Unnamed Porno Fanfic From Shep, Falkenhorst, and Fanboy

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Unnamed Porno Fanfic From Shep, Falkenhorst, and Fanboy

Post by MKSheppard » 2002-11-23 05:21pm

Yet another one of SHEP'S IDEAS from his SECRET FANFIC
VAULT OF DOOM (TM), dusted off and rewritten some more:

This was originally going to be a plot line for Imperial Phoenix,
and FALKENHORST wrote the first couple of paragraphs shown
below, but it was dropped and FESTERED on my hard drive until
Dalton's delaying of the GSDA's tempted me to rework it
into an independent porno fanfic :twisted:

It is as yet unnamed, but I know you sick fuckers will give
it a name :twisted:.

(edit: added Falk's name above, I wanted to make sure it was
OK with him before I acknowledged his name; he's paranoid
about his good name, EHEHHEHE)


[Deep Space Nine - Outer Docking Pylon 3 - 0300 hours]

Julian Bashir grunted and strained as he levered the last crate
of soup mix into the airlock.

He wiped his brow and stood back, hitting the start cycle.

The door ground closed and the airlock decompressed with
a whoosh, sucking the soup crates into space, where unknown
to anyone but a few spacers, they joined an increasingly
dangerous ring of soup crates orbiting Bajor.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, Bashir had singlehandedly
kept the Trill Porno industry alive against stiff competition
from the Ferenginar and their porn industries.

He was also the Trills' middleman, handling their exports to
Risa, which had been the keystone of Bashir's whole plan
and addiction.

The porn would be smuggled into DS9 inside soup crates,
and then carefully uncrated and shipped out to the rest
of the Galaxy as a whole through Quark's shady contracts.

The money kept flooding in, and Bashir was thinking
about expanding onto the Vulcan porn scene before
the year was up.

At this, Bashir couldn't help but chuckle. The fact that Vulcan HAD
a porn industry at all was always a surprise to the uninitated in
the porn business.

He then derided himself for thinking too far ahead. He still had
several hundred cartons of unsold Ferengi porn to sell - seems
only the ferengi liked that kind of crap, although there were always
a few deviants out there who were sick enough to like that kind
of shit.

Shuddering, Bashir walked back to his quarters, knowing that the
money he was paying Chief O'Brien would keep his secret rooms
full of sex toys and porno safe from all but the most intense
inspections, as they didn't show up on the station's blueprints

[Runabout _Oronico_ heading towards Bajor]

Commander Benjamin Sisko sat back in the runabout's pilot's seat
and enjoyed the view of Bajor and her moons hanging motionless
in front of his craft.

Suddenly, a banging noise sounded, and Sisko sat up, and saw with
disbelief a can of Trill soup mix riocheting off his windshield.

"What the fuck was that?"

Moments later, a piece of flimsipaper slapped onto the windshield of
the runabout, the speed of the runabout plastering the paper all over
the windshield, giving Sisko an eye-opening view of one of the Ferengi
Porn industry's most famous stars.

Sisko fought the urge to vomit, and failed.

[1 hour later]

Sisko stepped out of the runabout on it's landing pad outside the Bajoran
Council Building, wearing a fresh uniform. He had spent the last half an
hour cleaning up his own vomit from the runabout's interior, and had
pretty much succeeded, except the runabout now smelled like cleaning

A Bajoran officer walked up to him. "The Kai will see you now."

Nodding, Sisko followed the officer into the building, and
found the Kai standing in her office holding a can of soup mix.

"Kai...is that by any chance Trill soup mix?" asked Sisko.

"Why yes it is...how did you know?" replied the Kai, incredulous
at Sisko's observation.

Sisko put on a weak smile. "I ran over several of them on the
way here."

"Yes, that is what I called you here for, Commander. These cans
have become a hazard to navigation within our solar system, and
worst of all, we have found large caches of porn floating in
space from time to time."

"Interesting," said Sisko, "Do you have any idea who's doing this?"

"Yes, we do. It's coming from _your_ station, Sisko."

"I will not tolerate the corruption of Bajoran Morals by these vile
porn-runners, and if you do not take steps to arrest the individuals
responsible for this atrocity, I will be forced to expel the Federation
from Bajoran Space!" snapped the Kai.

Sisko was taken aback momentarily by the force of the Kai's demands,
and it was several seconds before he replied.

"Yes, we'll take care of them." Sisko countered in a voice as cold
as interstellar space.

The little hatfuckers who are using my station as a waypoint for
porno will find that it does not pay to fuck with me.

Last edited by MKSheppard on 2005-01-06 12:53am, edited 3 times in total.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Chapter 2 of the FiC!

Post by MKSheppard » 2002-11-24 03:30am


[England, Earth]

Sheppard and Falkenhorst stepped in out of the rain,
having left their burly bodyguards back in the limo
at the gate. The butler escorted them into the
mansion to a large library, where he told them they
would be met by the owner of the mansion and the
vast surrounding estate.

The two men stood waiting patiently for ten minutes.
Finally a pair of large Oak doors opened and a
grotesquely fat man floated into the library on a
hoversled. He looked them over with his beady eyes
before speaking in a thick, rumbling british accent.

"I assume that you all know why you are here." rumbled the fat man.

"Yeah, for the estate. How much you want?" replied Sheppard.

"Have you found my initial offer of 4,000 bars of
gold-pressed latinum agreeable?" asked Malcolm Reed V.
It was no secret to those in the know that this bloated
descendant of the famous Malcolm Reed intended to retire
to Risa with the substantial inheritance from his father's
underground porn empire. Malcolm Reed IV had only just
passed away in the last six months, and had no other
surviving relatives save his horribly bloated and
equally perverted son.

"Perfectly so," countered Falkenhorst in a cultured
voice as he motioned for the bodyguards to bring the
cases out from the hovertruck.

"Excellent!" rumbled the fat lecher, bringing a
handkerchief to his mouth as he descended into a fit
of squelching coughs that caused his rolls of fat to
do a sickening dance and sent his hoversled rocking
on it's antigravs.

When he recovered, he went on, producing a folded
document from his specially tailored size XXXXL suit coat.

"This paper ensures the transfer of all... shall we
say attached assets that you will acquire along with
the estate." he said. Falkenhorst and Sheppard quickly
drew out their pens and affixed their signatures to
the paper.

"Excellent, while the latninium is being counted, we
might as well take a tour of your new estate." said
Reed, folding the paper. With that, the fat man
floated away on his hover cart.

"To your left, is the famous Risan Rock," where Malcolm
Reed the First became the first man to set foot on the
world of Risa, and paved the way for an empire of Porn!"
rumbled the fat smutlord as he floated down the wide
hallway. Sheppard and Falkenhorst followed behind him,
gazing reverently at the many relics lining the hallway.

Suddenly, Reed turned around, his antigrav cart squealing
in protest, and for a moment both Shep and Falk thought he
was going to fall, but the antigravs held.

"I'm very sorry, but in the excitement, I forgot all about my
liposuction treatments at five o'clock, to prepare me for my
eventual retirement to Risa.

"Here's a map of the grounds. I suggest that you look in the
study to find what you seek."

Reed paused for a moment. "I must warn you: my ancestor was
somewhat...obsessive...about his hobbies; so don't be surprised
at the shit you're gonna find down there."

As the corpulent descendant of Malcolm Reed floated away on
his wheezing antigrav sled, Sheppard muttered. "Some people
shouldn't have that kind of money."

"He won't have it for long," replied Falkenhorst before he
raised a communicator to his lips and spoke in short clipped
tones to the bodyguards outside.

"Mister Reed is leaving for a doctor's appointment. See to
it that he does not survive the appointment. Also, recover our
latinium as well, then come back."

[1 hour later]

Malcolm Reed V lay on the padded table face down, as a medical
technician sucked the fat out of his body. Soon, he would have
the body of his dreams. Money was so wonderful, especially
when you were as lazy as he was.

He dozed off to the sound of his fat being sucked out of his ass,
and thus didn't hear the door to the room opening.

"I'm sorry, but this is a private roo-" protested the Medical
Technician just before his head was blown off by a silenced 9mm
round from one of the goons' pistols.

"Suppressors. What a wonderful invention." remarked the head goon
as he slowly unscrewed the suppressor can from the barrel of his

"Take the liposuction machine - I'll hold him down." he ordered.

"What do I do with this shit, man?" asked the other goon when he
saw all the blinking lights on the Liposuction machine's control

"Turn it up to the max, you stupid fuck! Do I have to explain
everything to you?!?"

Nodding, the goon cranked the machine up to the max and gripped
the liposuction hose, thankful that they had put on extra-thick
gloves before entering the building to hide their fingerprints.

The machine whirred louder as the suction increased, and
Reed woke up from his slumber at the change in the machine's
noise, and he turned around to see a thickset man twisting
the controls to the max.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he shouted as he tried to get
up and pull the suction tube out of his ass, but the head goon
slammed him down onto the table violently, breaking his jaw
in the process.

The other goon finished manipulating the controls and
grabbed the suction tube and after stabbing it into his back,
began to work it around his insides, sucking internal organs
out of the fat man with a horrible squicking noise as Reed
screamed in pure agony.

"You made the biggest mistake of your life, fatboy, when you
messed with Sheppard and Falkenhorst," announced the man who
was holding Reed down.

"They intend to make a load of money off your fucktard of an
anecestor, and nobody is going to be suing them for royalties."

The transparent tank full of liposuctioned fat quickly changed
from a pale white to blood red as the machine ravaged Reeds'
insides like a cheap whore doing a cock job for $25.

Within minutes, Malcolm Reed the Fifth was dead, and the Reed
line ended in that liposuction room. "Fat fuck was harder
than he looked." commented one of the bodyguards.

"Yeah, good God man, I had to suck 20 kilos of flab out
of the fucker before I hit any organs," countered the other
guard as he peeled his bloody gloves off, revealing another
set of gloves underneath.

"Well, I wonder what the bosses are doing right now, we'll
be stuck here till two cleaning up after this fucker to make
it look like an accident." replied the other guard as he
began to arrange the corpse of the medical technician so
that it would look like your typical murder/suicide.

[Same Time - The Reed Estate]

"Damn," breathed Falkenhorst, drawing out the word into several
syllables as he saw the true extent of the original Malcolm Reed's
secret files deep inside the hidden basement of the estate.

The files stretched away for what seemed like miles of shelving,
each file labelled with precisely lettered labels describing
their contents.

"Sheeeeit, how much crap could one man have gotten?" muttered Shep.

Falk picked out one of the tapes at random and looked at
it's label: "Hoshi + T'Pol Tape 22 of 50".

Sheppard was also rummaging through the endless line of tapes when
he stopped at one.

"Interesting. Seems he also had a kink for the other team."
commented Sheppard as he picked out a tape from the shelf
and said it's label outloud.

"Captain Archer in the Shower 1 of 10", said Sheppard in a disgusted
tone of voice.

"Burn that shit, man!" snapped Falk as he grabbed the tape out
of Sheppards hands and smashed it with his bootheel.

"We can watch this crap later, man. We gotta find the KEY to Reed's
porn empire." commented Falk as he looked around the vast underground
cavern that had been carved out of the bedrock of England in secret.

"Should we call the boys back?" asked Sheppard.

"Nah, they can take care of themselves. Besides, I told 'em
to come back after they were done with old man Reed himself
and had gotten our latinium back."

"It's gonna take some of that latinium to bribe the cops, you know."
added Shep.

"I know. But then again, nobody here liked Reed, we should be able
to get off with screwing the Chief of Police with a few bars."

[20 minutes later]

It had taken nearly a half-an-hour of searching the
seemingly-endless cavern, but they had finally found
Reed's office, which seemed to not have been used in
quite some time.

Picking up a rolodex, Falkenhorst began to flip through it.

"This shit is worthless, man. Half the people in here are dead, dead, dead..."

Suddenly he paused.

"Shit, I know this fucker! He was my fuckin' Seventh Grade Teacher!"

"Then maybe he'll help us." countered Sheppard. "You can always slap child
porn charges on the hatfucker with what we have here, if he doesn't cooperate."

"True, that. Oooh." muttered Falk as he ran across another card.

"Seems one Jean-Luc Peeecard, or however the fuck you spell his last name - fuckin'
Frenchies...has been knee-deep in the porn business ever since he got stabbed by
a bunch of Nausicians in a falling out over some porn the good ensign had sold them."

"That's not the official story, Falk." commented Shep.

"And with fuckin' good reason, man. Could you imagine the sounds of heads exploding
if it was told to the public at large, that Captain Picard, hero of the Federation
got stabbed by a bunch of Nausicians because he stiffed them on a porn flick?"

"And this is just one of that fat fuck's rolodexes. Want to grab the others
and flip through them while we 'review' those old tapes for quality?"
finished Sheppard.

"Only if we burn the gay porn crap first. No one in their right mind
would want that," said Falkenhorst with an air of finality to his voice.

"Well, we could always sell it off to another porn dealer for more latinium."
countered Sheppard. "Why destroy a possibly valuable source of income?"

"There's that. But I like to have *some* kind of morals, man." pronounced
Falkenhorst in a firm tone of voice.

[END CH 2]
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2002-11-29 02:34am

"Captain Picard, there are some men to see you," replied Data,
who tried to hide his disgust at being forced into Picard's
gay porn holos in order to retain his rank and position on the

"Send them in," replied Picard as he put away the whips and
told Wesley to get the fuck into the closet.

Life was good, ever since Wesley had returned from being
with that Traveller asshole. He was now Picard's bitch,
and Beverly was none the wiser.

Picard cracked an evil smile at that. He truly was
master of his domain.

The doorbell chimed, and a moment later, in stepped
two rather brutish and hulking gentlemen, their
well-tailored coats trying valiantly, but failing to
hide the fact that the men were obviously bodybuilders.

"Captain Picard, we presume?" asked the taller of
the two, whose hair was completely jet black,
and had a wicked-looking white scar running across
his forehead.

"None other. Whom do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
replied Picard.

"I'm Frankie, and this is my colleague, Seppo." said the
tall man.

The short, thickly built Seppo looked at Picard with a
dangerous, hungry stare.

"We are here because our employer is worried about you,"
said Seppo in his thick New York accent.

"Well, I appreciate his concern, but I'm rather sure
I'm in no danger." replied Picard, beginning to wonder
where this was going.

"He's worried you might get hurt unless you can cough
up 50,000 bars of Gold Pressed Latinum, Picard. Nobody
cuts in on our bosses' business without paying his dues."
said Frankie, shifting his stance.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" stammered Picard.
"And besides, 50,000 is an outrageous sum, even for me!"

Picard began ranting about how Gold Pressed Latinum was
illegal and how the Federation was a moneyless society.
It was nothing new to him, and he was in fact lying through
his yellow french teeth. He had learned to bullshit his way
through these kind of arguments, and he was using his skills
to full effect, or so he thought.

His self-righteous tirade was cut off as Seppo pulled out a
holodisc from his pocket and thumbed it on, throwing it on
Picard's ready-room table.

Immediately a title flashed in the air: ANDROID HOMO FUCK

The scene began showing Data and Wesley stripping down,
then they began fornicating in full technicolor 3D action
with surround sound.

Picards voice trailed off to nothingness.

"Where did you get that piece of gutter trash?" he finally
replied after several long seconds of silence.

"You should know that, frenchie, since you're the one behind
it." replied Seppo.

"Our bosses don't like this kind of shit, and besides, you're
cutting into their bidness. So pay up."

Picard began to stammer out excuses. "I ah....uh....don't
have that kind of money on me. Hell, my business doesn't
even make that kind of...."

"Our prices are negotiatable." replied Seppo with a sharp
tone of voice.

Picard thought this over for a few minutes, with Seppo and
Frankie looking on intently. Suddenly, the door chimed
and in stepped Data.

Picard smiled.

"Wonderful invention, hidden alarm buttons."

His face then hardened.

"Mister Data, these gentlemen have discovered our secret.
Dispose of them, will you?"

"I am afraid not, Captain." replied Data suddenly.

This time, it was Picard's turn to stare in openmouthed
shock for the second time in as many minutes.

"I have had enough of your perverted desires, Captain. And
besides, these men are paying me more for this one job than
you ever paid me in total for my forty appearances in your films."

A deathly silence then filled the room as everyone stared at
each other. It was suddenly broken by a loud banging noise
from one of the closets in the Captain's ready room.

"Frankie, open that door, see what the fuck's in there."
ordered Seppo.

Opening the door, Seppo barely avoided being knocked over by
a sobbing Wesley Crusher bound and gagged in a leather outfit
complete with ball gag in his mouth and a anal plug in his

"That does it. Fuck the bosses' orders."
muttered Seppo.

[The Next Morning - _La Italy Bistro_ , Sussex, England]

Falkenhorst and Sheppard sat in the corner booth of the
Italian dinery sited on the outskirts of Sussex, a few
minutes away from the Estate of Malcolm Reed, now wholly
owned and operated by them.

Unfortunately, they still hadn't hired any servants to
cook their food, and they didn't trust the replicated
crap, so every morning and at night, they would make the
half an hour trip to the town of Sussex to eat in a trusted
Dinery that was known to use wholly organic ingredients.

Sheppard was reading the local rag, and Falkenhorst couldn't
help but notice the lurid headlines splashed across the front

"Guess old Frankie and Seppo did the job, even if they did
exceed orders," commented Falk.

"Can't say I can blame them," replie Shep as he flipped over
to another page in the paper. "Seeing what they saw would
drive me to a murderous rage too."

Falkenhorst took another sip from his Coca-Cola as he scanned
the headlines on the papers that other guests of the diner
were reading as they ate that morning.

one of the major British tabloids. Underneath that in
smaller type were the words - "Saved Earth from both
Borg invasions".

"SECURITY TAPES SHOW NOTHING!" shouted another tabloid.

the Guardian, which was still publishing after several
centuries of lies and slandery.

tabloid, and upon seeing that, Falk chortled.

"My, my, our friend Mister Data is quite the amateur
proctologist, isn't he?"

"Speaking of proctology," added Sheppard, "I find it amusing
that the dear Captain was found with Mister Crusher's
head stuck up his ass."

"That's physically impossible!" countered Falk.

"I know," replied Sheppard with an evil grin.

All trace of humor suddenly left Sheppard's face
as he spoke to Falk in a low tone of voice. "Are
you sure that the restraining chip you fitted
to Mister Data works?"

"Sure as rain, Shep. Besides, if that doesn't work,
we always have these," and with that, Falk patted
the compact form of the Dympel Electromagnetic
Pulse Gun strapped to his thigh.

"I hope so for your sake and for Humanity's sake," replied

"Data could become a dangerous sexual predator...the
most heinous rapist of all time!" Sheppard finished
with a shudder.

"We'll deal with that if it comes up, Shep. Now let's just
sit back and let the money roll in from our business."
replied Falkenhorst as he sat back in his seat.
Last edited by MKSheppard on 2002-11-29 07:14am, edited 1 time in total.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by Falkenhorst » 2002-12-12 04:43am

Merry Christmas, hooliganz!!!! hahahah, tonight Sheppard and I have completed another piece of this evil fanfic for your perverse viewing pleasures. Without further ado I present:


Odo sat down at the table next to a nervous Dr. Bashir
in one of the side booths in Quark's.

"You don't look quite well, Doctor. Perhaps the food here
isn't good for your complexion?" asked Odo in the same voice
that had spelled doom for countless scumbags over the years.

"How are we gonna get around this search, Odo? Sisko's really
pissed off; I heard he was going to have Eddington do it
this time, instead of you." muttered Bashir.

Odo muttered a dark curse. Damn Eddington. Fucking Starfleet
Grade A Pansy...

"What are we gonna do?" moaned Bashir, an increasingly desperate
tone of voice creeping into his speech. He took a hefty swig
from his drink.

"Calm down my dear Doctor. We simply frame someone else.
It will require some of your....collection, though."

"WHO?" practically screamed Bashir, only to be put off by Odo
waving his finger in that annoying manner of his.

"Who has the money, and the motive to be running such goods
through the station, Doctor? Certainly not you.....but our
host...." and with that, Odo cocked his head enough for his
eyes to lock onto their host, Quark, who was serving a
bunch of people at the bar.

"What about him?" asked Bashir, dabbling at his sweaty
forehead with a napkin.

Odo cocked his head back around, and looked at Bashir. Could
he actually BE this stupid?

"We kill Quark...." began Odo, and almost immediately,
Bashir shouted him down "No, NO!"

"If we kill him, we'll be getting into an even bigger
mess than with Sisko!"

A shocked look came into Bashir's eyes. "Almighty God,
man, you haven't seen the publications I have, the ones
the feds don't give out...the ones that they make us docs
swear an oath not to reveal!"

"What publications?" asked Odo in a deadpan voice.

"The ones that tell us precisely how much dosage we need to put
into the replicators; my God, man!" exclaimed Bashir, rubbing
his eyes and refilling his glass.

"Dosage? Have you been snorting Bajoran Angel Dust lately?"
asked Odo in a disgusted voice.

"Think about it, Constable! Why are your Bajorans always
so rowdy, along with Humans who've stayed on Bajor eating
their food?"

"It's because Bajor isn't a Federation member yet, and
doesn't have a full fledged replicator system for food!"

"Let's not even get into the truth drugs....." said Bashir
with a visible shudder.

"Or the TORTURE DRUGS...." whispered Bashir, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"Torture Drugs, Doctor? Now you're just being a idiot. Aren't
they banned by the Federation Constitution?" replied Odo.

"That's just bullshit to pacify the Vulcans...just go ask your
underworld contacts about Vaccine #10120, Odo. You'll find out
more than you ever wanted to know...."

A pensive look came over Odo's face. Bashir was telling some pretty
damn tall tales here...He'd check them out later...

"I'll ask, Doctor. But we need this matter taken care of NOW.
Eddington begins his search tomorrow at 0530 hours. Barely
enough time to get this job done..."

Bashir looked down into his empty tumbler.

"Fine, Odo. Do it. Just do the fucking thing."

[5 hours later]

"Ohh, Quark, come in here baby.....Sweetcakes wants you..."
crooned the disgustingly ugly Ferengi whore that was Quark's
main lay these days when he couldn't import high quality
whores from Bajor.

She was so obsessed with making sure her ears were just right
that she didn't notice that the chair across from her was slowly
creeping towards the bed...

The chair then extended a pseudopod and jabbed the whore with
it roughly, injecting a whole gram of Bajoran Angel Dust into the
Whore's bloodstream before slowly backing into the corner, where
it would watch the fireworks...

The only person who knew what had just happened were Odo and
unfortunately for him and the esteemed Doctor Bashir's future
plans, a discreet holocamera hidden in the ceiling...a holo
camera that transmitted it's recordings to Earth every few days
to a computer system in the Malcolm Reed Estate...


