never did like that man, with the hair all over his head-- that Captain Bout!
Ouch! Adelita had enough. She was off the bed like a shot off a shovel, clutching her bowels. They hurt like hell! It was worse than cramps! That-- THING!-- felt like it was going in deeper and deeper, and nudging and rolling around and the fun aspect of it was long gone. Oh, Walladoobie! She moaned. Take this thing out of me! I am sorry! I really am! If there was just some way to squeeze the damn thing out! Of course, she told herself, it had to be all in her mind, her filthy mind. But an enema might help. It was worth a try. Just before she reached the bathroom door, the attack was over. It was gone. All gone, but it left a terrible ache. She was so relieved, and so exhausted, she stretched herself out on the bedroom floor, on her back, gasping through her opened mouth. That's what happens when you let your mind go out of control, she warned herself. She resolved to quit the hamburger stand, sure that the perversions she had witnessed there had begun to warp her, and be more careful in the future, perhaps working in retail. If she would have a future. Suddenly there was something blocking her throat! It felt like someone rammed a baseball bat down her gullet! Agh! I'm gonna die! She flopped and struggled like a landed fish, turning blue, beating the threadbare carpet with her tiny fists. Just as things were turning black, it was gone. She felt tormented! Never, never, never, ever, would she think another sexy thought! She would become a vestal in the service of Great Walladoobie, if she could get in, somehow. And she would never spend any more time with anyone who smelled even a little bit of the ineffable pleasures of Pookah Leaf. She got to her feet and stumbled to the bed, where she collapsed, panting. But some sixth sense told her to look behind her, that she was not alone! She screamed! There, hovering right over the bed, was a slippery silver sausage of a thing! She put her hand over her mouth, crossed her legs tightly and screwed her asshole as tight as it would go. When the floating dildo thing was only a couple of feet from her nose, taking dead aim at her nostrils, she grabbed the bedside fan and hurled it as hard as she could, hard enought yank the electric cord out of the wall. The fan hit with a tremendous clatter. There was a flash, a stink of ozone, and the fan and Ghost Pecker vanished together. Demons, Adelita thought, with what was left of her mind-- Demons!
When you consider what I've been through, it is a miracle that there is not more wrong with me. I sailed the starry depths and bared me bum to the burning balls out there in the void. I've annointed myself with more Pookah Leaf than any man ever seen. I've seen the future of the snuffnecroporn industry out there in hyperspace-- those titanic tits! Those mighty thighs! Out there! In Hyperspace!