The very next episode.

Maid Centurion Sopwith entered the official chambers of The Vagendra of Manocide and opened the cosmogalacticurtains, for a change, there was only space, no burning planets or worse. "Good morning your wonderfulness. Are we ready for today's excitement and adventure?"

The Vagendra of Manocide looked up sleepily from the chaise longue where she was reading a book on how to defend oneself from an attacker armed with fresh fruit. "You jest. I have morning sickness."

"But you've only been pregnant for one episode!" The Maid Centurion countered, glancing at the title of the book when The Vagendra of Manocide held it up. It was the revised edition including nuts.

"I mean. I am sick of mornings. Therefore I have morning sickness."

"I see. Fascinating logic. Today we are expecting forty seven crises, one fustercluck and change. Duchess Buttcrack-Fluff." The maid checked her handy schedule, a notebook made from real paper.

"If only there was a god who would grant me deliverance from her archetype."

"We could go visit the Wubnut of Plurg's daughter later. According to our spies, they are in Deep Trouble." The maid offered an incentive.

"The black hole? No thank you."

"And they have enough script writers to win a war." The maid continued. It must be serious, that wasn't swaying her mistress. "And strawberry schnapps, but you shouldn't drink. We have to be socially responsible or our ratings go up." No reaction, "and strawberries the size of bristols, lakes of fresh cream and chocolate sauce."

"So, the duchess. What has she done this time?"

The Maid Centurion looked at the scroll of travesties. "twelve counts of murder, fourteen counts of theft of blankety-blank, twenty two counts of piracy in high space, eighteen counts of fraud, thirty seven counts of blankety-blank and one moving violation."

"I'm sorry, I haven't a clue. Mushy peas? There is no way we can allow the fans to visualize such a preposterous scene. That's even worse than those upside-down dresses where blankety-blank made more sense than the blank coming out of her blank!"

"I think we should stop." The Maid Centurion prompted.

"Assign her to rule over the Flesh Pits of Gordon again. Tell her to get it cleaned up."

"They still have the tribble problem."

"I know." The Vagendra looked in her wardrobe for something casual to wear, "Right, cream cake time!"

"I think the blue one-piece, if they have any script writers left, you can borrow a redskirt from The Wubnut's daughter." The maid offered.