Emperor Palpatine sighed in lecherous contentment as he had his way with the pleasure droid. The HRD bucked and heaved to a heavy tempo beneath him, uttering random selections from it's six million programmed phrases of endearment. No human or even alien females could withstand Palpatine's dark-side enhanced bedroom skills.

In the beginning, he had enjoyed using up nubile young women and then snuffing them, but his twisted, evil mind soon ran short of gruesome diversions. Live females died too quickly under his sadistic attentions. Palpatine screamed Sith curses as he got his rocks off. Angry, incandescent bolts of force lightning began arcing from his loins, slamming into the pleasure droid, which began spouting gibberish as it's circuits were fried. The droid's artificial skin erupted in flames, filling Palpatine's nostrils with the acrid stench of burning polymers and latex. The droid's faux blonde hair sizzled and burned off, it's eyeballs popping and melting as the internal optics overloaded. A twisted, perverted smile warped Palpatine's face as he screwed the pleasure droid to death.

"Fuuuuuuucccccckkkkk Meeeeeeeeeeeee--*zap*sizzle*" the droid's voice trailed off into mechanical sputters as the machine twitched a few times and died. Palpatine got off the bed, gathering his robes about him and cackling evilly as his acidic smegma burned through the droid's insides and started the matress smoldering. As he turned to walk away, a glint of polished steel caught his eye. His curiosity piqued, he leaned in closer to have a look.

Affixed to the forhead of the droid, normally hidden under it's false skin, was a manufacturer's plaque. Palpatine brushed away the soot and read the stamped script:

PD SERIES A-26 # 452610009
INSPECTED 02 27 IY 0023

Palpatine ripped the plaque from the still-warm skull of the pleasure droid and dropped it into a hidden pocket in his robes.
The Dark Side rose like a storm in the Emperor, and he unleashed another barrage of force lightning on the smoking skeleton of the pleasure droid, reducing it to a puddle of melted metal and slag, and completely disintegrating the bed. He left the mess for the droids to deal with.

So Tarkin thought he could muscle in on Palpatine's well established underworld Empire, did he? Although the Emperor controlled the galactic government, he also had his filthy claws deep in the slimy underbelly of the galaxy. Palpatine's agents trafficked in all the most vile adult entertainment imaginable, from alien fuck-a-thons and slave trading to holonet porn sites and millions of brothels on nearly every world of the Empire.

He would tolerate no competition, that was for sure. Nobody had any idea how much of the funding for the vast Imperial War-Machine came from Palpatine's dirty dealings, but it was a sizable percentage. Tarkin would have to be informed of his error, clandestinely, of course. Palpatine keyed the comlink on his throne, and spoke into it.

"Summon Lord Vader. It is a matter of pressing urgency." As he spoke, Palpatine shifted in his throne and unleashed a long, rumbling fart that rolled through the vast throne room and echoed off the ceiling. He smiled in blissful satisfaction. Sex always helped relieve his chronic constipation.

"Uh... What the fuck was that, sire?" asked the young Lieutenant on the comm line. Palpatine even surprised himself when he dismissed the young man's question. He hadn't taken a shit for days, and he was feeling alot better. He began cackling evilly as the horrible rotten stench spread throughout the vast chamber and the small batlike rodents in the upper rafters began suffocating and dropping lifeless from their perches from the deadly effects of his rancid Sith fart.

[END CH. 4]

BOTM 15.Nov.02

Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm

"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"

-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"


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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-02-09 06:18am

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC CH 5 Part 1 by Falkenhorst and Sheppard


Geordi LaForge sat back in his office on the Enterprise, a bottle of
Gin in one hand, and his dick in the other. In front of him lay the
complete technical blueprints for the proposed _Telemachus_ class
heavy battleship. Geordi's favorite pastime was jacking off
to the latest blueprints from the Advanced Starship Design Bureau
at Utopia Planita.

From time to time, his people would wonder why he always seemed
to have a problem with white scum buildup on his walls and
control panels.

Geordi gasped as he came, shooting his cum all over the walls. Damn,
he was going to have to find some other place to do this, but it kept
turning him on, to do it in such a public place.

Taking another swig from his bottle of gin, he pulled his pants back up,
and cursed as he saw some cum dribble down his left inseam. Fuck, that
was gonna leave a stain.

It had been a stroke of genius to use his high-level access to program
in a secret code to make the ship-board replicators produce high-quality
booze, allowing him to obtain cheap alcohol, and avoid the high prices
commonly associated with that bitch Guinian's secret Bootlegging operation.

From outside the office came a trickling noise, like a faucet being turned
on, and Geordi stuck his head out to see what it was. It was nothing but
a bunch of his guys having another one of their pissing contests to see
who could whizz the farthest down the core shaft before it impacted
the warp core containment field, giving them a mild shock. This was
known amongst Starfleet engine crewers as "tickling the lizard".

Normally, this would cause no problem, since if the piss didn't vaporize
on the forcefield, it would trickle down and pool in the field modulator
nodes. Today was different. Ten decks below, in the darkest reaches
of the Enterprise-E, Doctor Crusher was having one of her regular
gangbangs, with the entire crew of those lower decks running a
train on her.

After the last crewer had shot his load inside her, Crusher stood
up. She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell now clogging the
small compartment where she went for her weekly orgies.

"The Blowers should fix that problem, Doctor," said the man who
had just shot his load into her, and reaching over, he turned on
the main blowers.

A rumble shook through the ship as the giant blower units kicked in, and
ten decks above, 40 gallons of stale piss was sucked out of the warp core
and into the main vent shafts,where it vaporized into a fine mist and
spread throughout the ship. With the stale festering mess gone, the
modulator nodes unclogged and power efficiency zoomed up 10% in just minutes.

Thirty decks above, the recently promoted Captain Riker was pounding into
Troi on his new ready-room desk. He was enjoying the dark, mushy charms
of her Betazoid ass when a greasy, gurgling fart was heard in the ready room.

Riker paused, looking scornfully at her, and then realized the sound was
coming not from her well stuffed back door, but from the ventilator
grate on the wall.

Riker turned to look at it just in time to recieve a foul blast of
piss-mist in his face. He screamed in agony as the piss burned it's
way into his eyeballs, and he pulled out of Troi with a wet slurp.

All over the Enterprise, crewers screamed as the piss-mist swept it's
way through the Sovereign-class starship, quickly filling it with the
foul stench of rancid piss.

"Turn those goddamned blowers off!" shouted Riker as he stumbled
onto the bridge, his face burning from the piss.

"Yessir," replied Data, his android fingers rushing over his touchpanel
at lightning speeds to shut off the ship's blower system.

"Blowers stopped, sir."

A beeping noise came from Data's station.

"Oh for fuck's sake, what now?" snapped Riker.

Data looked at his panel, then replied. "Sir, Admiral
Janeway is coming aboard in an hour's time for the
annual Starfleet inspection required of every ship in
the fleet."

"Fuck me dead." was Riker's only reply as his hands
clenched into fists.

Goddamn it. Not now...

[1 hour later]

Despite the Enterprise crew's frantic efforts to cover
up the ship's newly-acquired smell with lots of replicated
air-fresheners, the ship still stank of rancid piss.

As the transporter beam faded out, and conscious thought
returned, Admiral Janeway took a sniff of the ships' air,
and was almost bowled over by the acidic stench of stale

For the first time since Voyager's return to the Alpha
Quadrant, she felt like she was at home again.
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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2003-03-14 07:26pm


Kira Nerys, no longer content with the hi-powered sex pistion purchased during shore leave on Risa threw the 15 inch device to the floor in disgust. Normaly she would just dial up Odo and use those shapeshifting powers to her own advantage, but for some reason he was being all secretive and talking to Bashir more than usual.

"Fuck it, time to go get a holosuite"

Kira stormed her way down to Quark's, the Ferengi was notably absent. Taking advantage Kira walked over to the closest holosuite and opened the door.

"All right time's up asshole Its my......What?"

Kira was stunned to see Ezri Dax, sitting in a holographic jacuzzi completely naked. She was writhing herself in pleasure over one of the jets, she barely noticed the door open.

"Ezri what the fuck?"

"Oh! Major! I was just umm well..."

"It's ok, looks like we're both here for the same reason"

"Odo not around to shapeshift into whatever you want?"

"What? Yeah how did you know?"

"Odo has fucked every girl on this station, I only knew about it at first because I have some of Jadzia's memories. One time she had odo morph into a Romulan ridgeworm and god damn...."

"That fucker! He said he only did that for me!"

"why dont you just sit down in the tub and relax. the water is all nice and bubbly on my teats anyway?"

"did you just say teats?"

"You wanna fucking enjoy this or what bitch!"

Kira, suddenly turned on by the domineering Trill stripped and then jumped into the water.

"You know what I like best about being a woman major? We know what we like, Curzon used to spank it with a thumb up his ass to Orion slave girls taking it DVDA?"


"Double Vaginal Double Anal, like when Odo turns into the Andorian multispider with the slick legs"

"Oh yeah....hey shut the fuck up its not funny!"

"You think you're the only girl to be fooled by Odo? He is such a fuckin star it isn't funny,"

Ezri then moved over towards kira and climbed on her leg. Besides, everyone on this station thinks your a dyke anyway!"

"The hell I am! What makes people think that?"

"Come on major, the short hair, military attitude, hell some of these memories from Jadzia about that time on the Runabout..."

Kira gasped slightly and screamed


"Sure it was, now heres the deal, quark's holographs have no stamina whatsoever, to cater to his male customers probably. I think i'm going to have to use you instead."

"Use? Me? I'm a superior officer!"

"Shut up, you're my bitch thats what you are. Computer, program Dax Beta Nine"

Almost instantly the tub disappeared and the two nude women were surrounded by a virtual dungeon, devices from all corners of space surrounded them.

"You aren't going to use this stuff are you?"

"No this is one of Jadzia's old programs she used to do with Worf, now there are a pair of fucking freaks. i only need one thing...."

Ezri walked past several harness like devices, a set of odd looking straps, and a plasic egg and finally found what she was looking for. She picked up the object, a small computer chip looking device.

She then waked back over to kira and kissed her while inerting a finger into her drenched pussy, Kira responded back but pulled away when a sharp pinch hit her clit.

"Freakin Tap Dancing Prophets what have you done to me!"

" That computer chip was replicated so its not just a hologram. You're going to wear that around while I control it with this transmitter. Worf used to do this to jadzia all the time out on missions, sick fuck but its quie brilliant. I'll be in control of your every orgasm."

Ezri pulled out a small remote and pushed down on the button. Kira's legs began to melt and she fell to the floor with pleasure.

"Im in control now you hear? Now get yur clothes on and get back to your quarters bitch!"

Kira nodded gathered her shit and left.

Suddenly the naked female form turned to liquid and reformed as Odo. Odo was always in control of his bitches wether they knew it or not. he had just pulled almost the exact same trick on Ezri a couple days prior. Odo knew in his mind he was the man and even while he was busy helping bashir get his shit together there was no way he was going to lose control....over his bitches.


w00t w00t 1 0WN j00, r0xx0r! ahahahahahah
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Post by Falkenhorst » 2003-06-28 04:46am

Just when you thought you were safe....


Written by FALKENHORST in absence of MKSheppard

Props to Darth Fanboy and Crayz9000 for conceptual help with this chapter.

Captain Sisko walked into his quarters, kicking off his boots. It had been another long, luckless day of fucking around trying to get to the bottom of the illegal porn smuggling operations plaguing DS9. He ordered a tall glass of Malt Liquor from the replicator and padded over to Jake's room. He found Jake curled up in a fetal position on his bed, rocking listlessly. Sisko was about to chalk it up to trauma over Nog's unfortunate accident a few days ago, when he noticed his son was whispering a rhyme as he rocked and hugged himself. It went like this:

One-Two, RayCav's coming for you;

Three-Four, he's at your back door;

Five-Six, he likes ripping up chicks;

Seven-Eight, time to be his mate;

Nine-Ten, never sane again...

Sisko realized he remembered a similar rhyme from an old 20th Century horror flick he had once seen. He backed slowly out of his son's room and sat down heavily on the couch, and slammed back several mouthfuls of his beverage. Something about that Backdoor line rubbed him the wrong way.

"Computer," he said, after a moment of reflection. "Analysis of bowel movements for Jake Sisko in the past month;" he said.

"Restroom records indicate Jake Sisko had 45 bowel movements in the last 30 days." Replied the computer in it's annoying feminine voice.

Sisko considered his next query very carefully. "Computer, how many of those involved loaded pants?"

"Please Specify."

Sisko took another deep sip from his glass. It was now about half empty.

"You know, the squirts, the shits, sitting in the mud, that kind of thing."

"Restroom records indicate that Jake Sisko soiled his trousers 30 of the last 45 times he used the restroom."

Sisko blinked and guzzled the rest of his malt liquor. So someone was buggering his son. He reached for his communicator to call Eddington. This was a mystery he would solve with maximum vengeance.

Meanwhile, Doctor Bashir grinned in lecherous satisfaction as he wheeled Nog's medical cart back into the storage closet behind the supply room of the infirmary. Julian Bashir was smugly satisfied that he would come through this latest round of investigations without trouble. He had been "seeing" Jake Sisko a few times every week after he had used his contacts with Odo to blackmail the young man into becoming his personal plaything. Odo had tipped off Bashir that one Miles O'Brien was taking out his frustrations on his lovely wife, Keiko, and a plan had formed in his twisted, genetically enhanced mind.

Julian had arranged for a PADD containing security footage of one of O'Brien's more brutal nights at home to be left where Jake would find it. When Bashir was certain from the disturbed look in the boy's eyes that he had seen the PADD, Julian had taken him aside and assured him that unless he cooperated fully with whatever the Doctor wanted him to do, Bashir would tip off O'Brien that Jake knew his dirty secret.

Jake had feared for his life and played along with all of Julian's sick fantasies until the Doctor had begun to grow bored. That was when he made Jake do the one act which cost him his sanity.

One fine morning, Jake was sitting on the balcony on the promenade with his friend Nog. Jake was jittery and shaking, but he did his best to hide it. Nog was pretty broken up himself, what with the death of his uncle Quark at the hands of that dusthead whore. The whole incident had caused a major scandal on the station, on top of the fact that everyone naturally assumed the Ferengi were the cause of the whole Porn mess.

Nog was in the process of bitching and moaning about all this to his best friend Jake. Jake thought about Julian's violent threats about telling O'Brien if he didn't do this one thing for his Uncle Julie, as he called himself. So Jake slipped a compassionate arm around his friend's shoulder and made as if to console him.

In an instant, the boy had gripped the railing with his free hand and shoved the whining Ferengi off the walkway. Nog wailed with surprise and fear as he dropped like a rock. Out of morbid curiousity, Jake leaned forward and peered down. Nog's flailing body slammed into the floor 30 feet below, feet up. He landed on his left shoulder and his neck snapped with a horrifying ripping, cracking noise as his bulbous head rammed into the deck at an off angle.

Jake began to scream as Nogs' blank eyes stared up at him, his crippled body quivering in spasms as his ruined nerves misfired wildly. As medics rushed to the scene, Jake Sisko went nuts.

Doctor Bashir began humming a little ditty as he locked the door tight and rolled some other carts of medical tools over in front of it. He had purposely bungled the operation to repair Nog's broken neck, leaving the young Ferengi a helpless Quadraplegic. For the last couple weeks, ever since he had sent word to Rom back on Ferenginar about his son's unfortunate death in an airlock accident, the Doctor had been playing out his sick fantasies on the comatose Nog. Julian knew that when Rom came back from taking care of his Brother's estate on Ferenginar he would have to either sell or snuff Nog, but he was enjoying him too much right now to think of the future. Still humming, he flipped off the light switch and walked out into the darkened infirmary. It was the late shift, and he was going to his quarters for some sleep after his exhausting session with Nog.

As Julian stepped into the corridor, 2 large men stepped out of the shadows.

"I'm Frankie," said one; "and this is my pal Seppo." he finished.

"Our bosses want us to give you a little message." said Seppo, pulling out a truncheon.

Julian tried to turn and run, but suddenly he got a splitting headache, and the last thing he saw was the deck rushing towards him.


BOTM 15.Nov.02

Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm

"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"

-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"


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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-08-03 01:54am

Sea Skimmer wrote: Good, and don’t take a month to do it.
I took 2 months. And as a result I had to top my self......this is a very
DARK chapter.....

Unnamed Porno Fanfic Chapter 8

By MKSheppard and Col. Falkenhorst

Slowly Bashir woke up, and found that he was bound and gagged securely
to a chair in a darkened room. He tried to turn his head, but his restraints
were too tight, and the best he could do was turn his eyes left and right,
widening his field of view by a few degrees.

But he still saw nothing. Complete utter darkness.

Then out of the darkness, a pair of bright lights snapped on, half-blinding him.

A deep voice began speaking out of nowhere, and Bashir tried to turn his head
again to see who it was, but again, his restraints prevented him from doing that.

"My, My. You've been an inventive little bastard. Smuggling in Trill porno
inside those soup mix crates and reselling it to lecherous Bajorans for huge profits."

The voice paused, then continued.

"It's a damn shame that you had to go and visit your...perversions onto
those two poor boys. We had plans for you. Big plans."

Bashir tried to mutter something, but he couldn't since what appeared
to be a ball gag was in his mouth.

"There's a very good reason you can't speak. This room isn't soundproofed."
said the voice with an audible leer.

"Now, if you will look ahead, we have a surprise for you."

Bashir looked ahead, and at that moment, another pair of floodlights snapped on,
illuminating a bound and gagged Jake Sisko whimpering for no apparent reason.

"Rubber Truncheons, my dear Doctor. Perhaps you're very familiar with their
peciular effect of not brusing the skin, despite the severest beatings possible?"

At that moment, Bashir was genuinely scared, and as much as he tried to stop it,
a dark stain began to spread across his dress pants.

"Good. You're scared. We would like to introduce you to an old friend of yours,
who is quite pleased with our job offer, and has agreed to work with us from
now on. It's a shame that he was so...insistent on what he wanted if he was
to work with us. Toodle-Ooo, my dear Doctor."

Another spotlight snapped on, revealing a heavily breathing Nog, who had a brace
around his neck and a dark red line across his neck's skin, indicating some
very recent surgery there. In his hand was a rubber truncheon, and blood was
slowly dripping off it.

A grin of pure pleasure slowly spread across Nog's face and at that moment,
Bashir lost it and the dark stain spread uncontrollably, his piss dripping
down his legs and onto the metal grating where it disappeared through the cracks.

[10 Feet Below]

Benjamin Sisko was on his third glass of malt liquor of the night, when he felt something
dripping onto his head. Looking up, a drop of piss fell into his left eye, and
he clapped his hand over the eye, screaming as the acidic piss burned his eyeball.
Slapping his communicator, Sisko connected with Ops. "GODDAMNIT OBRIEN! I


Miles O'Brien cursed. Fuck, another good night at Quarks was shot down before it
had even begun. Now he was going to have to spend his night checking the sewage lines
for leaks, and that involved crawling through the Bilges of the station.


At least Keiko's black eye had healed by now, he thought with an evil grin as
he grabbed his tools.

[Above Quark's - in the Secret room]

"Hello, my dear Doctor," whispered Nog as he walked over to Bashir and slowly caressed
the doctor's ear with the tip of the truncheon. "I remember when you would come by
at night after everyone was in their quarters for the night, and you would rape me,
and force me to eat your shit. Well, now the shoe is on the other foot, bitch!"

With that, Nog struck Bashir so hard, with so much force, that Bashir's right eyeball
ruptured and hung out of its socket by the optic nerve.

Bashir tried screaming in pain, but the gag stopped all sound and the best he did was
to shred his vocal chords in the process.

Nog leaned over to the dangling eyeball, and slowly grasped it with his sharpened
teeth and RIPPED it out completely, severing the optic nerve, and causing even more
pain to Bashir.

[In One of Quark's former secret compartments for smuggling]

Sheppard and Falkenhorst were watching the brutal display with dispassionate interest.

"Jeez, this guy's a brutal son of a bitch." muttered Sheppard.

"Yep. Be glad he's on our side." replied Falkenhorst as he took a bite out of an orange.

"Seppo, Frankie, are you sure we're getting this from all angles? This stuff will make us
millions on the Klingon snuff market." asked Sheppard.

"Yeah. We're getting it all, boss." replied Seppo as he took his eyes off the monitor and
towards a book.

[The Compartment]

As bloody goo dripped down Bashir's face from his ruined eye socket, Nog turned around
to face Jake, whose eyes were wide with fear. Nog slowly walked over to a antique wooden
case and opened it, revealing the inlaid gold stamping of a stylized "S & W" on the cover.

Reaching into the case, Nog pulled out a gleaming stainless steel revolver, with the words
"Smith & Wesson - .50 Caliber Magnum" inscribed on it's barrel.

Walking over to Jake, he held the massive gun to Jake's head, and pushed a button on the
chair, releasing Jake's restraints.

"Get up."

Slowly, Jake stood up, albeit unsteadily on weak knees from the brutal beating Nog had given
him a few hours ago.

"Go over to the doctor."

Jake looked at Nog with a dumbfounded look until Nog jammed the barrel of the revolver
into Jake's left nostril.

As Jake walked over to Bashir, inside the video compartment, Shep was agitating frantically.
"What the fuck? Where'd he get that fucking gun? The damn room isn't soundproofed!"

Falk took out a cigarette and lit it, and took a deep drag, enjoying the nicotine high, before
replying to Shep.

"Whatever," and turning to Seppo and Frankie, Falk simply said; "Get ready to move."

Now that Jake was standing over Bashir. Nog simply motioned towards Bashir's crotch,
and said "Suck him off, or die."

Slowly, unsteadily, Jake unzipped Bashir's dress pants, wrinkling his nose at the
smell of acrid piss and began to go down onto the doctor. That was when Nog released
the restraints on Bashir, and before anyone could react, palmed the revolver into
Bashir's right hand, pointed it at Jake, who was giving fellatio to the doctor,
albeit unsteadily, and pulled the trigger.

The massive 440 grain .50 caliber slug, moving at 1,625 feet a second, had barely
cleared the muzzle, before it slammed into Jake's head, obliterating it in a bloody
spray of bone, blood, and brain matter. Bashir screamed as Jake's teeth slammed
shut in an involuntary muscle reflex action, severing his dick in his final death

Before the sound of the explosion had begun to fade, Nog pulled Bashir's hand up and
jammed the muzzle of the revolver into Bashir's ruined right eye socket, thumbed the
hammer, and pulled the trigger again.

[10 Feet Below]

Everyone in Quarks had started screaming and running around the moment the massive
explosion had burst forth out of nowhere when mere seconds later, a second explosion,
as loud as the first, roared forth.

In the bathroom, Sisko was draining his lizard when all of a sudden, the twin explosions
boomed loudly, causing him to bump his head against the wall and leave a massive shiner.

