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WARNING: This fic contains any and all of the following: blatant
ripping off of pop culture, capital letters, irritating whiners,
convention references, sexism, blatant stupidity, booze,
Admirals, staffs, references to chainmail bikinis,
heterosexuals, bad puns, Multiple Personality Disorder, aliens,
white people, strange things, deserts, costumers, pointy ears,
logic, Klingons, alcohol, bi women (well, one. The woman Manesha
is based upon IS bi), capslock, blood, death, gore, a bit of
humiliation, lots of drinking, dealers room, blue people,
blonds, vampires, leather, and violence.
Apocalyptic Dimentia 3: The Curse of Spock "I AM SPOCK!" "Yes, sir." "NO, REALLY, I AM SPOCK. SEE? EVEN MY EARS ARE POINTED." "*cough* Yes, sir." "YOU DO NOT BELIEVE ME, OZYMANDIAS?" "Uhm..." "I AM THE STRONG, AND THE STRONG IS SPOCK!" "Yes..." "OZYMANDIAS, YOU WILL FIND ME ROMULANS AND KLINGONS TO DEFEAT WITH MY STRONG LOGIC." "Sir, there are no Romulans or Klingons..." "YOU WILL FIND SOME ANYWAY." "*sigh* Yes sir." -- "Dude, did you see the chick in the chainmail armor?" "Duh." "I'd like to be the--" "Hey, man, get a load of the old dude in desert gear. What is he, some sort of Hoth fighter?" "Nono, that's one of those new Tatooine survivalists." "Oh, hey, you're right. Get a load of the staff." "Niiiice ruby." "D'you think he'd sell it?" "We can but ask." "Right." "Hey, dude, how much for the staff?" "It is not for sale." "That's too bad, man, I could get you a good deal." "No thank you." "Your loss." "Er, excuse me, where can I find the Klingons?" "I think they're giving a panel somewhere. Here, it should be on the pocket program..." "Here it is, man, in the Lincoln room--'Costuming Tips With Admiral Krgtowl and Manesha'." "Thank you. Now, where is the Lincoln room?" "It should be along that hall." "Very well..." "Dude, I still want that staff." "Yeah..." -- "Any questions?" "Yeah! How hot is it to wear the forehead all day?" "REALLY hot." "Yeah, especially if you're not in an air-conditioned area." "Excuse me..." "Yes?" "You are Klingons, yes?" "For right now, yes." "Actually, I'm a cat-Klingon." "Wonderful." -- "Sir?" "I THINK YOU SHOULD START CALLING ME COMMANDER SPOCK, OZYMANDIAS." "Er, yes. Uh, Commander Spock?" "YES?" "I have found some Klingons and Romulans. Unfortunately, they're all drinking something called 'red stuff'." "MMM. BLOOD?" "No, I believe it is alcoholic in nature." "BRING THEM IN." -- "Dude, why are we here?" "DUDE. IT IS ILLOGICAL TO ADDRESS ME AS DUDE. I AM COMMANDER SPOCK. YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS SUCH." "Er, right. Commander Spock, why are we here?" "I AM SPOCK, I AM OF THE STRONG, AND I HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE SO THAT I MAY DEFEAT YOU WITH MY SUPERIOR LOGIC." "Er, right. Manesha, d'you have anymore Venom?" "No. And this costume is getting damned uncomfortable." "YOU WILL TRY TO DEFEAT ME NOW." "Uh... Are you sure we're out of booze?" "Yeah." "This sucks." "Y'know, he's kinda cute." "Jo, you're off your rocker." "I'm serious. In that whole big blue-sort of way." "She's drunk." "AHEM." "Hey, the big blue guy looks bored." "Maybe he's thirsty--Hey, Blue dude! Y'want some red stuff?" "NO, I DO NOT. NOW, ATTEMPT TO ENGAGE ME IN LOGICAL COMBAT, AND I SHALL DEFEAT YOU." "Dude, Manesha's just passed out..." "Lush." "Sshame t'you." "THIS IS... RIDICULOUS. YOU WILL BEHAVE! YOU--" "Sir?" "DON'T INTERRUPT ME WHEN I'M SPEAKING!" "Sir, I think--" "I DON'T PAY YOU TO THINK, OZYMANDIAS, I PAY YOU TO BRING ME INEPT ENEMIES SO THAT I MAY REMAIN OF THE STRONG!" "Sir, they've slipped away." "ARGH! IT'S SO HARD TO FIND GOOD HELP THESE DAYS!" *squeak* "WHAT? WHAT'S THAT?" "Dude, like, cute rubber ducky man." "PUT THAT DUCKY DOWN!" "Ah, bite me, I--" *ZAP* "Well, sir, you triumphed over at least one of them... But you used emotion, rather than logic." "I, SPOCK, HAVE FAILED TO CONTAIN MY HALF-HUMAN SIDE. I AM A FAILURE." "Sir?" "NO. LEAVE ME, FOR I AM FIT TO BE COMPANY FOR NO MAN." "That's no man, baby!" *ZAP* -finis- Oh, and I don't own them, or nothing. And, Bear? If you ever read this, don't kill me. Remember, you love me... right? hugs, Ana
Fourth Canto © 2002 ALC Punk! |