Part two of a thrilling duology!

In last week's thrilling episode of Captain Seymour DickLogic, Testosterone in the stars....

Ensign Lovelyjugs is trapped in Captain Seymour DickLogic's man cave, blissfully unaware of the terrible events coming her way at maximum thrust. The Longwangless fleet under command of the Hive collective spawn of Thora Thighgap, the malevolent child prodigy Manko Maramangler are staring at their radar screens in disbelief and ...

Captain Seymour DickLogic is in command of all but one of his faculties (he's saving that for later.)

The Glorious nipple piercing gambit part two. Someone wake the organist, we need a magnificent fanfare of strumpet to usher in...

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"Battle stations! Aroogah! Aroogah and all that!" the announcer on the bridge announced from her corner of announcing the obvious, her swoon-proof harness was now held together with so much duct tape that it didn't even notice a corrundum cannonball event.

Captain Seymour DickLogic surveyed his fleet with his steely eyes and clenched eyebrows. This was going to be close.

"Captain sir! We need to stop thrusting so hard, the manspreader drive canna take much more of this." The officer-in-charge of levers piped up.

Captain Seymour DickLogic fixed him with an extra steely gaze and doubly clenched perfectly chiseled eyebrows. "Do I detect a hint of cowardice?" he asked rhetorically. "There's only room for two types of thrust on this ship. Harder and thicker. Which one are you?" He snapped his fingers, the sign to call that most fearsome of beasts. The Master-at-arms, Mister Tripod. "Get this man a red shirt." He grunted.

Mister Tripod grinned, seven metric feet of towering muscle. He had biceps, he had triceps, he would have had tridecimoseptaceps if he could count that high. Whereas the good captain was merely chiseled perfection, Mister Tripod was machined. No one could remember his real name, not even Mister Tripod himself. No one actually believed the ballet lessons line at all.

"Sir, yes sir! How much thrust sir!" The master-of-levers whimpered.

The announcer nearly missed her queue, busy trying to repair her swoon-proof harness. "Time to don space suits and prepare for combat. Break out the space condoms."

Captain Seymour DickLogic clenched his fists and pressed the button of summoning people who are actually nearby. In this case, the only female officer on the bridge. The Weapons Officer, Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom. "Do we have knob lasers?"

Tiffany Bangbangbanbangkaboom beamed curvaceously at his most chiseled request, blessed with a genetic heritage that gave her prehensile breasts that really worked for a living, "indeed, your chisledness, we have no less than three sorts of lasers. Possibly four if you include the latest prototype from the space goat labs. Short range knob lasers, so knobbly and stunningly painful in brutal arms reach combat. Medium range turbo lasers that have all that recoil and tracking issues. The new double barrelled pump action lasers, a brutally brutal combination of brutalist concrete and lasing action and the new ones." She waited expectantly for a prompt to continue, a single hair on his chiseledness' furrowed brow moved. "You'll like these. We have a full complement of Star Warts lasers. The ones you can hear in space. How glorious!" she beamed, "can I fire them all?" She asked. then added, "please?" Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom was a subscriber to that most manly of cults. A gun not firing is a gun not firing. She had been promoted off every ship she had ever been on for being too trigger happy until she had arrived here on the FireSchlong where the captain was some sort of curious combination of anti-matter and chiseled testosterone.

"Wait until you see the whites of their eyes." Captain Seymour DickLogic grunted. He spotted one of the bridge weenies putting his space condom on. "Mister Tripod."

The mere mention of that name caused the green shirt to pause, then trip over as his space condom stretched funny.

"There will be no space condoms on my ship. Get that man a red shirt."

"My pleasure." Mister Tripod grinned muscularly.

It was time to address the crew in the final moments before combat, to inspire them. Captain Seymour DickLogic pressed the button of making everyone everywhere hear his magnificent captainly voice, carved from only the best gravel dissolving testosterone, he addressed his crew. "As I speak, we are thrusting maximally towards the enemy fleet which is some thirty times larger than ours. I am sure your tiny red shirt brains are reeling in horror and thinking cowardly thoughts, but you would be wrong. We are not outnumbered thirty to one. We have thirty more targets to shoot at, we cannot possibly miss. Captain out." He took his finger off the button and gravelled.

The announcer in the corner of announcing was so thoroughly swooned that Mister Tripod had ripped off the anti-swoon harness and summoned Doctor Firm-Posterior to fix her. Unfortunately, she fixed her with a space rabies shot and told Mister Tripod to dump her in the ready room before going back to her sick bay and concoction number seven, with an extra flake this time.

Meanwhile, still trapped in the man cave, Ensign Lovelyjugs found a hatch under the bed that she could crawl in and wait for his magnificent chiseliness!

Captain Seymour DickLogic admired the ship that now filled the entire forward screen. The Hive Collective would never forget this maneuver, maybe he could get another national holiday out of it. DickLogic Day! Relishing this immodest thought for the full five seconds he nodded at the weapons-officer Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom and she smiled lustfully as she pressed all four laser buttons at the same time. "Open fire, all weapons." Captain Seymour Dicklogic ejaculated. Fortunately the announcer was missing as she would have swoonploded from the intense waves of manliness.

Indeed, they made a lovely ZOWNT! noise.

The ship throbbed mightly as the mighty manspreader drives thrust their maximal thrustiness for the grater good of mankind!

"Captain, shields!"

The impact was glorious as ship after ship collided with the Longwangless fleet. Wangsplitter torpedoes spiraling off in unauthorised directions.