_What the fuck was that fucking shit?_ he thought, still momentarily deafened by the
twin blasts like everyone else in the bar.

It was then he noticed that he had sprayed piss all over his dress pants.


And then something hot and warm began dripping onto his head. Looking up, he saw
a dark crimson stream of blood begin trickling down the walls from the grates above.

"Fuck me." Sisko said aloud.

[15 feet above the bathroom and in the secret compartment]

"Fuck us!" shouted Falk as he grabbed the holo tapes from the recorder, and rushed
out the door behind Seppo, Frankie, and Sheppard, followed closely by Nog, who had
bits of brain matter from both Jake and Bashir on his face, along with a bone-chilling

Ducking into a little used maintenance corridor, with all it's twists and turns,
they were sixty feet ahead of everyone when the first horrific screams and curses
began to come forth as the security personnel discovered the gruesome secret of
Dr. Bashir and his young protege, Jake.

[15 minutes later]

Everyone ducked into the little-used service airlock on the outer docking ring
that nobody used. In fact, the airlock's service records showed that the last
time it was used was during the Cardassian occupation of Bajor, and that was for
spacing people the Obsidian Order had no need of anymore.

"Why the FUCK did you do that fucking shit?" snapped Shep, as he glared angrily
at Nog, who was still grinning.

"You said I could get even with them," replied Nog, slowly licking the brain matter
off his sharpened teeth.

"Well, yeah, there is that." conceeded Shep, "But goddamnit, did you have to be
so fucking brazen as that? You knew it was an unsoundproofed room!"

Nog simply shrugged. Falk then interrupted. "Either way, we got some WICKED footage,
this shit is going to gurantee us a twenty percent share of the Klingon snuff
market at the least!"

Everyone laughed at that, then Sheppard simply said what everyone was feeling; "Let's book."

With that, the small group of Porn Lords, Muscle, and Insane Psychopaths stepped through the
airlock and into their stealthed shuttle, which would take them to their stolen Klingon
battlecruiser lying under cloak in the outer edges of the Bajoran system.

[That night]

Sisko had locked himself into his quarters, and using his Station's commander's override,
had programmed his personal replicator to produce unlimited quantities of malt liquor.

With teary eyes, he looked at the crime scene holographs of his son, his beautiful only
son, having been killed in a brutal sado-machoist sex act by that fucking pervert Bashir.

Life wasn't worth living anymore, he thought. And with that, his eyes travelled across
his quarters to his personal sidearm, a modified Type II Phaser.


The GNOMES make an appearance!
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-08-03 01:21pm

By MK Sheppard, Col. Falkenhorst, with Help from Illuminatus Primus for this chapter.

Senator Timothy Jones smiled as he whipped his
Jet-Ski around the pristine beach off the penal
colony of New Zealand.

Ever since the Federation had evicted all the New
Zealanders to Australia in the 2350s, New Zealand's
beaches had become one of the hottest vacation
spots since you didn't have to worry about
offending the natives, since there were none.

Unfortunately, he didn't know that he had been targetted
for liquidation by powerful enemies. Unbeknownst to him,
deep inside his GNOMEicon Jet-Ski, a radio signal was
recieved from a hidden transmitter on the shore, and the
Plasma flow of the Jet-Ski's engine was redirected into a
specially designed buffer where it built up...

Several minutes later, the Jet-Ski blew up with a thunderous
explosion that reverberated all over the beach, and parts of it
were found by Security Personnel up to half a kilometer away
from the explosion site; of the late Senator Jones, nothing
was ever found, as it was found that the plasma explosion had
been directly underneath the Jet-Ski's seat.

[Somewhere in Deep Space]

The modified Klingon Battlecruiser _Kloth's Pride_, the Klingon script
having been crudely crossed out and replaced with "Asskicker" cruised
at half-impulse power, having been converted to a pleasure yacht, albeit
one with enough firepower to cripple most starships.

"Hey boss," mumbled Frankie. "Some shit's gone down on Earth."

Falkenhorst whirled around in his command chair, Sheppard being away
in his quarters, sleeping. The two of them divided command of the battlecruiser
into 12-hour periods, to make sure nothing was missed.


"This is coming in over the subspace news networks; I thought you'd be interested."

With that, Frankie switched the main viewscreen over to the ship's subspace reciever
array, and the face of the Federation's most famous news anchor, Kelly Antilles,
appeared on the screen.

"Today, in an apparent terrorist bombing, the Federation's most respected legislator,
was killed."

On the viewscreen appeared a picture of the late Timothy Jones.

"Authorities believe that the assassination is linked to Gnomish terrorist groups
upset over his authorship of the Gnome Resettlement Bill of 2367 and the
Gnome Pornography Laws of 2368 that cut off the newly resettled Gnomes from
their primary income, Gnomish Pornography."

"Interesting," muttered Falk. Another player in the great game of interspecies porno.
They would have to be eliminated...eventually.

Turning his attention back to the news, Falkenhorst listened in to the rest of the newscast.

"As well, the Gnome Porn King, who goes by the handle of "Darth Garden Gnome" was
indicted by the Federation Court on 2,451 counts of Gnomish Pornography. He is
unavailable for comment."

"Typical." muttered Falk.

"In other news, tragedy today on Deep Space Nine, where former commander
Captain Sisko, went on a murderous rampage with his Starfleet Issued
phaser, killing well over fifty civilians and numerous security personnel on the rampage
before he was killed by security forces."

Everyone blinked at that, except for Nog, who grinned evilly and uttered
a bone-chilling peal of laughter from his station on the bridge, where
he controlled the _Asskicker_'s weapons.

"Starfleet has already announced a replacement for the late Captain Sisko,
newly-promoted Captain Thomas Paris, son of Admiral Paris, and one of the
famous Voyager crew, who recently returned from the Delta Quadrant just
last year."

The newscast slowly trailed off into irrevelance about the latest stock market
news, until Falkenhorst had them turn the damn thing off.

Sitting back in his chair, he thought about this latest Gnomish terrroist act. The
Gnomes were powerful porno producers, and also produced the most powerful
halluciogenic shrooms in the Federation. And they were going to meet these
stunted little perverts at a secret meeting point they had given them in less than
48 hours.

Falkenhorst's stomach began to churn at the prospect of meeting the most
infamous pervert of them all, the one called Darth Garden Gnome. It was
Darth Garden Gnome who had written, directed, and produced a snuff porno
entirely along the lines of the old rhyme "RayCav's coming for you".

[Deep Space Nine]

Captain Parris stepped off the space liner and onto the promenade of
Deep Space Nine, and tried to ignore the repeated phaser burns all over
the promenade, as well as the still-carbonized remains of dozens of people
still burned into the walls. Apparently the clean-up crew hadn't gotten around
to fixing the mess Sisko had caused when he snapped a few days before..

Behind him, following him closely, was his personal assistant, Ensign Thomas
Stravo, a complete utter loon who actually thought he was Captain James T.
Kirk, and emulated Kirk in every aspect, even right down to the personal
mannerisms and womanizing.

His only saving grace was that he was one of the best men Parris had ever seen
when it came to arranging Porno deals. Too bad he always carried a briefcase full
of Janeway pornography around with him, thinking that people would actually buy it.

Parris tried to stifle an involuntary shudder. He had served for seven years under that
bitch - who the fuck could see her as a sex object?

Ensign Stravo, on the other hand, was already thinking of how to ship his personal
collection of dozens of Holotapes featuring him doing the nasty with Admiral Janeway
to his new duty post.

[END CH 9]
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-08-05 03:15pm

U * * N * * N * * A * * M * * E * * D

P * * O * * R * * N * * O

F * * A * * N * * F * * I * * C

U * N * N * A * M * E * D

P * O * R * N * O

F * A * N * F * I * C



[ A cookie goes to whoever can recognize this intro - HINT, Only
ASVSers will get the intro]

Chapter 10: Shit begins to happen

[USS Enterprise-E]

Deanna Troi sat down in her husband's quarters, and screamed
in pain at the pain radiating from her ruined ass. God-damn Riker
and then Worf for having ass sex with her repeatedly, and Worf for
using that damned Klingon Pain stick where the sun didn't shine...

But...there was a way to get back at them, and maybe make all
this fuckery stop, so they'd at least go back to fucking her up the
right hole.

Hobbling over to her personal computer access system, she
sat down on the seat, biting her lip in pain, and began entering
in Riker's personal access code into the computer.

"Computer, Access the personal replicator controls for Riker, William T
and Rozhenko, Worf."


"What do you want to do today?" chimed the computer in an irritating

Troi could never understand why the damned computer always said that.
Some of the engineers she talked with said it was because the LCARS system
was based off an old archaic earth computing system made by an obscure
company in Redmond, Washington.

"Computer, access the medical database, in particular the one for infectious

The computer beeped, then replied; "Password of the Chief Medical Officer,

Troi smiled and entered in turn Crusher's password. All those days of hot lesbian
sex with Beverly were paying off; in fact, she had fucked virtually everyone on
the Enterprise for the last eleven years, obtaining their passwords while they
slept, even Picard's.

It was the sole reason she remained on the Enterprise, even after eleven years
of doing nothing at all except masturbating all the time in her office when she
was supposed to be seeing the ship's crew and faking her logs for the investigators
who kept wondering why the Enterprise had the highest suicide rate in the fleet.

"Password Accepted."

"Computer, insert ten milligrams of the following..."

Troi then thought for a moment, and then decided what to give to Riker and Worf.

"bacillius darkstar into every food and liquid item dispensed from the replicators
for the aforementioned personnel."

The computer then beeped for a few moments and then said "Done."

At that, Troi began to cackle insanely. Oh, they would get theirs soon.

[Bridge of the Enterprise]

Newly-Promoted Captain William T Riker swirled his tongue around and decided
that his mouth was getting too dry. Pushing a button on the captain's chair, he
rang up the galley a deck below.

"Galley, this is the Captain, I'm getting thirsty. Send up a bottle of Jack Daniels
and some ice."

"Captain, you're on dut...."

"I know what the fuck I can or can't do, just send the goddamned shit up before I have
you fucking demoted to scraping off our impulse waste vents!"

Several minutes later, a waiter, dressed in the gold uniform of engineering and ship's
services walked in holding a tray with a bottle of Jack Daniels on it along with
a tumbler filled with ice. He set it across the captain's arms, locking the tray into the
supports on the sides of the captain's chair designed for that purpose.

"Excellent. Begone." replied Riker with a wave of his hand.

Pouring himself a bottle, he gulped down the entire tumbler in a single swig. Ahh...that
felt good, even if there was a strange taste to it...nothing probably, really.

Several minutes later it happened.

Captain William T Riker, holder of the Federation's highest honors, the Golden Sun,
Hero of the Federation, 1st Class, and too many other awards to list, promptly shit
his pants.

A disgusting stench quickly filled the Main bridge as the smell of last night's meal
of chili tamale and liquor wafted from the Captain's pants.

"FUCK! FUCK! GODDAMNIT!" shouted Riker as he realized what had happened.

Standing up, he felt his shit shift around in his pants, some of it falling through
his pants legs to splatter on the deck below.

"Data, you have the fucking bridge!" roared Riker as he hobbled away to the
main head on the main bridge.

[2 hours later]

The main head had quickly filled up with the combined shit of the bridge crew
and was now a disgusting burbling mess of brown mass that pulsed like it was

All over the mighty ship, hundreds of crewmembers quickly fell victim to the
mysterious disease that had infected their ship through the replicators,
and soon the corridors were slick with brown, red, green and yellow shit (depending
on the race of the shittee in question).

In the main conference room, everyone was gathered around the table, waiting
for suggestions as to how solve this messy problem.

"What the fuck happened?" grunted Riker as he filled another pantsload.

"Unknown," replied Data. "It appears someone has tampered with the replicators."

"Wow, that's a fucking lot of........" Geordi paused in the middle of his sentence
as he too filled his pants with shit. Moments later, the urge to shit having passed
away for a short while, he finished the sentence. "....help you fucker!"

"Please, Geordi, do not be emotional and excitable. I'm sure a solution to our
problem can be worked out in due time." Data said, switching off his olifactory

"That's easy for you to say, fuckhead! You're a goddamned robot...unnngh" snapped
Worf as he let loose a thunderous Klingon fart that washed all over the room like
the slow rumble of thunder on a summer day.

"Unng...Uh, sir, I believe I have a solution to our problem sir." replied the Chief
Non-Commisioned Officer of the Enterprise, who had replaced O'Brien as transporter
chief several years ago.

"Well, fucking spill it then!" snapped Riker, then he realized he shouldn't have said
that as a fresh wave of shit splashed down onto the floor all around the conference

"Our ship doesn't have the sewage capacity to...unng...deal with this mass outbreak
of Dirarhhea...unng...however, there is something I read in a technical manual a long
time ago, about the...umf...possibilities of using transporters to remove waste from...
argh..bodies, eliminating the need to shit, sir."

"Well, then fucking do it then!" roared Riker as he let loose a short rapid series of
shits that shot down his pants like cannon shells.

[15 minutes later - Transporter Room One]

The transporter chief stood at his station, trying to fight off the urge
to shit long enough to get it all set up.

"Locking onto the test subject's commbadge...isolating the shit...nnngh...
oooh...beginning beaming procedure."

In the middle of the transporter pad, the first amounts of shit
began to shimmer in and then plopped down onto the pad.

"The test run on Commander Barclay seems to have worked
perfectly." replied Data, who was standing next to the Chief.

"Any ill effects, such as his intestines getting beamed out too?"
came the question from the bridge.

Data raised his tricorder and scanned the pile of shit. "No intestines
detected sir, just pure shit."

"Excellent. Begin the mass beamings."

"Yes, sir, we're commencing at once."

[1 hour later - Main Shuttle Bay One]

The brown gooey mass filled the shuttle bay almost
to the top, the result of beaming the shit out of
almost fifteen thousand intestines and directly to the
largest space on the ship that could easily be opened.

"Begin decompression." ordered the shuttle bay chief officer.

"Aye, Aye, sir, Beginning decompression."

As the Shuttle Bay doors opened, the shit was slowly sucked out of the
ship and into deep space, but at the same time, more shit arrived from
the transporter pattern buffers, so the Enterprise-E began to trail a brown
contrail of shit.


"Captain...Message from Starfleet Command coming in, sir."

"Fuck," grumbled Riker. "Put it fucking on."

Admiral Janeway's face filled the screen, and her eyes flicked back
and forth across the bridge, noticing the brown stains all over
everything, and the piles of shit that were being beamed out as
fast as they could be made.

"Having a outbreak of mega-dirahhrea, Captain?" asked Janeway,
and as Riker began to protest in reply, she raised her hand to stall
his protests.

"Don't worry, Captain, your secret is safe with me. Why, this reminds
me of the Dirarrhea outbreak we had on Voyager. We had to
deal with it for twenty consecutive days...Of course, I immediately
deleted it from our ships' logs out of embarassment once the outbreak
had burned itself out. I suggest you do so too."

"Fuck, Admiral, What the fuck do you want with us?" growled Riker
as he felt the tingling of the transporter removing another ton of
shit from his body.

Janeway glared at him for several seconds, then replied.

"Captain, your ship has been ordered to sector 202AB to this particular
asteroid belt-"

A diagram of a solar system with a particular asteroid belt highlighted
flashed on screen in a picture underneath Janeway's visage.

"- to look for the leader of the Gnomes, Darth Garden Gnome, and to
locate his secret porno factory, as well as wherever he makes his
psychoactive drugs. If you find him, apprehend him so he can stand
trial for his crimes against the Federation."

"Fuck, can we kill him? I'm in a bad mood from all this shitting I've
done this morning." snapped Riker.

Janeway considered this for a moment.

"That would violate the Prime Direc--aw fuck, I'll let you do it, seeing as
I've violated that piece of shit hundreds of times in the Delta quadrant."

Everyone stared openmouthed at Janeway openly admitting to breaking
the prime directive.

"I'll keep your secret if you keep mine." replied Janeway.

"Sir, I believe she has us 'by the balls', as the human colliqualism goes,
Captain." replied Data.

"Fuck it, lets just go and kill something." replied Riker. "Enterprise out."

As Janeway's face blinked from the viewscreen, Data looked up from his
control panel. "Sir, our stealth characteristics are being retarded by the
trail of...shit that we are emitting from Shuttle Bay One."

"Who gives a damn? We're going up against Gnomes, not the fucking
Dominion. Lay in a course, maximum warp for Sector 202AB and
engage." ordered Riker.

[END CH10]
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-10-26 06:37am

And chapter 11 goes up!

Chapter 11; The Gnomes Don't Show up (Yet), but lots of others do!


Captain Hyperion of the Federation Very Large Cargo Carrier SS Valdez
sat in his Captain's chair, and tried to make his idea for a penlight phaser work,
using a modified Type I phaser 's internals shoehorned into a penlight cylinder
when all of a sudden, a misfire happened and a red beam shot forth from the
phaser lense, narrowly missing his head by mere centimeters, and instead
hitting the main computer, which was the only other thing on the bridge besides
his chair.

"Oh shit, shit shit, fuck damnit!" shouted Hyperion, who was unsure as to what
string of cursewords to use as the main computer shorted out, causing a kalideoscope
of voices to leap forth from the speakers around the small bridge as random
memory locations were accessed and played forth by the computer as it
emitted an electronic scream and babbled around like a lobotomized man
(which it was now essentially)

"I like you you like me...SEIG HEIL...One small step for man...one giant leap for...

In disgust, Hyperion re-aimed the penlight, noting the angle of the lenses and shot
the speaker nearest him out. Shit, this was not going to look good on his next
performance review by Starfleet.

The backup computer finally kicked in, and although it was slower than the main
computer, it was adequate for it's purposes.

"This ship's course has been altered by the main computer." announced the
backup computer.

"Shit, can you change it back to what it was before?" asked Hyperion.

"Negative, Captain."

"Fuck. Where are we headed?"

"Our course will intersect with the planet Oberon VI in three point two minutes."

"That's not good." muttered Hyperion.

"It is suggested that all personnel evacuate the ship now, before the warp field
reaches the planetary gravity well of Oberon VI and is explosively stressed."

"Well shit."

With that, Hyperion got out of his chair, and stopped in his small quarters which
were just off the ships' bridge to grab some of his phaser components, a few
books, and of course, a rod that he had found in the waste disposal compartment
a few years ago at Spacedock while his ship was being filled up with liquid
deuterium for a trip to Fenrock XI.

Jumping into the small escape pod which was at the very end of the small corridor
that allowed him to move between the bridge, his quarters, and the small engine
room, Hyperion strapped himself in and activicated the pod ejection mechanism,
grunting as he was exposed to seven gees as the pod shot forth from the
pilotless SS Valdez, it's warp field sustainer keeping him from being reduced
to pancakes as it breached the Valdez's warp field and dropped back into normal

He watched as the Valdez broke up in orbit around Oberon VI, spilling it's cargo
into the atmosphere of the planet. Shit, there went his paycheck for the next
few years.

[Six hours later]

"WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR SHIP?" screamed the Duchess of the Principality of Zeon,
Marina O'Leary, as she heard what had happened to the ship that was bringing
the much-needed load of sperm to Zeon II, for you see, the Principality of Zeon was
an all-female society that had evolved from a sleeper-ship full of Feminists who had
left earth on an ancient DY-100 sleeper ship centuries ago and settled on a new

"Duchess, I'm sorry, but apparently the Captain decided that playing with phasers was
fun and shot out the ship's computer, causing it to crash on the planet Oberon VI." said
an apologetic Admiral Janeway.

"What? Can the cargo be recovered?" asked O'Leary.

Janeway raised her hands to forestall any protest, causing
O'Leary to think 'God how I hate that bitch and her stupid gestures'.

"I'm afraid Oberon VI is a pre-warp planet off-limits by the prime directive.
Apparently the natives are in the Stone Age, so it's likely the cargo will be
destroyed on site rather than mounting an expensive and long recovery
operation which probably will be spotted by the natives, leading to cultural

"Will we be compensated for the loss of the cargo?"

Janeway again raised her hands, causing Marina to grind her
teeth together in frustration.

"I'm afraid not. It seems our Captain Hyperion was an unlicensed Ship's
Master, and as such, the Federation Insurance Agency has declined to
cover your cargo."

Now the grinding began in earnest. "I've heard enough," muttered Marina,
and with that, she shut off Janeway in mid-sentence.

This was nothing but a total catastrophe. They had spent their last cash
reserves in buying this load of sperm from the Federation, and now with
it gone, their society would not be able to viably reproduce itself in about
five standard years.

This called for extreme measures. Pushing a button on her desk, she
summoned her chief problem-solver.

Several minutes later, Master Operative Zaia of the Principality's secret
intelligence agency, the SOS, in particular, the ultra-secret NBA section
arrived and stood at attention before her boss.

"Zaia, I'm afraid we have a problem. We've lost our cargo of Sperm, and
the god-damn Federation won't compensate us. I'm authorizing you to
do the following..."

And with that, Marina wrote down several objectives on a sheet of
paper and slid them over to Zaia, who picked it up and read it.




Zaia simply nodded and left the room for SOS's headquarters,
about half a klick away on the main boulevard of the Capital City
of Sontag, towards NBA's armory, and from there, to the shuttle port
where she'd pick up her cutter that would take her to her jobs
to be completed for the Glory of the Principate.

[Enterprise E Engine Room - A Jeffries tube just off it]

"Ooh baby..." gasped Geordi as he plunged his cock into the artificial
cunt he had designed himself and installed in a little out-of-the way
Jeffries tube that overlapped the main EPS Conduit from the Warp
core to the starboard nacelle.

The heat generated by the ship, as well as a little lubricant, made it feel
like the real thing...Of course, Geordi wouldn't have known what the real
thing felt like if it hadn't been for that fat girl he dated in high school.

His sex life had been to say the least, shitty, what with that god damned
VISOR that he used to have - now there was a pair of "No Fuck" glasses.

His new bionic eyes weren't much better, since word had gotten
around about the secret X-Ray vision built into them, and women
kept slapping him, thinking that he had been peeping on them through
their clothes (which of course he had been doing).

So out of frustration, he had built this artificial vaginia to help relieve
his sexual tension, and it had worked great so far, and he could indulge
in one of his secret fetishes; fucking the Ship herself.


"Captain, I'm afraid you have Risan Hookworm." said Doctor Crusher
with some regret as she put down the tricorder after scanning Riker, who
had come in complaining of pain around his penis.

"What the fuck is that?" growled Riker as he felt the transporter beam away
another load of shit from his intestines; most of the ship was now over the
outbreak of Mega-Dirarhhea, except for a quarter of the crew. Unfortunately,
one of that quarter was him.

Crusher ignored Riker's profanity, and brought up a 100,000 x magnified image
of the Risan Hookworm onto a display next to the biobed.

