Captain Seymour DickLogic
19118 ~
TV
19118 ~
Warning: A serious autocock field affected this spellidon.
And now it is time for something completely different. Avid watchers of this season's Captain Seymour Dicklogic may be wondering what happened to that rather nice pair of Bristols, Ensign Lovelyjugs. Well, now we know... sort of.
Is that a band or an episode title?
Ensign Lovelyjugs looked suspiciously at the creature. They were deep in an incredibly strong autocock field of pomfreys and it was having an unprecedented effect on communications between her and the alien race. This was the last time she was going to wear a redskirt even if it meant going topples. Redshirts were expandable and she was distinctly miffy. "Wombat" she essayed voluptuously.
"Wombat, wombat fire?"
"Wombat rhubarb fire!" she ripped off her redshirt and screamed at them.
"Grout! Grout!" The aliens thought this was the prime ritual of the air guitar and cheered enthusiastically. Autocock fields typically caused wars, so an imploding concert piano was a good thing(tm).
"Pantagraph!" Ensign Lovelybeakers frowned grumpily, "Jam bubbles!" Can you not tell my air guitar goes to eleven? She used her redskirt to ensnare and capture an alien brandishing a thing like a microphone at her. The struggle was exciting as they just happened to fall into a chocolate sauce marsh. "Ensaucinator!"
The alien looked at her suspiciously, this was both difficult in that it was very long sighted and she was close, and easy in that she had both her hands around its necks. It was also a bit tricky since they were both covered in chocolate sauce. "Clench!" it wailed miserably, surrendering it's weapon of sealing clubs.
Now armed with a handy seal of clubbery, Ensign Lovelytankards was in a much better negotiating position. She clenched her fists and furrowed her brows so well that it was a shame that Captain Seymour Dicklogic was not there to appreciate the quality of the impression, ruined only by the fact that Ensign Amazingtankards had Bristols and the Captain had Doctor Firm Posterior. The captain also did not parade around in underwear and chocolate sauce, at least, not where anyone could see him. "Rack and pinion! Barbequed Albatross!" She ejaculated forcefully, terrifying the aliens.
"Elk?"
"Elk! Pantaloons divided!" She burnished her weapon of sealing clubs. "Belgium!" She delicately clubbed a few of them with the seal, "Falschdeutsch!" The aliens capitulated and pointed at the Jubjub trees in the distance.
"Goat?" They argued amongst themselves, this strange two-legged creature was fearsome and used big words that were rude! Plus, the creature had the sacred totem, which was bad. It was almost time for enfruiting too, so they had to get rid of the alien and rescue the sacred totem before the beginning of Fructose.
The aliens waddled towards the Jubjub tree and waited for the creature to follow, preferably without sealing them with the sacred totem of the tribe.
Ensign Lovelyjugs followed, being desperately in need of a cup of tea. Being abandoned on a dangerous planet where the air was basically cold medication was fine until your second breath. After a whale it was just inhaling and fruit.
"Wombat!" The aliens pointed as they reached the Jubjub tree and could see the nyborg plain beyond. Right in the middle was a large building topped with a gigantic stomping wombat. Parked next to it were any number of carships and spacecars.
It was a pub, maybe they would serve her with a nice cup of tea if she asked nicely. If not, well, her phaser started at kill and went all the way to plaid. Ensign Gloriouszeppelins thanked the aliens, "Potrzebie!" and returned their sacred totem, only slightly bent.
The aliens waddled off as fast as they could bilge pump. The Stomping Wombat was no place for them. They played disco music there!
Ensign Lovelyjugs was deeply relieved to find that The Stomping Wombat had a strong reality field that was cancelling out the Autocock. "Mullet." She ordered at the bar.
Doctor Firm Posterior recognised the strawberries, "Ensign! You've been missing for so long we thought the scriptwriters had had you killed!"
"Doctor?" The ensign accepted a nice big cup of mullet, it really hit the spot and clubbed it senseless. "Why are you here?"
"Plot device incident." The doctor indicated the band tuning up their eleven string death-banjoes. "it's amateur metal night."
"BEHOLD! THE FIRE WOMBATS! SORRY, CAPSLOCK IS STUCK! HELP!!!" THE ANNOUNCER STRUggled for a second and finally calmed down.
"Why are you covered in chocolate sauce?"
"Ensaucinator."
"I know the feeling." Doctor Firm Posterior wondered what to drink next. "Mullet."