"These creatures evolved to follow the sexual practices on Risa, and they are spread
primarily through two methods, through walking over infected soil, or having sexual
contact with an infected being. Sexual contact is the most common method
of transmission; the eggs enter the body thru the Penis or vagina and then lie dormant
for a period of as long as twenty years, and then they begin to hatch."

"I don't want to fucking know everything, just tell me how to get rid of them!"

"You can't." replied Crusher.

"What the fuck?"

"We've tried everything; the only known cure is for them to exit the body through
sexual fluids; I suggest you begin masturbating heavily, Will."

With that, Beverly handed Riker a bottle of Astroglide XXIV, the sexual lubricant
of the 24th century.

"Can't I just fuck Deanna instead?" asked Riker, causing Beverly to look at him
like he had grown a second head.

"It's sexually communicable, Will."


Beverly looked at him even more strangely for a moment of
uneasy silence before replying.

"You can't risk exchanging infected fluids with another person. If
your wrist hurts, I can prescribe some painkillers."

"Again, So? She's probably got the damn thing along with a fuckload
of other diseases."

Beverly scowled as she punched up Deanna's private medical record,
and then straightened in shock. "I'll be fucked, you're right, she does
have it...and what the fuck is Q'onos Tapeworms?"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" shouted Riker as he grabbed the PADD from
Crusher and looked at it. "...communicable only from Klingons...why that
lying fucking SKANK!"

Suddenly, the main medical viewer beeped, and the image of Risan
hookworms was replaced with an image of Admiral Janeway, who
saw Riker with his pants down and a scanner over his dick.

"I can see why Picard always called you Number One" muttered Janeway
before resuming what she was going to say.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to delay your trip to the Gnomish base,
apparently there's a cleanup that needs your attention on Oberon VI."

Riker resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled his pants back up.

"So? Get someone else to do it."

"You're the closest ship, Captain Riker, and besides, cleaning up a few
million tons of sperm shoudn't be that hard with your ship's phasers."

"Primitive planet full of screwoffs then?"

"Yep, Kill anyone who stumbles upon the cleanup effort. Thank god Picard
is gone now, we can go back to normal Starfleet standards when dealing
with Enterprise, rather than having to keep a special set around to avoid
pissing Baldy off."

Riker turned to Beverly, who was ashen at this flagrant violation of sentient
rights and slapped her, leaving a red welt on her right cheek.

"You didn't fuckin' hear a damn thing now, Bev."

Janeway smiled at that. "Ahh, the times that brings back with me and Ensign Kim; he
loved to be slapped in our secret sexual trysts....oh wait, I shouldn't have said that.
Janeway Out!" and with that, Janeways' face disappeared, to be replaced with the UPF

Riker slapped his commbadge and raised the bridge.

"Bridge, this is Captain Riker, reset our course for the planet Oberon VI, and enage,
maximum warp."

"Sir? I thought we were going to bust up the Gnomes?"

"We're still doing that, Ensign. We're just making a stopover on the way."

As the Enterprise swung around at high warp, the sudden changes in the
EPS flow to the starboard warp nacelle as a result of the high-warp
turn had some rather interesting effects.


"What the fuck?" muttered Geordi as the artificial cunt sped up and began
to smoke as the irregularities in the EPS powerflow reached the motors driving
it. Unfortunately for Geordi, he like most Starfleet engineers since Montgomery Scott's
disappearance, had forgotten (or neglected) to install surge protectors on equipment
they installed or maintained.

The cunt began to buzz loudly and with a scream from Geordi, it blew up in his groin,
spraying him with scaldingly hot plasma at thousands of degrees. Screaming in pain,
he slapped his commbadge and initated an emergecny site-to-site transport directly
to main sickbay before the Plasma filled the little jeffries tube completely.

[One Hour Later]

Doctor Crusher sighed and put down her medical tools. It had taken all her skill to save
Geordi's life, but alas, she hadn't been able to save his cock. Well, that's what happened
when a EPS conduit blew up right on top of your groin; the only thing left was a charred
stump a few millimeters in length and one badly scorched ball.

"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2003-10-29 05:22am

MKSheppard wrote: It's going to kick up really high in UPF 12, which I'm gonna write tonight
as I have nothing better to do
Ok, I lied. :lol:

UPF CH 12: The Clean-Up.

Captain Will Riker stood on top of the mountain and looked down onto a lake full of pure
spooge and thanked God that he had his hazardrous environment suit on, otherwise
the smell of millions of gallons of man chowder would have knocked him unconscious
right away. This lake was the largest of the thousands of lakes created when the SS
Valdez had spilled it's load of man chowder a day or so ago.

Behind him was Data, who was scanning the lake with his tricorder. "Captain, I detect large
amounts of Sexually Transmitted Diseases in the sperm below; among them are Gonorhhrea,
Herpes, Klingon Clap, Rigellian Syphillis, The Rot, Vulcan AIDS, and Volcano Herpes."

Upon hearing about the presence of the ROT, everyone shuddered and checked their
suits for leaks.

"Well shit, whose shipment was this?" asked Riker, making a mental note never to get
sperm for his games with Troi from these guys. One of Betazoid's bizarre rituals involved
bathing ritually in a bathtub full of sperm. God, it was fucking expensive getting that shit,
especially since Betazed religion dictated that it had to be humanoid sperm, not animal.

"The World Church of the Creator, sir. Run by one Matthew Hale." replied Data without
missing a beat. "They're a semi popular group for mass sperm withdrawals."

"Weren't they a neo-nazi group a while back?" asked Riker.

"Yes, but that was hundreds of years ago, apparently they decided that selling sperm
was more profitable than selling hate tracts."

Riker thought this over for a moment, then decided not to think any more about it.

Tapping the communicator on the front of his suit, he raised the Enterprise. "Enterprise,
this is Captain Riker, lock phasers onto the lake of sperm in front of us, and fire."

Several seconds passed, and then a visibly irritated Riker tapped the badge again.
"Riker here, what the fuck is going on up there? Fire god damn it, you fuckers!"

"I'm sorry Captain, but the planet's magnetic field is interfering with our phasers,
we can't get a clear lock on."

"Then use a god damn torpedo, you fucking moron!" shouted Riker, getting annoyed.

"Unfortunately, our main torpedo bay is undergoing maintenance, because Ensign Azeron
somehow managed to get himself jammed in between a torpedo and the torpedo launcher
hatch. It isn't pretty, from what I've heard."

Riker sighed. "Use the tractor beams, then." Moments later, he suddenly replied, "No wait!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Use the tractor beams to get rid of the other cum on the planet, but leave this lake here."


"Do it, unless you want to be down here on cleanup detail!"

From their vantage point on the mountain lake's overlook, everyone saw millions of gallons
of sperm slowly float into the air all by itself all over the horizon. This caused Riker to frown.
This was a clear case of cultural contamination. Tapping his commbadge again, he raised
the ship.

"Enterprise, once you get that torpedo launcher repaired and working again, I want you
to level everything in a hundred mile radius around this lake, Starfleet Authorization
Kappa Iota Lambda Lambda."

"And assemble the Hazard Team, section M, and get them down here ASAP. I've got
a mission for them."

Several minutes later, the Enterprise's Hazard Team, Section M; appeared before Riker and
Data. It consisted mostly of the retards and screwups of the Enterprise's crew; to be used as
cannon fodder in any battle with the Borg, etc.

Leading it was none other than Ensign Andrew Joshua Talon, the head of Section M. The
stupid fucker actually thought this was a desirable posting. Riker resisted the urge to giggle
as he told Ensign Talon what Section M was going to be doing.

"Ensign Talon, I have a very important job for you and Section M."

"Yessir! We shall try to do it to the best of our ability SIR!" shouted Talon, and
he saluted with what appeared to be a cheap plastic wand from the replicator.

"See that lake of Sperm?"

Talon nodded.

"It's your job to clean it up; as we can't stick around, because we have to go
to the Gnome meeting in Sector 202AB."

"We Shall fullfill it to the best of our ability! SIR!" shouted Talon in a voice that
made Riker wince, even through the suit.

"Good. Riker to Enterprise, Five to beam up."

As Riker and the other away team members beamed up, several heavy crates appeared
in their place, and Talon opened them; finding the clean up kit proscribed by Starfleet
for such cleanups.

Inside, he found several hand phasers, hoses, buckets, and lots of antibiotics. There
were several dozen MREs and field shelters in one of the crates, along with a few wet/dry
vacs with built-in distengrators along with stand-alone heater units.

Obviously, the phasers were to heat the rocks, the hoses were to suck the cum up
and deposit them into the buckets, and the antibiotics were to clean your mouth out afterwards, and the wet/dry vac with the distengrator was to deal with your bodily

As he handed out the phasers to his team members, one of them, Ensign John Clark,
accidentially fired the phaser and distengrated himself. Damn it, why did this always
happen on average of once a mission?

Several hours later, as the Enterprise-E sped away from Oberon VI, leaving behind a continent
steaming hot, with no living life on it to protect the Oberons from cultural contamination, the
sperm that they had tractored from the planet's surface slowly solidified into an icy ball of
cum, and slowly began to drift away into deep space.

[Two Thousand Years later, the year 4325]

The massive engine of destruction churned through space. It had finally reached
it's destination after thousands of years in cold transit between galaxies.

This new leviathan had devastated it's home galaxy, being a thousand times
more powerful than it's predecessor, which had been stopped so easily by
a man called James T Kirk.

This new galaxy, which it's inhabitants called the Milky Way, would stand
no chance against it...

The frozen cum ball, battered and pitted after two millena in deep space, sailed
down the maw of the Super-Doomsday Machine.

Moments later, the massive machine, which had devastated countless worlds,
withstood untold gigatons of firepower, and travelled across deep space
for millena, choked to death on the cumball and died.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by Falkenhorst » 2004-02-02 05:24am

Dum da da dummmmmmmmmm.......

Dum da da dummmmmmmmmm.......

Just when you thought you had gotten your sanity back after reading chapter 12 back around HALLOWEEN, just when you thought the madness was over since shep took off, I HAVE COME TO RUIN YOUR ILLUSIONS, MOFOS!!!

The UPF is back in FULL EFFECT with Chapter 13!

Chapter 13

Tom Riker stepped out of his modified Delta Flyer class shuttle and pressed the red ARM button on his keychain remote. His bosses Sheppard and Falkenhorst had contracted a black market arms dealer to soup up the ship once they had jacked it from the Starfleet Factory where the Delta Flyers had gone into production after the return of the USS Voyager.

The vessel hummed and there was a crackling in the air as the special anti-theft devices engaged, electrifying the hull like a giant bug zapper that could burn a man to ashes in a fraction of a second. Riker walked across the massive landing bay, carrying his travel case.

His intel report had told him all about this place, known as Babylon 5. A giant space station shaped like a Klingon dildo, it was home to roughly a quarter million people, a large percentage of whom were the dregs of society, along with every variety of criminal, arms dealers, drug peddlers and other scum.

Security Chief Michael Garibaldi stood watching the customs area for the man he was supposed to meet. His comlink beeped.


"Boss, it's me. The Narns say they have the goods. The deal is going down."

"Good. And remember, Larson, if anything happens to that buy money, I'll put your head up your ass faster than Rabbits fuck."

"Yeah boss." and the flunkie closed the channel.

Coming down the ramp, he spotted a man who fit the description of the guy he was looking for. Turning so nobody could see him, Garibaldi snorted a quick hit of coke and wiping his nose, walked towards the gate.

Riker was mildly annoyed as the guard ran a scanner baton over his suitcase, and it started beeping.

"Sir, I'll have to ask to see your baggage."


"Just open the case." said the guard.

"What, you looking for guns, little man? Here's some guns." Riker swept open his trenchcoat, revealing dozens of automatic weapons and throwing knives and other destructive toys.

"HOLY SHIT!" choked out the guard. Just as he was about to sound the security alarm, Garibaldi came up.

"Relax, Freddy. This guy's OK. Orders from Captain Sheridan." which of course was pure bullshit, but the guard didn't need to know that.

"Come with me, Mr. Riker. I’ll show you to your guest suite." said Garibaldi, ushering the new arrival towards the elevator.


Commander Ivanova's quarters rang with grunts and cries and the squeaking of much abused bed springs. Commander Susan Ivanova was in a very compromising position, but she was still exercising her customary iron authority over the muscular Narn who was fucking her doggy style. His chain necklace, the Narn equivalent of a crucifix, jangled and swung back and forth as he pounded into her with his monstrous ridged cock.

Ivanova hadn't really liked aliens at first, but as she had become more and more jaded and experienced, fucking her usual squad of human studs every night had grown boring. Another reason, and one she didn't like to dwell on, was that all her constant fucking had really stretched out her cunt. Her voracious sexual desires had actually grown stronger, however, and so she found herself gripping the headboard as the huge Narn squished her tits in his powerful hands and stiffened, pumping several pints of flourescent red Narn jizz into her.

Seeing as she had already fucked 3 of the Narn's friends that night, her bed and some of the furniture looked like the a scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

In the next room, Ambassador G'Kar and some other Narns were sitting around a table, playing cards and smoking expensive cigars. These were a handful of the most powerful figures in the Narn criminal underworld. Ambassador G'Kar had invited them to see the sights and taste the drugs and women of B5, and so far they were enjoying their stay. They were interrupted by Ivanova yelling from the bedroom.

"Hey, one of you fucks get in here! I'm high and dry!"

The Narns laughed among themselves and G'Kar stood up.

"Well fellows, you'll be meeting with those humans in a few minutes here, so I think I'll take my turn." With that he excused himself and hurried towards the bedroom. The other Narns at the table laughed among themselves. G'Kar was known to like banging human girls, maybe even more than Narn females.

Soon, there was a knock at the door, and two shady looking human thugs were let in. The Narn crime bosses quickly cut to the chase.

"Have you got the money?" asked one.

"Have you got the goods? Replied one of the humans.

A Narn patted a thick travel case sitting on a bureau nearby.

"Okay, so give us the goods and you get the money."

"Let's see the money first, said one of the Narns.

"Open that case."

None of the Narns moved.

"Come on you polkadot head fucks, either produce some fuckin goods or we walk out of here right now!"

The Narns smiled and glanced at each other and reached as one into their expensive suit coats and pulled out a variety of energy pistols and other lethal weapons like disruptors and burners and even a plasma cannon. The two human flunkies froze, knowing they were now definitely fucked. They had heard of these Narn mobsters, stone killers and expert gunslingers all of them, and it was no surprise that they had got the drop on them.

"Here's how this works, joo-mon, you give us that cash and we give you a little lesson in fucking manners!" said the oldest of the criminals, motioning 2 of the others to drag one of the men into Ivanova's bathroom. They quickly relieved the men of their guns and complied as the Narn crimelord opened the travelling case and pulled out a chainsaw.

The first human watched in growing terror as his companion was chained up to the shower bar. The Narns held him against the wall and forced him to watch. The big Narn flipped a switch on the chainsaw and pulled the cord, adjusted the choke and pulled again. The saw roared to life, filling the small cubicle with metallic roaring and oily smoke, drowning out Ivanova's cries of orgasmic release.

NO NO NO!! babbled the first human as the Narn smiled and revved the saw, slowly slicing into one of the second guy's legs. Screams filled the small room, mixing with the roar of the chainsaw to create a hellish crescendo of sound. Blood splattered everywhere, drenching Ivanova's box of sex toys in the corner, the cowering human who was pissing his pants, and ruining the Narn gangsters' designer suits.

G'Kar poked his head in to see what the noise was, and got an eyeful of gore. He muttered a curse and grabbed a clean roll of toilet paper and got back out before he got sprayed with more blood, and wiped his face and then started cleaning up his nether regions. When he walked back into the bedroom, Ivanova looked at him over her glass crack pipe as she took a deep drag, held and then exhaled.

"What the fuck's goin on in my bathroom, are they raping that guy?"

"No you dumb human cunt, they just sliced his ass off with a chainsaw." muttered G'Kar in genuine exasperation.

"Cool, slurred Ivanova as she smoked herself into a drugged stupor.

Zack Allan leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the surveillance console and smiled. Ever since Garibaldi had gone back to his former routine of cheap sluts, booze, drugs and petty crime, he had been running security on B5. Not officially of course, but in practice. Captain Sheridan had turned out to be an all purpose fuckoff, but he was charismatic and somewhat competent when he wasn't too busy skimming off the top and chasing that hot Minbari piece of ass around the station.

At least Sheridan wasn't a Catholic like the previous CO of B5, Commander Sinclair. He had been raised by Jesuits. Garibaldi had once told Zack (in a moment of drunken honesty) about how Sinclair had been a Priest for awhile, but he was defrocked because he was busted in a prostitution sting for running a gay brothel in his rectory.

Zack smiled evilly as one of the young Earth Alliance crew-women on his surveillance monitors stepped out of her shower and began toweling herself off. That was one of the perks of running security here. He had paid big money out of his gambling percentages to have a respected Security Corporation from the Centauri Republic come and install these surveillance cameras all throughout the station. Zack had a lot of former intelligence agents and a few dozen skilled technicians on his clandestine staff, and they were always at work sifting out the good footage from the security tapes and splicing it into numerous porno movies which were then exported through the black market and human and alien Mafias for sale throughout known space.

Along with his burgeoning porno business, Zack was also collecting protection money from virtually all the unorganized freelance criminals on the station, and he had worked out agreements with the major organized crime syndicates whereby he received a percentage of the profit from their criminal activities on his station.

Just then, the buzzer on the door went off.

“Enter!” said Zach, moving some papers on his desk to cover the Drazi needlegun he always kept nearby. The door opened, and Garibaldi came in.

“What is it?” asked Zach, noticing the heavy stench of whiskey wafting off the balding security chief.

“He’s here. Just so you know.” Said Garibaldi.

“Good. I’ll page him to come see me tomorrow morning.” Said Zach. “Now go take a fucking shower, for Christ’s sake.”

Tom Riker was walking through the gardens, admiring the massive structure of the interior of Babylon 5. He turned a corner and nearly bumped into a well dressed man of dark hair and medium stature. Riker reflexively reached for his massive .50 caliber hunting revolver in his jacket, but he backed down when he saw that this man was non threatening, maybe a businessman.

“Hi, I’m Tom Riker. Visiting the station.” He said.

The man regarded him for a moment, and then smiled slyly. Riker knew his type. Definitely a businessman. He could almost see the gears going round and round in his head. The man extended a hand.

“My name is Mr. Morden.”

Riker shook Morden’s hand.

“What do you want, Mr. Riker?” Asked Morden.

BOTM 15.Nov.02

Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm

"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"

-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"


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Post by MKSheppard » 2004-12-15 02:08am

Unnamed Porno Fanfic
Chapter 14


[Sickbay, USS Enterprise-E]

Slowly, Geordi LaForge woke up to pain, more pain; he slowly lifted
the thin hospital sheets to reveal....a shriveled burnt mass where his
penis used to be, and let out a gutteral wail.


His shouting attracted the attention of Doctor Crusher, who quickly
ran over to his bedside. "Geordi, are you in pain?"


"I guess so," replied Crusher.

"Isn't there anything you can do, Doc? The Man needs his dick, baby."

"No, we don't have the technology to grow you a new cock and balls here,
we kept asking for it, but Starfleet HQ kept turning us down, the bastards,"
muttered Crusher, who felt more anger at being denied an unlimited source
of life-like dildos than being able to treat crippling groin injuries like Geordi's.

"What about Cybernetics?" asked Geordi.

"Can't do that; I don't have any of the necessary supplies here to build you
a functioning penis and balls," replied Crusher.

Geordi licked his lips, trying to figure out a way out of this vexing bind. He had
to have his mighty staff back. He had plenty of bitches that needed deep dicking.

Then it came to him, in a clear ephiany of insight. Data.

[Somewhere in Deep Space]

The independent cruiser Turd Burglar cruised through the warp lanes
towards it's rendevous with the Gnomes, to discuss the prospects of splitting
up the gay gnome porno scene to their mutal profit

In the main conference room of the Turd Burglar, the top senior executives
of GALE Productions, Ltd were meeting, to decide what kind of deal they should
offer the Gnomes.

"...do we really want to corner the Gnome/Gerbil Market?" asked Straha

The pounding of a fist was heard as the chief executive of GALE, Ltd, Frank
Hipper slammed his fist onto the table repeatedly. "What have I told you idiots
before?!? A credit is a credit! We don't fuck around with such abstract shit like
"decency" and "animal abuse"!"

"So I guess I better renew our order for a thousand gerbils?" replied Straha.

"Make it ten thousand, we're going to drive the gnomes out of that market completely,"
Hipper thought for a moment before adding; "These actors need to learn to stop
crushing them with their sphincters, however. It's driving costs up, and we can't have that!"

"And it's kind of a turn-off," chimed Kojikun.

"Is there anything else?" added Hipper. When no one replied; "Very well, Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rose and said the customary "HAIL GALE!" except for Kojikun who said
"Hail the Gnomes!" instead, bringing suspicious looks.

"What the fuck?!?! Who the fuck said that? Who's the son of a bitch who said that with
a visible erection?" shouted Hipper.

All faces turned to Kojikun, and without any further word, Hipper pulled out a heavily
weathered Mauser pistol and shot him in the head; spraying Kojikun's brains all over
the rear wall of the conference room.

Holstering his pistol, Hipper motioned for his guards to take away the body. "Dispose
of it, we'll recycle it into our Hipper-Brand Pet Food Syndicate.

[Somewhere in the Ass-end of Space near Sector 202AB]

"Where is the meeting?" asked Zaia in a deadpan tone of voice, as she let the laser pointer
of her disruptor pistol wander over her informant's crotch.

"I swear to God! I don't know a damn thing about any meeting!"

"Wrong answer," replied Zaia, as she pulled the trigger.

The man began to feel a sensation of heat on his groin, which quickly grew
in intensity and pain until he cried out, "On Asteroid 44112!"

"Thank you for your humble help, Citizen of the Spaceways," replied
Zaia, before she shot him through the head. Wouldn't do good to have
him warn his fellows that he'd squealed the secret to her.

[USS Enterprise - Entering Sector 202AB]

Captain William T. Riker groaned as he jacked off using the bottle of Astroglide XXIV
that Crusher had given him. Finally, he came, spraying greenish cum with stringy clots
of blood in it all over the toilet seat. Looking his cum, and it's strange color for several
moments, he finally shook his head.

"Fucking Betazoid skank...goes and gives me this and god knows what else too."

Suddenly, the commpanel on the wall beeped. Fucking hell, why did it always happen
at times like this. Slowly pulling his pants up, he wiped the odd dribbles of cum off his
dress pants with a tissue. Finally, when he was properly freshened up, he opened up
the channel.

"Riker here."

"This is Lieutenant Commander Gray."

"What is it?"

"Sir, you wished to be notified when we entered Sector 202AB."

Fuck, that's right, thought Riker. A niggling thought wormed at
the back of his mind.

"Gray, where the fuck is Commander Data? I thought he was supposed
to be on duty at this hour."

"Sir, we haven't been able to locate him."

"Have you checked the computer core? He loves to go in there and do...
unnatural things with the Main Computer."

"Yes, sir we checked that already."

"Damn." Just like Data to leave me in the lurch like this.

"Prepare the away team. We're going over to the asteroid once we're in shuttle
range," ordered Riker.

"Sir, Why? We can just phaser it into non-existence, Sir."

"Yes, yes, we could do that, but then the Federation council would be all
over our asses, demanding proof that this WAS an illegal pornography
trading post, and why did we vaporize a hundred plus sentinents for no
damn reason at all, Gray."

"I suppose so, sir" replied Gray, not entirely sure of the logic behind this,
if they were just going to kill them all anyway.

"Besides, we gotta follow regulations at some fuckin' point, Gray."

"I guess so, sir."

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base]

Slowly, Falkenhorst and Sheppard moved through the dank tunnels of SEGNOR's secret
asteroid base, ducking from time to time to avoid a low hanging conduit, escorted by
several mean-looking gnomes who would have looked funny anywhere if they weren't
toting disruptor rifles.

"They're here, Mighty Leader," muttered one of the Gnomes in front of them upon
rounding a corner. Shep and Falk rounded the corner too, to be greeted by the most
disgusting sight either of them had seen in their lives, and they'd seen a lot.

Falkenhorst looked at the disgusting mass of flesh that was Darth Garden Gnome and
tried to suppress his gag reflex. Suddenly, from Darth's rear end came a disgusting gurgling
noise, and from a opening at the tip of Garden Gnome's tail, a freshly born gnome, still
covered in mucus, slid forth. It opened it's doe-like eyes and upon looking at Falkenhorst,
said "Daddy".

Before either of the two could reply to this sudden change of events, Darth snapped up the
freshly born gnome and ate it in two massive gulps. A loud belch rumbled forth, and Darth
brought his hand up to his mouth. "Excuse me, If I had known you were coming in so early,
I wouldn't have spawned, Shall we do business?"

"Indeed," replied Sheppard. "We want to get the best possible deal from you Gnomes
before those other freeloading scum of the Business arrive."

"Ah yes," chortled Darth. "I do believe the issue of Lord Wong of Ephesius IX, is coming
up at some point during our meeting. Particularly on who will become his sole source
supplier of high quality anal porn. I understand you have some of that involving Archer and
Hoshi in your files?"

"We're not interested in that contract," replied Falkenhorst flatly.

"Ah well, then I assume you won't be in the running?"


"Good. More chances for me to make money," added Darth in a wicked chortle that
set his entire body shaking.

"Since you're bowing out of that contract opportunity, I can offer you a early bid for
the Lesbian porn contract for the Principality of Zeon."

"We'll take that!" shouted Shep and Falk in unison.

"Good, Good, Good. Consider the deal closed. It shall never come up for debate
during the meeting. I of course, expect a small cut of the profit for this...service to
you, my friends."

"Of course," replied Sheppard and Falkenhorst, while gritting their teeth.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Just Before the Meeting's Start]

Sheppard and Falkenhorst watched as each heavy hitter in the Pornography business
came through the security screen; most of them were the usual well known people
in the business, like the Klingon Targ Syndicate, which concentrated on Klingon Bestality

Falkenhorst's ears perked up when he heard one of the newcomers state that he was
from the Angelixxx Syndicate. "I've never heard of those fuckers before," he muttered.

Neither had the gnomes who were running the security screen, so they gave the newcomers
a more throrough security screen than the others.

"Sir, if you would put your thumb against this pad, we can confirm your identity." said one
of the Security Gnomes in his sing-song voice.

"Fine, Fine," growled the Nausician who was in charge of this Angelixxx Syndicate.

The Gnomes eyes didn't narrow a whit as the DNA scan came through and showed
a picture of a clean shaven William T. Riker on the screen, which only he could see.

"Ah, Mister Ploteek, good to see you, sir. If you'll follow my associate, we'll have you
set up in the conference room in no time."

Riker and his away team, who were disguised as Nausicans through the magic of
Federation cosmetic surgery followed the Security Gnome into a windowless room,
where behind them, a heavy door slammed down, and the Security Gnome ran into
a little gnomish sized opening in the wall, which promptly was closed off by a thick

From hidden speakers in the room, Darth Garden Gnome's voice boomed forth.
"Greetings, Captain Riker! Surely you did not think that we would fall for your
pathetic disguise! Enjoy your hospitality at our hands, for you shall not enjoy

"Shit," muttered Riker, as one of his away team members pulled out a tricorder
and analyzed the room they were in. "This room contains high concentrations of
Beryllium Ore, which blocks transporters and communications exceedingly well."

Riker kicked a Klingon skeleton which was lying in the corner of the room, causing
it to collapse in a pile of dust. "Well, fuck."

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber]

"I demand a cut of the Japanese Bestiality Bondage Midget Porn!" shouted Damien Soresso,
who worked for the Sicilian Mafia in North America.

Suddenly, a pasty-faced man began jumping up and down, shouting obscenities. "No,
this is UNCONSCIABLE! My family has controlled that market ever since the 2000s,
and I'm not going to let it be stolen by a filthy Eyetalian!"

Sheppard and Falkenhorst, who were seated together at one end of the great roundtable,
sighed. Why was it that the weirdoes, like Spanky the VIIth always fought so hard over
the fringe shit?"

It was then that All Hell Broke Loose (TM)

The Skylight over the table shattered in a spray of glass, and a rappelling line dropped down,
followed by a black-clad figure which was dressed in black tactical gear, holding a pair of
submachine guns, who proceeded to hose down everyone around the table.

By some freak chance of fate, Falkenhorst and Sheppard weren't in the new arrival's immediate
line of fire, and survived the initial barriage of gunfire unscathed. It was then that Sheppard saw
that the commando was a woman, from her auburn-colored hair swinging freely in the in the air
as she filled the underworld leaders of pornography with lead.

"I...I think I'm in love, Falk." muttered Sheppard as he ducked under the table, along
with Falkenhorst.

"She handles those guns exactly the way I do, hell, she has the same type of
guns that I do, even the same caliber."

From above the table, a voice pierced the gunfire. "Damn it, you fuckers, when I shoot you, you
stay dead."

"She even talks like me."

"Yeah, yeah, your dream date is TRYING TO FUCKING KILL US RIGHT THIS MOMENT,
" shouted Falkenhorst over the gunfire as he slowly drew a .45 from his coat.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor]

The corridor was full of Security Gnomes rushing towards the meeting room,
toting all kinds of weapons, from ball-breakers, to vibroblades, and even in one
case, a shotgun, which looked absurdly out of context on a 4 foot tall gnome.

"Dink, Dink, Dink, Security Alert in the Meeting Room! Protect
the Master! Dink, Dink, Dink!"

Suddenly, a door on one side of the corridor exploded outwards, and from the
smoking hole, stepped a man bedecked in weaponry.

For many of the gnomes, it was the last thing they saw, as the man unslung a
flamethrower from his back and unleashed liquid flame from it.

Within seconds, the corridor was filled with napalm and the gnomes trapped
in it were crying out in agony as every last bit of flesh was melted from their
bones by the flamethrower.

The new intruder turned off his flamethrower and watched with a sadistic smile
as the black charred bones of the gnomes collapsed to the ground. He then
spotted a Gnome which had somehow survived the flamethrower by hiding
under the bodies of it's comrades and was now trying to run away. Big Mistake.

The man in one smooth motion, drew a large knife from his belt and threw it
with such force that it burst through the Gnome's front, after severing it's spinal
cord and tearing the heart in half during it's passage through gnomish flesh.

The Gnome fell backwards, it's ribcage spread wide open from the knife, and with
it's last dying breaths, it looked up into the face of it's killer, who proceeded to tear
the Gnome's liver from it's belly and smashed it into the gnome's face, the liver
bursting with a wet squishing sound.

The stranger watched with amusement as the gnome shit itself before dying.
He'd always wondered what the large intestines looked like during a bowel
movement, and now he knew.

[The Asskicker - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost]

Nog watched as all signs of communication ceased from the base. He tried raising
his bosses over the communications system, but no reply came forth. Obviously,
something had gone wrong. Well, he could help his bosses by making sure no one
else escaped this alive.

With that, he locked the Asskicker's torpedo tubes onto the Turd Burglar, which
was docked at one of the asteroid's docking ports and fired.

[The Turd Burglar - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost]

Straha screamed in agony as a shower of sparks erupted from his consoles, and
wiring bundles fell down from the bridge's ceiling. As he sat up and began to
raise the ship's shields, a flashing red light on his panel grabbed his attention.

The power had gone out for a moment in the Special Projects Section of the
Turd Burglar. Dear God, Not that. Terror gripped his heart as he began
shouting over the commlink to Hipper that The Einhander had escaped.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor]

Frank Hipper crouched behind a trash bin as he listened to the faint transmission
coming in from the Turd Burglar. Most of it he couldn't make out, but one word
stood out clearly enough - Einhander. Dear God!

"Go! We're fuckin' leaving now!" shouted Hipper to his comrades, who were laying
down a suppressive fire down the corridor.

"What about the deal and the latinium we left behind, boss?"

"It won't do us a damn thing if we're all anally violated to death!"

This put the fear of God into them, and they began to fall back. Hipper turned around,
only to slam into a heavily armed man, who was holding a severed Gnome head in his
right hand.

"Uh, do I know you? asked Hipper nervously.

"Call me Fanboy, Darth Fanboy. And I FUCKING HATE GNOMES!"

"Really." replied Hipper, trying to get away from this lunatic as fast as possible. "The
head gnome, a disgusting fucker, is just down that corridor," added Hipper.

"Hey, thanks, man! I'll remember this!" replied Fanboy as he dropped the gnome
head onto the floor, and jogged down the corridor, his booted right foot crushing
the gnome's head like an overripe watermelon, and causing a bloody eyeball
to fly out and hit Hipper in the head.

Wiping the bloody eyeball and it's goo off his face, Hipper slowly turned around
and ran like hell for the Turd Burglar. This meeting was rapidly descending
into total fuckin' chaos.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber]

Having dispatched most of the Cartel leaders and their hired goons in the first
few seconds of gunfire, Zaia was now slowly walking around the room, and putting
a bullet into everyone's head, breathing or not. Ducking under the table to check
out two pairs of feet she saw, she came face to face with a cocked .45 automatic,
in Falkenhorst's hands.

"Hello, babe. Fancy meetin' you like this," muttered Falkenhorst.

"Who the fuck are you?" muttered Zaia.

"Who the fuck are you?" muttered Sheppard.

"Hey, I told you she was the right kind of woman for me, Falk, we even
say the same things!" added Sheppard, causing Zaia to give him a
withering glare.

"And why shouldn't I kill both of you boys right now?" replied Zaia.

"We just hit it big, with that porn deal with the Principality, and we don't
fuckin' deserve to die like this!" shouted Falkenhorst.

"The Principality of Zeon?" asked Zaia in shock.

"Yep. Who else would want that much lesbian porn?" added Sheppard.

"I'll let you two boys live...this time." replied Zaia.

With that, she slowly drew up from the floor and emptied her SMG into
the still-twitching corpse of Darth Garden Gnome, causing Fanboy to
cry in despair from the doorway.

"No fucking way, that bastard was mine!" yelled Fanboy upon seeing
the bullets thud into Darth's body.

"What the fuck is this, Armed Asshole night?" shouted Zaia in exasperation.

Before anyone could crack another witty one-liner in response, the head of a
Gnome sailed into the room at a high velocity, propelled by a white mass of

Everyone turned to see a naked red-haired man with an insane look on his
face standing in the doorway, and the headless body of a gnome impaled
on his massive cock.

"What the FUCK is THAT?" shouted Zaia
as she backed away in total revulsion, along with everyone in the room.

shouted the man, to another spurt
of cum from his massive boner.

Everyone slowly began to back away from the insane lunatic, before turning
and running away, screaming at the top of their lungs like little girls.

[The Turd Burglar - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost]

Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink
went the unholy melody of Gnome voices before they were drowned out by
the sound of a light machine gun firing at full auto, as Alryium Denryle cut
through them with his M-60, gnomish blood splattering all over the corridor
walls as he tried to keep the gnomes away from the airlock of the Turd
as the remnants of Captain Hipper's entouage ran into the
airlock, collapsing inside in the safety of their ship.

Finally, the last man was inside, and Alryum slowly retreated into the airlock,
and sealed the outer door.

"We're clear! GET US OUT OF HERE!" he shouted into
the intercom.

Around him, the Turd Burglar shuddered as it disconnected from the
asteroid base, and slowly began to back away preparing for a high speed
run through the asteroid field, and safety, well away from the lunatic in that
old D7 who was shooting at them.

[The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Another Random Corridor]

"Who the fuck are you?" shouted Falk as he, Shep, and this loon called Fanboy
ran through the corridors.

"Someone who hates gnomes!" came the reply.

"Fuck that shit! Do you have a ship nearby? We came in by shuttle, and the shuttle
bay corridor was blocked by that....thing!" yelled Sheppard.

"Yeah, I got a ship. She's small, but she's got it where it counts!"

"Good! We'll pay you a fuckload in latinium if you'll take us with you!"

"How can I turn down free money?"

[The Asskicker - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost]

Nog watched with annoyance as the other D7 disappeared into the asteroid field,
damnit, he wanted to blow that piece of shit to hell. His commpanel suddenly began
beeping. Looking at it, he saw that a signal was enamating from a small ship that
was leaving the outpost at high speed and heading towards the Asskicker.

Flipping on the comm switch, he heard his bosses' voices. "Hey, good to hear
from you, bosses. I've kept the ship shipshape while you were gone."

"Good good, get the landing bay ready, we've got a new crew member joining

[Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E]

"Ohhh yeah, Stick that big black cock up my ass, baby!" shouted
Guinian as Geordi boned her with his new cybernetic cock.

"Oooh, I heard that you got in an...uuuhnmm...accident...oooh"

"Yeah bitch, I did, I'm all better now." replied Geordi, as he slapped Gunian's meaty ass.

[[Main Shuttle Bay One, USS Enterprise-E]

Slowly, Data came back to life. His external sensors were recording the presence of a
large amount of semi-solid liquids around his skin. Opening his optical sensors, he
recorded the fact that he was swimming in a ocean of shit.

Closing his eyes, he began running internal diagnostics, to try and explain his loss of
several hours, as his internal chronometer and his memory banks did not match up by
several hours.

It was then that his diagnostics detected a part of him missing. Running a deeper level
diagnostic, he discovered that his cock and balls were missing. If an android could feel
rage, it was what Data was feeling now, and the feelings of anger built up in his cold,
efficient positronic brain, until it fused the emotion-inhibition circuit in his head shut.

Sheer blind rage filled Data's mind as he swam towards the entrance to the shuttle bay
and began to manipulate the door panel. But it refused to open. The computer's nauseating
bitch voice came through the shit, slightly muffled.

"All Internal entry doors to Main Shuttle Bay One sealed on orders of Engineering officer
Geordi LaForge."

No. This would not stop him. He would not be stopped.

[Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E, 1 hour later]

Geordi wiped the sweat off his brow as he porked Guinian doggy style, having
changed positions twice in the last hour or so. Damn, Data's cock was a dream
come true; he could keep fucking women indefinitely without having to come.
No wonder Data was always so hot on fucking women.

Suddenly, a banging noise reverberated through Ten-Forward.

"What's that noise, baby?" muttered Guinian in between gasps.

"Nothing, Nothing, just shut up, bitch." replied Geordi as he looked
around for the source of the noise.

Out of random curiosity, he looked out the windows of Ten-Forward and
saw it. Data, completely covered in encrusted flash-frozen shit was banging
away furiously on the windows of Ten-Forward. Before his disbelieving eyes,
cracks began to appear on the windows.

"Computer, activicate hull breach containment fields in Ten forward!" shouted Geordi.

"Denied. That command has been disabled under Commander Data's authority,"
replied the cheery voice of the computer.

"The fuck... I didn't mean it Data!" shouted Geordi in the split second before the
window Data was pounding on imploded.

Guinian was torn away from his cock by the hurricane force of the explosive decompression,
shrieking as she hit the frame of the window with a dull crack before being sucked
out the window, Data making no movement to save her.

As Geordi braced himself against one of the hull support struts in Ten Forward, he watched
Data climb through the shattered window, a look of sheer malevolence on his robotic


[Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 15 minutes later]

"Data, I didn't mean it! It was just a practical joke! Honest!" shouted Geordi
as Data held him before the open maw of the matter/antimatter mixture

"I believe you, Geordi." replied Data just before he rammed him through
the tiny opening, in a spray of blood and splintering bone.

Whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, Data quickly reattached his cybernetic cock
and balls, and told the ship's computer to begin core start up sequence in 15
minutes, quickly bypassing all of the safety interlocks that prevented this due to
the open door and foreign matter being in the mixture chamber in seconds.

As he put the final sequence into the computer, a squad of Security guards
burst into the Engine room.

"Give up, Data! It's all over!"

Data merely continued to whistle Pop Goes the Weasel as he walked towards
the guards.

[Shuttle Bay Two, USS Enterprise-E, 10 minutes later]

Data, by now throroughly covered in blood, splinters of bone, brain matter,
and still whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, grinned as he entered the
warp-capable shuttle. It had been...refreshing taking out those years of
pent up frustrations out on the puny humans who had held him back for
so long.

[Captain's Quarters, USS Enterprise-E, 3 minutes later]

Deanna Troi slowly stood up from the glass table in the center of Will's quarters,
the smudge of cocaine still on her nose. What was that about a warp core incident
being imminent?

Smashed as she was, she still recognized that a core incident Was A Very Bad
Thing, and so she made her way quite unsteadily, to the Captain's Top Secret
Personal Escape Pod, and strapped into it. Once the door closed, the pod
automatically jettisoned itself from the doomed ship.

[Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 2 minutes later]

Geordi LaForge was incredibly, still alive at this point, despite having his skull fractured
quite savagely and having half the bones in his body broken. And so he was aware
of the matter/antimatter injectors warming up directly above and below his head, and
had just enough time to scream before his body was reduced to it's component atoms.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2004-12-16 11:03pm

Unnamed Porno Fanfic
Chapter 15:
The Violation of Miles O'Brien

By Darth Fanboy and MKSheppard, with input from Duchess of Zeon

Deep Space Nine

"Fuck, what a day...another 12 hour shift finished and another 40 ounces drained."

Chief Miles O'Brien tossed the empty bottle over the railing, hitting a pedestrian in the back of the head in the
process. He then rounded the corner to his own domicile. Back when Miles O'Brien served on the front lines
of the Federation-Cardassian "conflict" he had seen everything he thought he could possibly see. Friends
hideously disfigured by Cardassian energy fire, comrades flung into space during hull breaches, enemy
and allied corpses rotting beneath the sun covered in festering maggots.

(Of course this was all classified to help keep up the Starfleet image of "sterile warfare").

Like his father and his father before him and his father before him...etc...etc, there was nothing that could
faze the Chief so long as he had a bottle of scotch and a good woman to let out the excess anger on.
He told Keiko all about the horrible atrocities he committed, including the time he and his squad found a lone
Cardie scout on a routine patrol and exacted a little revenge for a few buddies that died the previous day.
In fact, Miles skill kept his "trophy rib" in a small chest under his bed.

His reason for telling her? So that she could look in the mirror after being disciplined just to realize how
good she had it. Black eyes, bruises, even the occasional busted lip, those were nothing compared to the
horrors of war. And as he began opening the door to his quarters he figured that he would remind her again
of how good she had it. Maybe it was his drunken stupor, or maybe it was the fatigue after a long day of work.
But as soon as Miles walked through the door, he felt a dull pain in the top of his head, and then suddenly
the world was black.

Keiko stood over her tormentor, for their entire marriage she had been bullied, victimized, and treated like
dirt. Miles always spoke about how his daddy kept "his old buzzard" in line. Well it was finally time to break
the cycle. It was in her garden that she had begun growing the oddly shaped plants. At first she just wanted
to see how selecting traits could give her various shapes, and then as her research progressed she had
discovered how to make the plants mold as she saw fit. In time she had perfected a perfect replica of the
Human penis with cucumber, carrot, and potato variations.

She knew the idea would make her impossibly rich, and she was even able to use the cucumber to compensate
for Miles' pathetic manhood. Keiko had long been unhappy with her sex life, on the Enterprise she had managed
to get enhancing supplements and instruments from that pervert Dr. Crusher but on Deep Space Nine, she had no
such luck. When she confronted Miles about her idea for a biological sex toy business with no need for mechanical
industry and no waste, she was met with yet another beating.

"No wife is going to use such things," he roared, "and if I catch you working on them, I'll crack some bloody
sense into your skull! You stay out of that lab, woman."

That had been the last straw for Keiko. Working in the lab, with all of its various plants and phallic potential
was her entire life. She knew Miles had access to the replicators and he would know if she touched them
to make something to defend herself. But she wouldn't need them, because she had the perfect plan.

She snuck off to the lab while Miles was on shift and perfected the ultimate weapon.

A meter long cucumber dildo which she crafted specifically to take out her husband, and he'd
have no way of tracking it.

Miles had said that he had to "realign the quantum regulator in the coaxial shutter tubes" today. Which was
his way of saying that once he got all of the work orders out of the way, he was going to sit in an access hatch,
shut off his communicator and get hammered until his shift ended or someone came to find him. This gave her
the opportunity she needed to take him out.

As soon as she brained him, she dragged his body into the center of the room. She quickly covered his body in
a special pheromone, and sprayed a second pheromone on herself before unsealing a small case in her closet.
The vines sprang out of the case and immediately wrapped all of the way around Miles' body, entering his orifices
and binding him completely.

Keiko had discovered this vine while working on one of her various sex related projects and was nearly killed
until she finally managed to neutralize it with a special serum (which is a naturally occuring serum in the human
female's "special place").

Since the vine had targeted her scent, she managed to synthesize two types of pheromones.

The first was that of a Japanese females', while the second was something that masked her own scent.

Keiko was now protected while Miles was a ripe target.

With that part of her master plan complete, Keiko now moved on to the next part of her plan, Escape.

The Principality of Zeon would pay her millions for her vegetable-based sex toys. The non-polluting, all-natural
instrument for manless gratification fit in perfect with the ultrafeminist utopia. But that was not the only reason
she wanted to go there.

According to Zeon law, any woman abused by a man could seek legal aid in having him executed. This
applied largely to the many refugees of domestic abuse which flooded in from the galaxy each year, as
an added incentive to increase the population of the Principality.

Miles had grown fat in his years on Deep Space Nine, and Keiko attributed that to the rest of his body catching
up with his big fat Irish head. Fortunately, the O'Briens had invested in some large luggage before their move to
Bajor, unfortunately it was never used again despite promises of a "quick stay in the asshole of the alpha quadrant."

Keiko managed to summon the strength of eight generations of ancestors and when that wasn't enough,
she sprayed some more of the Japanese girl pheromone in the largest trunk and the vine monster encasing
her husband quickly crawled in carrying its prize with it.

She had secretly arranged for some assistance from a pair of Miles' assistants who were tired of covering
for their supervisor's drinking habits. And it wasn't hard for her to figure out that Paddy Orange and Billy Ulster
weren't entirely fond of Miles' adherency to the Pope.

Paddy and Billy helped haul the luggage to a waiting Runabout while Keiko made the final preparations
for the escape.

Twenty minutes later, she came out of the restroom and discarded the box of the Zeonic brand pregnancy test.
Of course it wasn't an actual pregnancy test, but a communications device that could only be decoded by estrogen.

Keiko activated the test and produced a small transmitter from within the wand. All she would have to do was turn
on the transmitter when she got close to Zeonic space so that they would come to her aid instead of destroying her.

About One Day Later

Commander Thomas Paris woke up in his quarters, yawned, and walked over to his replicator and entered in the
codes for his forged medical clearance. God, the only way he'd managed to handle seven years' of insanity from
Janeway was through the lovely cocktail of pills he was replicating now for a breakfast picker-upper. He'd need
another cocktail by lunchtime, and finally one at dinner, such was the state of his mind after seven years on

Before even the first 50mg of Valium had been replicated, the infernal machine began to smoke and sizzle,
finally shutting down in a cloud of sparks. Cursing, Paris slapped the commpanel on the wall.

"Commander Paris to O'Brien, I've got a replicator that needs fixing, could you send someone up?"

No response.

"O'Brien, if you're going to sleep off another bender, then do it after you fix my fucking replicator."

Even an Irishman could be lured out of an alcoholic coma if you threatened his job...at least that's
what his daddy had told him.

Still no response.

"The fuck is this? Computer, locate Chief Miles O'Brien." shouted Paris in frustration, already
feeling the shakes taking ahold, and his gut beginning to gurgle. God damn Neelix and his
food. The little bastard's food had given him Parmellian dysentry four years ago, and every day
since that fateful day his gut always began to act up, requiring 400 mg of antibiotics to keep
it down for the day, so he wouldn't embarass himself while on duty.

"Chief Miles O'Brien is not on this station," came the cheery reply of the computer several seconds
later, causing Paris to curse in disbelief.

"Oh come on now, the fat bastard couldn't have disappeared entirely. Scan engineering for
traces of rotgut and fresh vomit. Widen the search to fit the rest of the station if engineering
comes up negative."

Several more agonizing seconds passed, Paris could feel the gurgle in his gut becoming louder,
and he glanced towards the bathroom anxiously, and then the computer finally replied.

"There are no traces of illegal liquor or human regurgitant anywhere on this station."

"Well, fuck me dead," replied Paris as he came to realize that O'Brien really was gone.

"Computer, state the last known location of Miles O'Brien, and tell me what the fuck is up his
ass while you're at it."

Mercifully, this did not take the computer that long.

"Miles O'Brien exited the station from Docking Bay Six in an unconscious state with a significant amount
of plant matter wedged tightly in his bowels."

Paris had intended the remark as a joke, but now the mystery had deepened. Even an alcoholic wife
beating scumbag like Miles O'Brien wasn't prone to shoving things up his ass.

Hmm, Wife beating, wasn't his wife a botanist? And didn't she also have access to plant materials
that could concievably be used for rectal violations?

"This is Commander Paris to Lieutenant Grissom, you're needed at Chief O'Brien's quarters immediately."

He'd be getting to the bottom of this, but first, he needed a quick trip to the refresher first...

2 Days Later - On the Edge of Zeonic Space

"This is Principate Border Patrol Squadron 48 to unidentified Federation vessel...respond immediately or prepare
for boarding."

The officer in charge of Patrol Squadron 48, who was known only by the pseudonym "Innerbrat", sat in the
immaculately decorated lounge chair that was her command seat. What her D7 lacked in modern exterior
charm was offset by the elegant interior she had been able to design, taking cues from Victorian era detailing.

After all, how could a woman lead without applying her own special touch? Of course, that had led to her
customizing a new set of uniforms for the women under her command, skin tight leather outfits which looked
as sexy as they did dangerous. The official motive was for all of the women to train hard and stay strong so that
they could fit into their special suits, but the reality of it was that even Senior Officers needed something pleasing
to look at now and then, and the Border Patrol was considered the most gorgeous division of the fleet and
recieved extra commendations from the Duchess herself.

"Principate Border patrol, this is Keiko O'Brien on Runabout Red River, activating transmitter now."

Keiko's transmitter began broadcasting the refugee signal to the bridge of the D7, dubbed Emasculator, where
Innerbrat's bridge crew immediately picked up on the special frequency.

"Ma'am, refugee signal confirmed, It seems that the lady wishes to defect."

"O'Brien, I am the woman in charge of this sector of the Principate's borders. On behalf of all your sisters, I welcome
you to the Principality of Zeon. Do you require any assistance?"

"I am in good health right now, but I do have a male in custody who I am prepared to press charges against. However,
he is a Federation Officer, in charge of operations on Deep Space Nine. So it's likely they already notice he's missing.
I'm also carrying valuable biological cargo that could end the Principate's dependence on Federation sex toys for good."

Innerbrat supressed a whistle. The trade deficit caused by high end Federation clit ticklers alone was enough to make
Zeonic economists cringe. To finish the dependence entirely would be a big economic boost and leave more funds
available for war materials and infrastructure improvement.

But if the Federation was onto her already...

"All ships in this squadron are to go on Red Alert immediately. Prepare for the arrival of Federation ships!"

Almost immediately after she'd given the order, Innerbrat's fear came true as a flotilla of Federation ships led
by the infamous Defiant emerged behind the runabout ready to overtake it.

"Principate ships, this is Commander Tom Paris of Starfleet. We are retaking our runabout into Starfleet custody
along with its cargo. You have fifteen minutes to comply."

Innerbrat scowled at this, and carefully composed a reply as diplomatically as possible.

"Negative, the runabout is within the area of space delineated as under Principality control by the Treaty of
Westphalia. All violations of this space will be construed as a violation of the Treaty, and subject to severe

"And we all know how the Principate stands with regards to 'violations' right?" snarled Paris as he shifted
in his seat. Damn impudent bitch...

"For your sake Commander, I will overlook that comment so this can end without diplomatic nightmares on
both sides."

Paris was in a bad mood, and wasn't in the mood for anymore diplomatic crap, and let loose with all the fury
he had pent up against women ever since serving under Kathryn Janeway.

"Oh come on you fuckin' bitch, lighten up! Do you think I really give a shit? You're in a fuckin' D7, for chrissake.
Now run along back to NOW planet or wherever the fuck it is you're from, and go buy some nice shoes, okay?
This is man business."

Innerbrat's eyes burned with fury as she gave the orders to attack.

The Battle

Innerbrat scanned over her opponents. All she had was three D7 cruisers that the Principality had brought
from third-hand scrap dealers and carefully, lovingly reworked into modern patrol vessels, with the latest
engines and sensors, not to mention the latest weapons, although their firepower was limited by the fact
that only one torpedo bay could actually be fitted to something of the D7's size.

Hmm. The Defiant, an Intrepid, and a modernized Excelsior of a Mark she didn't recognize.
Tricky, but doable.

"Target the Defiant, and fire all weapons on it, Attack Pattern Omega," ordered Innerbrat as she
tightened her seatbelt.

The trio of D7s ripped through the Federation formation in a tight, precise formation that allowed them
to protect each other with their shields and allow their secondary weapons free fire arcs. From their
bow torpedo tubes, dozens of torpedoes spewed forth; since only one torpedo tube could be installed,
the Principality had opted for smaller, but much faster firing tubes.

All in all, over a hundred torpedoes detonated around the Defiant, hammering it's shields down in an
instant, and burning off the ablative armor in a paroxym of atomic initations.

On the bridge of the Defiant, things weren't much better, as consoles exploded, decapicating unlucky
ensigns who seemed placed there for the very purpose of stopping said consoles before they reached
the real stars of the show, the high-grade officers.

"DAMAGE REPORT!" screamed Paris as he pushed the headless body of an ensign off his chest.

"Main Engineering reports that the reactor is offline, and all weapons are destroyed! We're a fucking
sitting duck!" came the scream from the damage control officer before he was burned to death by
a ruptured plasma conduit in an instant.

From the intercom panel on Paris' command chair, a high pitched voice broke through the din of
battle. "Sir, the liquor cabinet has completely spilled out, six bottles of bourbon, two of scotch, and
one of Tequila are broken!"


On Emasculator's bridge, Innerbrat watched the Defiant spin lazily in space, as her lights went off
one by one. They wouldn't be a threat for quite some time, now on to the next target.

The two remaining Starfleet ships attempted to fire on the three D7s, but the cruiser's angular velocity
was simply too high, they had executed that run at maximum impulse with a minimum of corrections,
and had simply blew through too fast for Starfleet weapons to track accurately.

Slowly, the trio of D7s began looping around in a shallow bank, which would require a much longer
turn radii to bring them to bear on the Starfleet ships, but didn't bleed off as much energy as a
short, sharp turn did.

Within moments, it was the Intrepid's turn to die, exploiting the unique vunerability of her
variable angle warp nacelles to completely shatter her engine drivetrain. Moments after the
first attack, precious plasma was roaring out of the shattered ship's drivetrain, and the lights
on the ship began to dim as less and less energized plasma reached the ship's subsystems.

Seeing it's two much more advanced compatriots utterly destroyed by obsolete D7s, the Excelsior
class ship turned around and fled into warp before Innerbrat could bring her squadron around for the
final strafing run.

"Secure from Battlestations. Remain on Yellow Alert until we have retrieved the runabout and left this
sector." ordered Innerbrat as she told her assistant to get her a cup of tea.

2 hours later

After the runabout had been brought aboard Emasculator, Keiko had been debriefed, and it had
been decided to grant her provisional citizenship. As a citizen of Zeon, she was completely within her
rights now to extract justice from the man who had tormented her for so long.

Four of Innerbrat's security officers hauled the trunk containing Miles O'Brien into a holding cell in the center
of the ship. Dubbed, "The Place Where Screams Go to Die", it was the private chamber used by
Innerbrat to extend the reach of Zeon's justice further than what the courts could do.

Of course, rarely did she ever loan out its use to those less experienced in the prolonged and sustained agony
of male criminals. But Keiko's application of botany had impressed her, it was proof that an educated human
female was as dangerous as any other creature in the universe. So Innerbrat decided that, under proper
supervision, it would be fine to allow Keiko to continue the vengeance she had started on Deep Space Nine.

The security officers had removed the still unconscious O'Brien from the trunk and were about to cut him free
of the vine, which was still gingerly fucking him to try and get the nourishment it wanted (but couldn't get from a male).

"Don't cut him free just yet," Keiko said.

"Just use a stimulant to wake him up, let's see how he reacts to having a plant monster fucking him in the ass."

And so they woke him, using a hypostim on Miles' neck before leaving the room.

As Miles' eyes opened, he could feel the ends of the vine inside of him, one end pluinging deep into his throat,
probing his stomach contents and keeping him from vomiting, and the other end slowly but surely creeping up
his asshole, through his intestines.

That end was having trouble navigating the lengthy tract of the human small intestine, but it was only a matter of
time before the two ends met and who knows what would happen then.

"Wake Up Miles..." Keiko said softly into the microphone.

Innerbrat's chamber had strategically placed speakers designed to taunt victims.

Miles couldn't yell back at him, but the pain of his hangover and the pain of his overly stretched asshole
caused him to struggle against his restraints, which coiled around him tighter as he resisted.

"Doesn't this remind you of our honeymoon Miles? How you spent most of our travel fare on booze and I
had to take two cocks from a pair of hotel staff to get our room comped? Oh Miles, I can't believe you've
forgotten that. Well I'll be reminding you of a great many more things in the hours to come, actually the
DAYS to come if I do it right..."

One Week Later - Commanding Officers Office, Deep Space Nine

Paris ran his fingers over where the bloody gash in his head had been. The medics had fixed him up
during the long wait for the deep-space tugs to arrive and tow them back to Deep Space Nine. The
word from the Starfleet engineers who had examined the Defiant had told him that it would take
almost four months to repair all the damage that had been inflicted on her with primitive atomics.

But that was the least of his worries, for Federation Sexports to the Principality of Zeon had almost
completely ceased mere days after the battle. The long term loss to the Federation was incalculable,
trillions upon trillions of credits gone, which was kind of funny, because the Federation officially did
not allow the use of money by it's citizens, but retained significant monetary reserves for it's secret
trading programs that kept the economy from tanking. This of course, was kept secret from the
Federation's own citizens.

To make matters even worse, Paris now had to explain this complete fuck-up to none other than
newly-promoted Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Kathryn Janeway, the King Bitch herself.

Muttering to himself, Paris wondered who Janeway had fucked to get that promotion. Certainly wasn't
a human, that's for sure. As the UPF logo appeared on his commpanel, Paris forced a fake smile
onto his face.

Kathryn Janeway's scowling visage appeared on the screen in moments, and before Paris could
mutter false platitudes, Janeway began screaming.

"Goddamnit, Paris! First Riker and the Enterprise go AWOL while looking for the Gnomes, and
now you completely fuck things up beyond belief with the Principality of Zeon. Do you have a talent
for fucking up, Mister? Do you realize how much this fucking mess is costing me personally?"

"Yes, of course I do, sir." replied Paris. Everyone knew how Janeway had quite large shares in
the stocks of sex toys, they'd heard her talk about it incessantly at staff meetings on Voyager
for no fuckin' reason at all.

"I didn't fucking fly across half of the fucking Galaxy for seven fucking years just to..."

Paris tuned out Janeway's rantings, while looking interested in what she was saying. It was a
talent he'd perfected quite well on the interminable staff meetings on Voyager. Since her
return, Janeway always, ALWAYS brought up Voyager, even if it had fucking nothing to do
with the task at hand. Paris knew that half of the shit that Janeway talked about was utterly full
of shit, made up by her, so that she seemed like she knew what the fuck to do on the bridge
of a starship, rather than a drooling incompetent.

Meanwhile, in the opposite room, Ensign Stravo furiously masturbated to the image of his fantasy
girl on the screen. He had hacked in to Paris' terminal, so that whenever the goddess Janeway
called, he could see what they were talking about.

Originally, it had been so that he could kill Paris if he suspected a romantic connection with
Janeway, but lately it'd become his latest vice, masturbating to archive footage of Janeway's
mouth moving.

It always brought him to a swift and exhiliarating climax, even if the resulting cleanup was a sad
and lonely affair. One day, one day, by God, he'd get the recognition he needed to get noticed
by her and hopefully he'd end up on her personal staff.

Oh what a dream come true that would be...

Admiral Janeway's Office - Starfleet HQ

Janeway looked at the split image on her screen and smiled.

Ensign Stravo was a sloppy hacker at best, but his intentions were far more interesting. During all
of that time on lonely Voyager, no man had once ever even tried to stalk her or steal her panties.
Chakotay had been so timid, so boring, and any good that had come out of him had been erased
when she found out about the Maquis' infamous $50 bet.

She watched Stravo's face turn beet red on the monitor as he neared his finish, and resisted the
urge to clutch at her own breast, which was sagging discreetly under the table. Finally, Stravo turned
off his end of the connection, which was her cue to end this pointless chat with Paris.

"Mr. Paris, Starfleet Command would appreciate it if you would return to Earth and personally brief them
on the incident with the Principality. Plan on staying for a while. By the way, don't you have an assistant?
A Mr. Stravo I presume?"

"Yes ma'am but he's an incompetent little..."

"If you want to salvage your career, you'll bring him along."

Paris didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to go back to prison. He was an officer now,
and he knew what happened to officers in prison.


Authors Note
This was all written by Darth Fanboy, in response to the Duchess story capsule idea for UPF:
The Principality of Zeon not only offers political asylum to all battered women, but if they
succeed in bringing their batterer across the border with them, have a legal right to torture them to
death. The Federation refuses to do anything about it because it is "respecting Zeon's cultural traditions".
Since one of your earlier chapters mentioned O'Brien musing that "Keiko's black eye had healed",
I thought you could do a sideline with her fleeing for Zeon with O'Brien tied up in the Runabout.
Paris chases them in the Defiant and gets bitchslapped on the border with Zeon by a squadron of
old D7s (because they have competent tactics unlike the Feddies) on border patrol who have
crews of exclusively British-descended women with black leather jumpsuits for uniforms, and
InnerBrat in command of the squadron. After taking about Keiko and Miles, she loans Keiko her
shipboard torture chamber for use on the trip back to Zeon.
After getting the raw story from Fanboy, I looked it over, formatted it and polished it. The part about
Paris having dysentry from Neelix' cooking is mine, which is an expansion of Paris eating pill cocktails.
I expanded it so that he's addicted to them from the stress caused by 7 years on Voyager.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2004-12-28 09:05am

Unnamed Porno Fanfic
Prequel to Chapter 14: You Must Be This Tall To Survive
By Darth Fanboy

Note: This is set prior to the events of Chapter 14

The Ferengi Marauder lay dead in space, its cargo of rare Romulan Fetish Magazines preserved
in the dead of space. Romulans were an abnormally prude bunch, and although they liked to think of
themselves as formidable, they were nothing more than arrogant snobs. Their tastes in pornography
though, were more specific than their counterparts around the rest of the galaxy.

While Romulan porn resembled the Vulcan preference in its seeming blandness, there were many
subtleties that had to be filmed and photographed precisely. The Romulan preference was so
specific, that an errant nipple or ass rimming would mess up the choreography so badly that a Romulan
could lose his entire libido for a planetary cycle. The sheer difficulty in creating authentic Romulan porn
(Only three or four films could be filmed each day per studio rather than the typical sixteen or seventeen)
meant that its value per item was great.

The Gnome cruiser "Ankle Biter" moved in on its target, while its length was a mere 500 meters it had a
crew complement of nearly 1000. Thanks to the gnome's diminutive size, they didn't require immense
ships holding five foot tall giants. An assault shuttle detached from the "Ankle Biter", a sixteen gnome
retrieval squad.

They boarded the derelict ship and immediately began scouring the ship in four groups of four. Teams
Alpha, Beta, Gamma,and Delta. Team Alpha was led by the Mission Commander, Colonel Lilliput. Ferengi
ships often had undocumented and custom designed cargo holds that evaded standard inspections, so it
was important that they cover as much ground as possible before anyone else caught wind of this precious
find. Lilliput's men separated, with orders to report back to the bridge in one standard hour.

Lilliput's team began rummaging through the aft cargo bay, there was absolutely nothing of erotic value in
the hold. Not even any corpses to sell on the Breen market. Things were starting to bother him, and for
an experienced commander only fifty years removed from his father's asshole that was not a good sign.
It was only a few minutes later before the first casualty reports came in.

"This is Gamma Three to Alpha One, we're under att....."

Gamma Three's signal barely got off before the large hammer came down on his head and shattered his
skull with such fury, that shards of his skull sprayed outwards like fragments of a grenade. Gamma Two
was caught standing too close and his eyes were sprayed with sharp pieces of bone. His vision damaged
and face bleeding profusely, he raised a disruptor pistol in the direct the attacker had come from only to
feel it smacked from his hand violently. Two clutched at his eyes and wasn't able to witness his own
demise as he was lifted off the ground and smashed into a bulkhead until he was reduced into a limp
mass of pulp and fluid. Gamma four, trained in the Gnomish Martial Arts since age two, used the ancient
tactic of diving at his enemies boot in an attempt to chew off the appendage. The masked attack lifted
his foot deftly and brought it down on the gnomes spinal column, paralyzing him instantly. His life as an
invalid wouldn't last long, the attacker hefted a flamethrower and before long the gnome was little more
than the putrid stench of burning hair and flesh, as well as smoldering debris. Gamma One's attempt
to flee was halted as a metal spike entered the back of his skull, tearing through gray matter and cartilage
until it protruded through his face. The impact was enough to impale him into a wall.

"Alpha One to Gamma team, come in! Respond immediately"

The attacker grabbed Gamma One's comlink, if he remembered Gnomish procedure properly there
were three other teams of these bastards scrounging the ship. The plan was working perfectly. He
had planted the rumor of the abandoned Ferengi Ship carrying Romulan porn in order to lure out a
Gnomish ship. Now that he had got the Gnome's attention he could use that to his advantage, and
get what he wanted out of this excursion.

Colonel Lilliput was struggling to deal with the loss of Gamma Team. "This is Alpha One to all squads,
Gamma team has been neutralized. Cease all operations and return to the shuttle immediately!" The
pitter patter of Alpha team's feet echoed through the corridors as they hustled to their craft, but Alpha Two
slipped and nearly broke his leg.

"Two, what the fuck is wrong with you."

"Sir, the floor is wet...I slipped."

"Well no shit, I oughta....what in the twelve Gnomish Hells?"

Alpha Two had slipped in a trail of blood, too red to be Ferengi, and emanating with so much evil that it
HAD to be Gnome in nature. Lilliput tried to find the source of the blood and looked upwards, looking
for a vent, but what he saw was the dessicated body of Beta 2 smashed through the ceiling above him,
short little legs dangling lifelessly. Alpha team moved down the hallway and found the rest of Beta team,
piled on top of each other in front of a message scrawled in blood.


A line was marked in disruptor fire at about 5 feet high, which was well above the maximum threshold for
the standard Gnome.

"Shit! Delta Team respond! Delta team have you encountered the enemy!"

There was no response from Delta team, and how could there be? They were floating dead in space
after being ejected through a garbage compact. Alpha team pressed forward, ready to engage any
enemy. There was an airlock in view and beyond that was their shuttle, and the safety of their ship.
Alpha Four became careless and made a mad dash for the airlock.


A nearly invisible wire strung from wall to wall, sharper than any razor, lopped off the head of the poor stupid
Gnome, and it bounced to the floor like a basketball. The expression of surprise on his disembodied head
was comical, except for the fact that it was accompanied by Alpha Four's bowels unloading into his pants.

Alpha Three was just about to attempt to cut the wire when the masked attacker came in from behind and
grabbed his head and lifted him high in the air. Alpha Three tried to fight back but was helpless. Col. Lilliput
and Alpha Two reached for their disruptors but we're unable to do so in time to save Alpha 3. The attacker
squeezed in with his fingers and collapsed his prey's head like an eggshell, the contents spilling to the floor
eerily like a yolk.

The attacked drew a weapon from his back, looking oddly like a boat oar. He swung it and deflected fire
from the disruptors , sending it harmlessly into the walls. As Lilliput ducked for cover Alpha Two charged
forward, the attacker stuck the oar forwards and impaled him. The front flat end of the oar crushing Two's
sternum, separating the bronchial tubes where they joined, and piercing the backbone as it emerged through
his back.

The attacked lifted the oar high in the air as the gnome gasped for breath, and then flung the soon to be
dead Alpha Two towards where Lilliput had ducked into hiding.

"Come out come out little gnome, don't worry, you won't die. I need you alive."

"Fuck you! I'm going to kill you so many times you'll wish you'd never had a growth spurt!"

"Is this that Gnome inferiority complex coming to light? Well it seems you're a textbook case. At any rate,
if you won't come out, I'll have to just force you out."

Lilliput remained just around the corner of the hallway. The corridor was a T intersection with the airlock
entrance where the two hallways joined. The attacker would not be able to get to Lilliput without coming into
his point of view and being hit by disruptor fire, all he had to do was aim carefully so he couldn't deflect the
beam. There were two choices, wait out this encounter and go for the kill, or take off running and find a place
to hide until his ship sent in rescuers.

But then in the back of his mind he heard it, the calling. All gnomes responded to it, it was the call made by
the leader when it was time to gather, the sound all gnomes knew by heart from birth. And it was coming
from where his attacker had been! His master had come to save him! He stepped around the bend.

The attacker grinned, he had paid a small fortune for the Gnome Syren. A small mechanical device that
replicated the call of Darth Garden Gnome and could lure gnomes out of hiding, but only at short distances.
The dreamy eyed Col. Lilliput emerged from hiding and was knocked unconscious by a well timed roundhouse
kick. The attacker pulled a roll of duct tape from his belt and opened the airlock, where he had placed a large
coffin sized device.

[10 minutes later]

The crew of the "Ankle Biter" had received no signal and were about to send in a strike team when they finally
received a non-audio transmission from Col. Lilliput's comlink. "Porn acquired, returning to base."

The shuttle launched towards the "Ankle Biter" but went slightly off course and had to be recovered and tractored
into a shuttle bay at the heart of the ship. Gnome technicians opened the ship expecting to find valuable cargo
but instead found Col. Lilliput duct taped to a large blinking crate.

"What the fuck is that?" said a technician right before the bomb went off.

Light years away aboard his custom craft "Reason for Pleasin'" Fanboy cackled as he watched the "Ankle Biter"
explode from long range. A victory, but inconsequential, as he had already set a course for the gnomish asteroid
headquarters. Normally it was suicidal to fuck with the gnomes on their own turf, but a big meeting was scheduled and
infiltration would be much easier. And then he'd finally have his chance for ultimate victory, and maybe he'd even make
some money out of it too.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2005-01-05 02:46am

I couldn't let this stagnate. So I fiured I'd add in a short chapter of my own.

UPF: Chapter 16
The Butt of the Hutt is the Passage to the Gutt
by Darth Fanboy with input from Falkenhorst

[God damnit it hurts! How much longer to we have to do this doc?!?!?]

The gurgling Hutt words rolled from Jabba's tongue followed by a trail of obscenities that would make even the most corpulent crime boss on Nal Hutta put down their appetizers. Jabba hadn't been feeling well recently, his appetite was far lower than what it usually was and he was rather sluggish. For a bloated slug, it takes a lot to feel sluggish.

A doctor specializing in Hutt Physiology had been called in from the Core Worlds and determined that the only way to determine the problem was to go inside Jabba's digestive tract and take a look. The immense size of a prestigious Hutt Clan Leader meant that anesthesia was not a safe option, as an overdoes could kill, especially when coupled with Jabba's notable addictions to spice and alcohol. So the doctor was forced to proceed with the examination, which included a full colonoscopy, while Jabba was completely lucid. Jabba at first rejected the notion that anything was wrong and he was very adamant that nothing would go in his beloved asshole. That is until he went a week without taking a shit and the pressure inside of his body bnuilt up to volatile levels. Bib Fortuna had the foresight to evacuate the palace except for essential workers, droids, and slaves while calling the doctor to make the arrangements.

But complications were arising for Dr. Asdo Rotcs , each time the doctor used one of his colon-scouring camera droids and sent it into the bowels, it would encounter some sort of interference and then the feed would stop. He had lost three of the meter long droids already and Jabba was beginning to grow impatient.

[The next time you shove one of those things up my ass it had better work or you're done for!]

Asdo complied, fortunate that the Hutt's own smell overpowered the urine-drenched hazard suit he was wearing. "Mess with a Bantha and you get the horns," someone had once told him, "Mess with a Hutt and you get the Butt." No one knows the true origins of that phrase but it likely had to do with Hutt criminals hiding corpses or disciplining underlings by inserting them into the lower tracts of their bowels, expelling them when sufficient time had passed, or along with feces when the next meal came through.

He swathed the camera-carrying head of the droid, a Bu-66R Deep Rectal Assistant, in Dewback Lard, which was the only suitable lubricant availiable to him in the quantities he required. The droid emitted various pules of low power electicity to numb the nevers in the intestines to prevent Jabba's own reflexes from smashing the machine. Navigating trhough the dark tunnel wasn't difficult, but it was tedious as Jabba's backed up digestion had flooded his insides with a disgusting viscerous fluid, indicating some failure in the stomach to properly process all of the toxic substances Hutts considered delicacies. After aboput a half hour of navigating the droid had reached the point where the previous one had been cut off. Along with a half eaten rack of ribs, and what appeared to be a human foot, lay the crumpled debris of the previous three droids. There was a silhouette in the depths beyond the wreckage, and without warning it dashed towards the camera droid and reached out to it, crushing it violently. Jabba roared in pain again but fortunately the searing pain in is ass kept him from crushing the doctor with his tail.

[I thought I told you that if that droid didn't work I would...!]

"Wait mighty Jabba! The droid might have failed but I am now able to properly diagnose your condition!"

Asdo though this would be the hard part. Hutts had fewer diseases than most species but of the ones they did suffer from almost all of them were accompanied by constipation and a loss of appetite. After reviewing the footage from the fourth Bu-66R and re-evaluating the mysterious shadow within Jabba's bowels, he had his answer.

"Great Jabba, the reason for your discomfort and for the destruction of the droids is now clear. You have a parasite."

[But how, I haven't eaten any kind of corpse or festering moldy food for weeks!]

"I am uncertain, but the only way to remove a parasite of that size given your medical condition will be to send someone in there to destroy it."

[Send someone in? Are you crazy? We're talking about my beloved starfish here, even I wouldn't go in there!]

"Nevertheless it is the only way, normally I or one of your Bounty Hunters could go in there and root it out but your lack of food has dilated the width of your intestines to smaller than average levels."

[Then what the hell am I supposed to do, you think I'm just going to train an Ewok to crawl through my butthole, seek out the most dangerous parasite thats ever lived in my tract, and kill it?]

"An Ewok would make sense, perhaps the furry hairs could trigger a bowel movement and release some of the pressure. But this creature appears to be beyond their combat capability. I could talk to some of my med techs and see if I can't design a droid that could..."

[No, no more droids, i've had enough mechinical toys and tools up my ass for one lifetime.]

"Then it will have to be a bounty hunter then, I know of a few who have experience in..."

[Heeeeelllll no! This can't leave the palace. If word got out that the great Jabba got sick and had to have a stranger crawl up his ass to save his life i'd be the laughing stock of the underworld!]

"Well I don't know what else to tell you, you need to find someone small enough to fit in there without rupturing the lining yet strong enough to combat whatever is pillaging your insides."

[If you use the word pillage to describe my constipation one more time I will feed you to the rancor, and you can pillage its insides!]

Dr. Asdo gulped and tried to think. Jabba's callous disregard for life was...that was it!

"What about one of your underlings?"

[I command great respect around here, you think that any of these lowlifes, scumbags, and filthy urchins are going to follow me if one of them as been up my ass and lived to tell about it?]

"Who said they had to live to tell about it?"

Jabba pondered the words for a moment and let out a hearty Hutt laugh, like a perverted Santa Claus hiding in a girls locker room.

[Ho Ho Ho, I like the way you think doc! Mention to my esteemed Majordomo outside that I require one of my more disposable assets, and make sure he fits your specifications.]

Asod breathed a sigh of relief, he had saved his own life. But he had just condemned someone to die. Either within the dark depths of Jabba's ass, or after miraculously surviving the procedure and defeating the horrible beast within.

If you know of a suitable candidate to partake this particular mission please write to us at. "Unnamed Porno Fanfic, P.O. Box 666, Trenton NJ. Or contact Darth Fanboy.
"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."
-George Carlin (1937-2008)

"Have some of you Americans actually seen Football? Of course there are 0-0 draws but that doesn't make them any less exciting."
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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2005-01-06 12:43am

Chapter 16 Part II: FantASStic Voyage

"You mean Jabba has personally selected ME for this assignment!"

The short human mercenary/bounty hunter was stunned, ever since he had come to Tatooine in search of dangerous and exciting assignments he had been relegated to "bitch" status by the other hunters and the palace guards. If it wasn't the same old derogatory human jokes, it was the same old derogatory short jokes. Brian Eyci wasn't a small man by any means, he could beat any Jawa in a game of basketball, butt in a society dominated by the ever fattening Hutts, small just didn't cut it. However, through some miracle, he was getting his chance.

"Jabba has decreed that you are to be the one to assist him in this matter of... great importance."

Bib Fortunate gave the typical Twi'lek toothy grin, for different reasons though than it appaeared. Jabba required a sacrificial nerf to destroy the parasite roaming his intestines, and the human merc Brian Eyci was the only one small enough to fit inside Jabba's shrunken digestive tract. He was also a clown, during one regrettable episode he stumbled and accidentally droped a thermal detonator into the rancor pit. The entire palace should have been obliterated, but the detonator had only been a casing. Brian Eyci carried it around from time to time to show it off and so he could gain leverage. The accident however cost him most of his weapon privileges within the palace, and in Jabba's establishments in Mos Espa. Brian Eyci was not allowed on palace grounds with anything more than a stun stick and a small holdout blaster.

If Brian Eyci failed, which he was likely to do, the Bib Fortuna would become master of Jabba's domain. Tatooine would become his as would vast fortunes.

Brian Eyci was thrilled to death just to have any sort of assignment, he'd have done it pro bono in a heartbeat even if it was his only way of earning prestige, but this was too easy. Drawing upon his sublime negotiating skills, he took the first steps that would one day earn him a fortune.

"I'd like to discuss my fee."

Bib Fortuna sighed, this was a huge breach of etiquette for the 'bitch' hunter to initiate talks like that. But what did it matter? He was going to die the most gruesome death imaginable in the galaxy anyway.

"Wha, oh sure. How does say, five thousand credits sound?"

Brian Eyci was taken aback, five thousand would buy him some great new toys to play with, or maybe a ship! Boba Fett was always getting tail because of Slave I, so why couldn't he? But no, he was in control here, Jabba had need of his talents and his talents wouldnt come cheaply.

"Make it five thousand and fifty, this is the premier league you are dealing with not some rookie."

Fortuna suppresed a chortle, this guy was too much.

"Five thousand and ten it is."

"And I want my weapons privileges back."

Fortuna nearly choked, there was still the miniscule risk Brian Eyci could succeed.

"That I cannot do."

Brian Eyci sneered at Fortuna, stewing like an eight year old who had his legos taken away from him. Boba Fett always got tail, holding out his rifle, or his madaloria repeater, or whatever new toy he had taken from some Imperial Armory. If Boba Fett could get tail from carrying around blasters, so could he.

"You drive a hard bargain Fortuna, you are a credit to your Twi'lek species. Then at least rescind the ban on blaster rifles, I'll stow grenades on the new ship i'm going to buy with my five thousand and ten credits."

"...Fine, whatever."

Brian Eyci had done it! he had outwitted the infamous Bib Fortuna at the negotiating table! A Twi'lek! This made up for the 'Boba Fett' motivation tapes he bought on Ryloth, the Twi'lek had lied however, it wasn't Boba Fett's voice at all on those tapes!

"Then we have a deal, I thank you for the..."

"Shut up you idiot, follow me."

The two descended into the lower layers of the palace and Towards a private chamber Jabba's personal physcian had used until his untimely death during a physical, nobody tells Jabba to turn and cough. The room was set up as a miniature Hutt hospital.

Lying on the large repulsor couch-turned-gurney in the center of the room was a near lifeless Jabba, who lay on his belly while a pulley suspended the back part of his tail in the ir, allowing for access to his starfish. Jabba's eyes appeared to be completely frozen, when suddenly his head sprang to life in fear and anger.


"He is the only one of your soldiers who fits those special requirements you and I discussed..."

Jabba thought it over for a few minutes, he wanted to object, slide off the couch, and crush Fortuna into a fine paste. But time was running short, and the folds in Jabba's fat were receeding, a multitude of misplaced snack foods and dead animals were now steadily falling from his shrinking girth.

[Did you at least check him for explosives?]

"Yes, he will only take in there what the good Dr. Asdo gives him to accomplish the task."

[Then...it is time...*sob*]

Brian Eyci was absolutely confused as Dr. Asdo approached him.

"So you are the one who is going in there hmmm? Well you look about right, now hurry up and get into the hazard suit, Jabba is running out of time."

"Out of time? What in the seven sith circles of hell do you want me to do?"

"Jabba is dying, an intestinal parastite has taken control of his stomach functions, you have to go in there and kill it."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Asdo pointed to Jabba's lifted tail, and the swelling pink and red flesh hole at the base underneath.

"You see that? That's the asshole of a constipated Hutt. The shit has begun to coagulate in the rectum, it is just dense enough to blockflow but you can still crawl through it with a hazard suit on. We'll partially unfold the sphincter with a mild local anesthetic, enough so you can slip through to seek out and find what is killing Jabba."

Brian Eyci vomited into his mouth, then swalled it back down. It tasted very sour, but with a very sweet aftertaste that reminded him of mangoes. This was a ludicrous assignment, but then again five thosuand and ten credits was a ludicrous amount of money. And then there was prestige, Bib Fortuna had mentioned special qualities. Brian Eyci was the only one who could do it, Boba Fett even couldn't.

If Boba Fett could get tail serving Jabba the Hutt, so could he.

Dr. Asdo began applying the local anesthetic and Jabba's ass relaxed slightly, a small slow trickle of poo not unlike jelly on a downward slope began to leak out, but not even a slight fraction of the amount required to ease Jabba's pain. Brian Eyci started by inserting his leg, but the Doctor admonished him.

"It's going to be a tight passage until you reach the stomach, you'll have to crawl headfirst to the target."

It was a tight fit at first but it was made easier by the heavily lubricated helmet provided by the doctor. A modified stormtrooper helmet with a visual feed not unlike the colonoscopy droids used earlier. He gently pried open the passage further and his entire head was in. Bib Fortuna walked out of the room to avoid Jabba's displeasure as he began cackling maniacally, the sight of Brian Eyci with his head up Jabba's as to hilarious to ever forget.

Brian Eyci tired to ease his arms in, but his stun stick accidentally came loose from his belt and hit Jabba's balls, causing a reflex in the leviathan slug. The sphincter tightened around Brian Eyci's neck and he began to choke! Thinking on his feet, Dr. Asdo grabbed a large rib spreader and jammed it in, using it to pry open the asshole, and maintain the loosening effect of the local anesthetic.

Brian Eyci caught his breath and began squirming through the mud filled bowels. Despite the nearly claustrophobic situation, he couldn't help the feeling that he was being watched...
Last edited by Darth Fanboy on 2008-05-13 01:40pm, edited 2 times in total.
"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."
-George Carlin (1937-2008)

"Have some of you Americans actually seen Football? Of course there are 0-0 draws but that doesn't make them any less exciting."
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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2005-01-06 04:14am

Chapter 16 Part III: Journey to the Center of Jabba's Bowels

If taking a shit could be considered "cooking the brown carrot", then the carrots of Nal Hutta would win every gardening award in the galaxy. Brian Eyci had proceeded through nearly fifty meters of Jabba's ass, the logistics of the Hutt digestive system absolutely baffled him. the skeleton of a kowakian monkey lizard floated past in a slow float that seemed almost serene. Brian Eyci kept his hand close to the blaster at his hip. He wished he had the stun stick with him, it was too cramped for anything but close quarters combat. He also patted his hand over the side pocket, where the doctor had given him a box of special capsules. He said they were a "Fecal decoagulating agent and pyloric muscle relaxant", whatever that meant. It didn't matter, as soon as he escaped from this nightmare he'd get his credits, buy a ship, and get as far away from Tatooine as he possibly could.

Another lonely fifty meters passed, Brian Eyci's mind began to wander and he constantly had to refocus himself, it was too dangerous in here to lose concentration. The remains over meals, silverware and all littered the landscape in front of him. Suddenly there was a violent shaking, and Brian Eycis body bounced against the intestinal walls, encrusted debris shook itself free, falling gently through the liquid shit to create an obstruction. Somewhere outside, it sounded like thunder...


A frantic and exhausted Jabba repeatedly slammed his hands into his belly, in a desperate attempt to shake the contents loose and expel the invader of his treasured tract. Jabba released an anal salute through what little opening he had, spraying a fair amount of brownie batter onto Bib Fortuna, who was guarding the exit to Jabba's ass with a blaster to ensure Brian Eyci's demise. Fortuna cursed silently, and calmed himself by reminding himself that once it was certain Jabba would die, he would make a swift escape through a nearby trap door. HE figured that there would be enough buildup inside Jabba to rival that of Mos Eisley's most infamous public toilet, the "Deep Dome".

Brian Eyci dug his way through the debris, and pushed some of it to the side when he came across a set of wreckage that didn't look like anything jabba would eat at all. Perhaps these were the bu-66R colonoscopy droids that the doctor had mentioned. Brian Eyci gulped, he must be getting close to the awful wretched source of this madness. There were legends in the universe of subhuman mutants that devolved beneath the larger cities like Coruscant, of nightmarish creatures that travel the black depths of space, and of horrible beasts concieved from the dark side of the force. No black pit of hatred the Sith had ever concieved of could be so foul, he thought. Finally, after hours and hours of crawling he had crawled into a larger chamber, thousands of gallons of liquified dung surrounded him. He stepped forward, panicked, and attempted to turn back, but he had lost his way! He was no longer able to find the tunnel what would lead him free!

There was a disturbance in the feces in front of him, and then he felt a wave ripple over him. Something...something was swimming in here! But where was here? He tried to trudge forward but the feces began to further harden and gel, movement was becoming increasingly difficult.

[Who dares trespass....my home....my home....]

Brian Eyci could hear the language, flawless Huttese, it almost sounded like Jabba. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe Jabba was just screaming his head off outside.

[You....not belong....]

Now he knew he wasn't hearing things something was talking to him!

"Who's there? I...I...I come on behalf of Jabba the Hutt!"

[Jab...ba? Broth....er?]

Whatever this was it must be deranged, it was speaking nonsense. Brian Eyci didn't have a problem with that, insane people were easily distracted by the voices in their heads and thus, easier targets.

"Come out you parasite, it's time for you to go!"

[Ohhhh Hooo hoooo.....]

That was the trademark Jabba laugh, but how could this parasite have replicated it so easily? Wait a minute, hadn't he mentioned the word 'brother'? What sort of twisted creation could this be?

[I go nowhere...not yet...soon I be free...]

"Free? Free of what?'

[Free of....broth....er....Free of....womb]

Brian Eyci pondered a bit, while it was true that Hutts were hermaphroditic they surely didn't give birth from the stomach. Although with Hutts you could never be sure.

[I explain....]

Suddenly a slug like creature began to emerge through the darkness, and suddenly what looked hike a mini-Jabba was staring right back at Brian Eyci! Brian Eyci wanted to scream but the mini-Hutt held him tightly.

[The poop....explains all...]

A cylinder of fecal matter pushed outward and away, created what appeared to be a bubble, but its purpose became clear when the images started appearing within the bubble. Apparently this parasite could psychically control the the dung somehow.

Two young embryos sat side by side within a womb. Both hungered to be born so they could seek out and dominate their surroundings. However, while one smaller brother dreamed of conquering the world outside, the other larger brother focused on eliminating his competition on the inside, the larger brother devoured his sibling within the womb and his victory was complete, or so he thought.

The smaller embryo was influenced by the Reevian stem-cell process. The Stem Cells reformed within his brother and reconsituted in the form of an even smaller brother, which would remain diminutive, hiding in the digestive tract until one day he would be strong enough to take control of his brother's body and get revenge.

The enlightenment was almost as bad as the mystery. Jabba had consumed his brother in the womb, but the brother survived inside Jabba, and was now seeking vengeance by holding his older brother's colon hostage.

[Now...you know...too much!]


Jabba's brother tightened his grip on Brian Eyci, and several of the seals on the hazard suit began to leak. Shit began pouring into the suit and was weghing down his limbs substantially. He tried the blaster, but couldn't get to the trigger. That left him with the fecal decoagulants...or as some people like to call them...laxatives.

Dr. Asdo and Bib Fortuna were viewing through Brian Eyci's visual feed and were absolutely stunned. Then they noticed that Brian Eyci was quickly overpowered.

"He only has one chance left! Use the pills damnit!"

"Uhhh, what exactly were in those pills anyway doc?"

"Special Laxatives, extra powerful. However they have to be introduced at the source of the blockage. Vets usually use them for sick Rontos and Gungan Fambaas."

"Aren't Fambaas the size of a skiff?"

"Skiff smiff! They're about the size of an Imperial walker!"

"And how does this laxative work?"

"Well once he cracks the pill a powerful decoagulant is released, I used the big words like that because that bastard aint smart enough to figure it out if I use them"

Fortuna scowled, he didn't know what it meant either.

"You do realize what's going to happen when he uses the pill don't you?"

"Ummmm Im not sure, why don't you just tell me."

"That chemical is going to react quickly with any feces it touches, the nearly solid ass karma is going to liquefy almost instaneously, which whould make it easy for Jabba's muscles to force out of his stomach."

"Oh...well... I knew that."

"The lower floor of the palace and possible the entire facility is going to flood."

"I said I knew th....wait, say that again?"

At that very moment Brian Eyci managed to get one of his arms free, the shit had leaked in up to his neck now, and it was getting even more solid. Somehow Jabba's brother was increasing the density of the poo at will! With the free hand he grasped his blaster. He fired a few shots into mini-Jabba's hide and he backed off, swimming into the depths where he had a huge stealth advantage. Brian Eyci managed to get to the pills, not hesitating for but a second, he unclasped the whole box...

Imperial Star Destroyer Ashlee Simpson Live: In orbit over Tatooine

The ensign at the sensor console couldn't believe it.

"Commander, i'm getting strange readings from the dune sea."

"Any signs of Rebel Activity?"

"Not exactly, i'm picking up a heavy burst of methane gas, as well as a few other trace gases our computer can't identify. Standard prodcedure is to declare a bio contamination area and garrison it off."

"Fuck that, this is Tatooine. The whole place is contaminated. Just keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't harm the local barracks."

Inside of Jabba's Palace

An incredibly relieved Jabba the Hutt lay prostrate on his repulsorcouch, and smiled.

For the first time in his life he knew joy.

Outside of Jabba's Palace

The entire building was flooded, or partially flooded. The force of the fecal blast expelled thousands of gallons of thin brownish green slime throughout the palace, in fact so much that it began to flow out of the palace itself and into the surrounding sand, turning it an unforgiveable color. For once, there was a place on Tatooine that was even more foul to be downwind of than Mos Eisley. The B'omarr monks of the palace would be furious, and knowing Jabba's lack of janitorial services they would be forced into all the cleaning. The expulsion of slime had been so great, that it propelled Brian Eyci and Jabba's twin far from the palace, the two collapsed near each other. The diminutive Hutt's eyes were weak against the twin suns. He was finally free.

Brian Eyci looked over at his former enemy. "What will you do now?"

[I think, I'll find a place I can call my own now. Someplace that isn't full of intestinal fluids and organs. Someplace I can call home.]

Brian Eyci watched as the Hutt crawled for about twenty meters, only to fall into the waiting mouth of a Sarlaac. Tragic as it may have been he was a true mercenary warrior now. He had crawled through Jabba's asshole, battled a great enemy, and lived to tell about it. He had ascendedm, and he would collect his five thousand and ten credits.

Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. Brian Eyci turned and saw....BOBA FETT???

"I got a call from Bib Fortuna, I hear you're the idiot responsible for the sewer malfunction in the palace."

"Sewer malfunction? Oh no way man, its like this. Jabba was all constipated and shit right? So Bib Fortuna hires me to craw up his ass and clear out a parasite, but it wasn't just a prasite it was Jabba's twin brother that he devoured in the womb who was trying to kill Jabba so he could take over. I fought and defeated him using super powerful laxative and thats how I ended up here."

"You expect me to believe that? Anyway, Fortuna said the bounty on you was five thousand credits. Easy money."

Brian Eyci reached for his blaster, but it had washed away in the flood. HE stopped to laugh at himself, he was a fool for asking for the ten credits extra. Fortuna had put a bounty on his head for a mere five thousand, when he was worth at least five thousand and ten, but it was more than that. Brian Eyci knew too much for once in his life, and he resigned himself to his fate. Then he realized that Boba Fett was standing in front of him with a blaster in each hand, so he did the more practical thing and attempted to flee, but the shit soaked hazard suit weighed him down and Boba Fett plugged him right through the back of the head. Upon death Brian Eyci's bowels emptied, adding a fitting end to an absolutely abhorrent escapade.


And there you have it, The first Official Solo Fanboy Chapter, with much props to Falk and Shep. Stay tuned because your fond memories of Farscape are next...
Last edited by Darth Fanboy on 2008-05-13 01:40pm, edited 1 time in total.
"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."
-George Carlin (1937-2008)

"Have some of you Americans actually seen Football? Of course there are 0-0 draws but that doesn't make them any less exciting."
-Dr Roberts, with quite possibly the dumbest thing ever said in 10 years of SDNet.

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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2005-01-12 07:40am


by Fanboy with serious props to Falkenhorst

Author Says: No sleep and no pussy make Fanboy write shitty fanfic. Also, I know I promised Farscape stuff, but I accidentally subcontracted ch. 18 to Paramount, enjoy...

Berman: Okay, not too many people are reading the fic right now. Lets see if we can get some B-list celebrities to sign up and maybe a few old cast members from the older series to boost ratings.

Braga: Hey thats a great idea Rick, you know I didn't like how those other guys killed off all the good characters. Lets just bring a few of them back and write it into the story like they never really died, that way we can use them!

Berman: It'll be great! And the best part is that once the episode airs, its undeniable continuity! We control what happens!

Braga: You know Rick, sometimes I just want to kiss you.

Berman: You know Brannon, sometimes I want to kiss you too.

The halls of the Klingon High Council, Q'o'nos

"...anyways I ate bloodworms for breakfast that day and farted so hard that I lost consciousness, it took the scent glands from three rabid targs to awaken me and...Ambassador Worf you're alive!"

Chancellor Martok's lunchtime story hour was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Worf, who was presumed dead during the accident that destroyed the Federation ship Enterprise-E.

"I assure you Martok, I was nowhere near that ship when it exploded, nor was I afflicted with the shipwide irritable bowel syndrome that forced the ship to emit a trail of raw feces like a plain-foreheaded p'tak!"

"Good good good, wel sit down sit down and let Old Martok tell you some of his greatest stories. Say, did I ever tell you about the time that I ate bloodworms for breakfast?"

In front of YOUR computer

"What the fuck is this garbage?" YOU said. "I don't want to read this." YOU closed the page to this fanfic and read something that didn't offend your tastes and senses so much. But morbid curiosity got the best of YOU. Like a witness to a train wreck you wanted to see the inevitable mediocrity, because of devoted fanboys and people like YOU, this fanfic will never die, no matter how much it deserves to be put down.

BAck on Q'o'nos

"Worf its occurred to me that you are the only Klingon who has ever travelled back in time. Which makes it fairly obvious that you need to go again, for the glory of the Klingon Empire."

"Why do we even need to time travel, there doesn't seem to be any real point in going."

"It's simple really. We've defeated every opponent we've ever faced in glorious combat, even pregnant Bajoran women and their abnormal strength and speed fall before our mighty bat'leths"

"This is true, no ranged weapon has ever defeated a klingon battle cry."

"See what I mean? So we need you to travel through time and find the greatest warrior in history, so that I may fight him and broadcast the battle live on pay per view."

"I agree Chancellor, it will be glorious, you will show that the eloquent and unique craftsmanship of the bat'leth makes it a superior melee weapon, while demonstrating our mighty Klingon strength. I will travel trhough time and acquire...uhh...who should I bring back?"

"That's another thing, it can't be Klingon because that would look bad if I beat the tar out of one of our ancestors. Bring me a human, they're pretty gullible, we might not even have to pay him a part of the reciepts."

"I will travel through time immediately! The consequences of my actions mean nothing compared to honor!"

"Yes Worf, now go quickly, my horoscope today said that today was a good day for Pisces to achieve goals."

"You're a Pisces? I'm a Pisces too!"

"Like, no way! Omigod!"

Earth, circa 1986

James T. Kirk was on an incredibly important mission. To retrieve a Humpback whale and save the federation for the jillionth time. He adjusted his girdle and sat, staring at the viewscreen towards that little blue rock he called home, wondering how many people on that rock were doing it.

"Admiral Kirk?"

"Wha? Oh Spock you were saying something?"

"Sensors indicate that 426,780,545 people are currently engaged in some form of paired sexual activity, I knew you humans were heavy breeders but I do not understand why the final count came up with an odd number. Perhaps midgets are involved and teh computer is simply rounding up from the nearest decimal point."

"Human sexuality is a....difficultthing.....to....understand MisterSpock. Manypeopleinthisera....chose to engage.....in...concurrentmultiplepartnerships."

Spock adjusted his universal translator to account for Kirks broken sentences, he would have shot himself long ago without this program. "Concurrent multiple partnerships captain?"

"That's right Mr. Spock. It was commonly referred to as a "Three way" or an "orgy". Though orgies of five, ten, or even a hundred people weren't uncommon. It was a more liberated era, at least until the Ashcroft Wars of 2015."

"Fascinating, perhaps we will be able to observe one of these orgies."

"So do I Mr. Spock so do I."

With the scanners of the Bird of Prey overtaxed scanning the planet for possible sexual encounters, Worf's ship was able to sneak onto the planet. Worf had scoured the radio reports and TV broadcasts for days looking for a suitable acquisition. Reports of a man known only as "Beeyay" had interested him. He was everything from a prizefighter, a children's hero, and even a former soldier. This "Beeyay" would do well, he even had hair which resembled Klingon characteristics, and enough gold armor plating to be fearsome in combat.

...somewhere, in the most bad ass van ever...

Mr.T was cruising along steadily, having pitied every fool he had seen on route 66, he was heading for Los Angeles, apparently some fools were going to start a new fad called "reality television" and T had decided they would have to be pitied, because reality television sounded like something for suckas. He chugged a glass of milk, when suddenly a red glow enveloped him and his custom 1982 GMC Van.

The van materialized in the cargo hold of Worf's Vor'cha, a phalanx of Klingon guards stood fast with bat'leths ready, waiting to deflect blaster bolts and charge at their enemy en masse, defeating them with ease. The red glow of the transporter appeared before them, but they were not ready as the Van was still travelling some sixty five miles per hour. A pair of Klingon soldiers charged at the large armored enemy, but were crushed beneath over a thousand pounds of metal and mojo. Mr. T slammed on the brakes and then stepped out of the van, one of the Bat'leths had punctured a tire and another one had scratched the paint. Usually these were pitiable offenses that warranted a severa ass whooping. But Mr. T was not in the mood for fun and games, attacks on his van were taken personally.


"I am Worf, Ambassador of the Klingon Empire. You, 'T', have been chose to be an honored guest on our home planet of Q'o'nos."

"Kokomo? I aint got time to go to no beach resort! What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"Its not a resort Mr. T its just..."

"Oh you calling me a liar? Are you calling T a liar"

"No but that vehicle crash must have cracked your..."

"Crack, you say crack? T don't smoke crack. I stay clean! Drink Milk! You shouldn't do drugs son!"

Worf held his head low, this human was probably more deranged than he was powerful. Well at least it wouldn't be hard to get rid of the evidence, they were 400 years in the past.

"I grow tired of this!"

Worf notioned to his men to attack Mr. T, but the great Klingon warries were pitied with ease. Titanium wasn't supposed to bend no matter how hard a skull collided with it, but the inside of the cargo room soon resembled a Honda Civic left out in a hailstorm. Mr. T stopped briefly and looked right over at Worf.

"You know you got this big fancy ride here you better be listening to me! Why when I was a kid we were soo poor we couldn't AFFORD to pay attention. But you aint go no excuse."

Worf turned to run but slipped and feel in the puddle of piss that had collected at his feet. T had pitied him without even touching him. T stormed out of the cargo bay, searching for a fool who would take him back to Earth, but he had whooped the ass of every Klingon on the ship, and it was on an irreversible autopiloted course.

The offices of Berman and Braga, genius extraordinaires

Berman: Wow that was intense!

Braga: I know! Who would have thought an entire script was just sitting there in my colon, waiting for you to pull it out of my ass!

Berman: Good thing I went up there to look, you know, writing these things can be such a drag.

Braga: Hey I got an idea!

Berman: Really?

Braga: Well, kind of. See I was thinking, remember back in the first episodes of UPF? When the sewage systems got so overloaded the ship ended up leaking poop?

Berman: Oh my gawd, that was classic.

Braga: What if we like, I dunno, had the Defiant flying back to DS9 from Earth, and maybe someone has programmed the replicators to put LAXATIVES in the food.

Berman: I don't follow you.

Braga: Just think, if there was laxatives in the food, the crew would poop a lot, and then the crew would find a technological way to ease their predicament, but the ship would have to LEAK POOP.

Berman: Thats amazing! Where do you come up with this stuff!

Braga: Its a gift really, it came in hand on the set of my original masterpiece MISSION IMPOSSIBLE II.

Berman: That was like the awesomest movie ever.

Braga: Except for Nemesis.

Berman: Right on.

In front of YOUR computer

After furiously masturbating to the images of blonde bombshell and former Ally McBeal co-star Portia De Rossi YOU decided to relax and read some fanfics. You came across this fanfic, its the same old boring crap with some new boring crap added in. But the plot was vaguely resembling something interesting. Klingons are lame, the plot holes are a put off, but Mr T rocks and this is something you cannot deny. After all watching Mr T pitying every Klingon Fool on Q'o'nos would be really fun to read about right? Yeah, Mr T beating up billions of Klingons would be great, almost as great as a depiction of the little-known Earth/Romulan war which happened way before Kirk's time. That would be really neat. YOU sat down to continue reading the fic, hoping for the best.


"Good evening i'm Dick Witherdick with tonights Quadrant News. Our top story tonight, a single human man has whooped the ass of every Klingon on Q'o'nos. Details are sketchy at best and we're too afraid to go over there to confirm all the details, but needless to say, some fools have been pitied. FNN recieved a short transmission shortly after contact with the Klingons was lost."

I am the new chancellor of the Klingon Empire, I will tolerate no Jibba Jabba from any Suckas who messes with these kids. I will pity any fool who tries to make us look like a chump. CHANCELLOR T OUT."

"There you have it."

In front of YOUR computer

"That fucking sucked!"
"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."
-George Carlin (1937-2008)

"Have some of you Americans actually seen Football? Of course there are 0-0 draws but that doesn't make them any less exciting."
-Dr Roberts, with quite possibly the dumbest thing ever said in 10 years of SDNet.

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Post by MKSheppard » 2005-01-12 10:52pm


With Props to THE GREAT LEADER, Falkenhorst, Illuminatus, Frigidmagi, and Nathan F

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

Tom Paris squirmed in his seat in front of Janeway's desk as the Admiral
droned on in her scratchy smoker's voice that made him want to kill her
right then and there.

"So, Commander Paris, I await your detailed report on how three obsolete
D-7 cruisers, almost a hundred years old, managed to disable three modern Starfleet

Maybe because they didn't have jackasses like you in command?, thought Paris.

Meanwhile, Ensign Stravo was fighting mightly to avoid creaming his pants; it was
indescribable torture; the great Janeway before him, talking in front of him, with every
word she spoke causing a quiver to shoot through his groin.

Suddenly the door opened, the sudden noise causing Stravo to lose control of
his groin muscles and spew manchowder all over the insides of his uniform pants.

Fuck it, not with that dick Paris here... thought Stravo. He started to rise from his
chair to make a quick run for the refresher in Janeway's office, but thought the better
of it when he realized it would make the enormous stain that much more obvious.

"Captain Riker, what the devil happened to you?" said Janeway in
a completely befuddled tone of voice as she took in the disheveled
man standing in the doorway before them.

Goddammit, not a Captain, now I have to rise in honor...a courtmarshal for
disobeying protocol or being found out and them being led to my secret voyeur
collection of Janeway porn...
thought Stravo as he contemplated his two fates.

He finally settled onto a compromise between the two choices of action. He quickly
rose from his seat, turning towards Riker, who was far away that he wouldn't notice
the stain, and sitting back down before anyone else noticed.

"I have something to tell you, Admiral," Riker said in an excited voice as he walked into
the office. "I've discovered a secret force working far from known space, one so indescribably
powerful and cruel at the same time, that threatens the very existence of the Federation!"

Janeway blinked for a few moments, considering whether to call the Shrink squad to
have Riker hauled away in a straightjacket, before she decided to hear Riker's tale and
THEN call for the shrink squad.

"It all started a couple of days ago, when I was on the Gnomes' secret asteroid base..."

*Cue Cheesy water droplet fuzzy filter used to segue away to flashbacks*

The Gnome Asteroid Base, Several Days Ago

"Nice fucking thing you did here, sir, getting us trapped here with no way out," muttered one
of the security guards that had followed Riker on his infiltration mission.

Without missing a beat, Riker promptly kicked the man in the groin, and before the stunned
man could respond, Riker was already on top of him, smashing his skull into the hard stony
floor of the cell, where it shortly shattered with a wet crack.

Standing up from the corpse of the former security man, with the man's blood and brains still on his
clothes, Riker looked at the remaining members of his away team. "Right, the next son of a bitch
to challenge my leadership joins that bastard."

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

"Wait, wait, you killed a man for insubordination?" asked Paris in disbelief.

Riker merely shrugged. "I was having a bad day, and besides, the son of a bitch was horning
into my Betazed porn ring on the Enterprise."

The Gnome Asteroid Base, 1 Day Into The Ordeal

Several loud bangs and shrieks had reverberated through the asteroid for the last day,
before there had been a massive explosion that had shook the entire asteroid violently.

"I wonder what that explosion was," said one of the men.

"That means we aren't getting home for a while, braniac. I suggest we begin
dividing up Lieutenant Arminus' body. I got dibs on his liver."

"Wait, you mean we're going to eat one of our own?"

"Damn right we are, do you see a fucking restaurant in here, and besides
you hear all that gunfire? Our friends the gnomes are all probably dead
or have fled for their lives. Which leaves us here by our selves until Starfleet
finally gets around to looking for us, and I have no damn intention of starving
myself until then."

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

"Now you're eating his corpse?" said Janeway, her eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"I believe it's an acceptable solution at the Starfleet Survival Course since 2321,"
replied Riker in a deadpan monotone.

"I do believe he's right, sir. They told me the same thing when I went through it
a couple of years ago." added Ensign Stravo, resisting the urge to lick his lips in
memory of how tasty Cadet Clark had been.

The Gnome Asteroid Base, 4 Days into the Ordeal

Lieutenant Arminus' corpse had long ago been stripped of the last scrap of flesh,
and now the hungry men were starting on the next delicacy the human body had
to offer; the marrow.

"Right, you just crack the bone open and suck it right out," explained Riker, suppressing
a belch as he did so. Water wasn't a problem, they'd rigged a useable filter out of scraps
of their pants legs that they'd placed over crevices in the walls, forming a useable piss filter,
which was one of the things that was taught to Cadets at Starfleet Academy, if all else failed,
the Mark 5 Jumpsuit could be used as a water filter to filter your own piss.

The Gnome Asteroid Base, 7 Days into the Ordeal

Riker looked at Lieutenant Anderson with hunger in his eyes. Yes, Lieutenant Anderson would
make a fine meal, but first, he had to dispose of him first. Riker slowly picked up a thigh bone
from the pile that had been Lt. Arminus and slowly began to advance on the sleeping man.

It was then that the tritanitum armored door at the entrance to the cell began to bulge inwards from
colossal impacts, the sounds of a creature banging at the door filling the small cell. With a squeal
of overstressed metal, the door peeled off it's hinges, revealing a ragged man with red hair, and
dozens of gnomish skulls impaled on his massive cock.


As the freak began to advance towards them, the remaining survivors of the Away team huddled in
a corner of the cell, until Riker, thinking quickly, shoved Lieutenant Anderson towards the monster,
who promptly grabbed Andersons head and forced him to give head.

Poor Anderson didn't stand a chance, as the monsters cock burst out of the back of Anderson's
skull in seconds. But it was enough to distract the monster long enough for the other survivors to
flee around the monster and into the base itself.

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

"You sacrificed a man just like that?" asked Stravo, shuddering in revulsion.

"As the great leader Spock once said, the needs of the many outweight the needs
of the few." countered Riker as he took a drink from the replicator by the side of
Janeway's office.

The Gnome Asteroid Base, 7 Days into the Ordeal

Riker and the other survivor of his away team ran through the base, through piles
of Gnomish corpses, slipping several times in the process on Gnomish blood that
hadn't dried up yet since the assault on the base eight days prior.

Suddenly, the corridor in front of them exploded and from the smoking wreckage
came bipedal aliens armed in some kind of combat armor toting what were obviously
weapons of some kind. As they raised them, Riker acted quickly and shoved the only
other survivor of his away team into the line of fire, where he was shredded in a hail
of fire, leaving only a pink mist on the walls of the corridor.

As he cowered on the floor, the leader of the aliens walked up to him, reached over
to a communicator clipped on his belt, and spoke in clear english.

"Objective Interim Armored Bipedal Combat System Beyond Next Alpha Team Leader
reporting in, one target terminated, and one captured."

"There's still one alive? You have failed The Great Leader! You must atone for this
by killing three of your men to reaffirm your loyalty to the Great Leader!"

"Yes, Sir."

Before Riker's stunned eyes, the leader of the new group shot three of his own men dead.

He then turned his attention to the new prisoner. "I suppose the ship's onboard re-education
facilities could use a new chewtoy...send him there!"

Basement of Starfleet Headquarters, Starfleet Marine Corps Office


Slowly, Captain Frigidmagi woke from his slumber in the only room in Starfleet Headquarters'
8,000 rooms devoted to the Starfleet Marine Corps. He was the only Marine on active duty
in all of Starfleet, and when he had reported to the room as a young 2nd Lieutenant fifteen
years ago, he'd relieved a 105-year old General who had been waiting decades for another
Marine to come along and replace him. Now he just waited his time out until another Marine
came forth and rescued him from his subterannean existence, all but forgotten deep in Starfleet

Yawning, he looked at his panel, which was wired into every microphone and sensor in Starfleet
headquarters and saw with shock, that someone had mentioned the forbidden words "Objective
Interim". Someone had found out about the HAB, and the HAB had ordered him to keep it's secrets
safe at all costs...

Gulping, he slowly began the process to activicate the anti-founder phaser arrays in the room
where the words had been uttered, and overrode the safety protocols and moved the power
levels up to Level 16...

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

"Wait, how'd you get out of this alive?" asked Janeway, in puzzlement.

"Ah, you see, at the same time the enemy was taking me to their ship, a Starfleet
ship decided to call by and see what happened to the Enterprise."

Bridge of the USS Repulse, a Sovereign-class battlecruiser

"Sir, we're detecting only one lifesign aboard the asteroid with a Federation comsignature,"
said the science officer of the Repulse.

"Beam it aboard."

"At this range? Sir, there are severe difficulties in transporting someone this far..."

"I told you to do it, now do it before you find yourself cleaning the toilets, Lieutenant."

USS Repulse, transporter room

"Sir, this is a hard one." shouted the transporter chief.

"Keep at it, I'll get the mop," replied the Lieutenant in charge of the section.

Slowly, the transporter beam resolved itself into a human-shaped being before
flickering out again.

"Goddamnit, I'm losing pattern definition, it's merging with other trace patterns
in the buffer!"

"Boost the goddamn gain, you cocksnorter!" roared the Lieutenant as he pulled
the mop out of the closet where it was kept for cases such as this.

Once again, the tranporter beam resolved into a human being, and this time,
it solidified into William T. Riker. Except he was now naked. And had a vagina
instead of a penis. A greenish one, lined with sharp fangs.

"Oh shit, not again, sir. I told you that we'd have problems if we let that Freudian
use the transporter." muttered the transporter chief.

Bridge of the USS Repulse

"Transport completed, we have the life sign aboard."

"Excellent, raise shields, and go to red alert."

"Sir, we have several small contacts moving in on us at high speed."

"Zoom in and magnify on the main screen."

"What...the DEVIL are those?" shouted the captain of the Repulse.

Cockpit of the lead HAB Fokker DR.LI Triplane

The commander in charge of the elite SJG.32 gruppe signalled with
a red flare for his squadron mates to attack the enemy civilian pleasure craft
life pod (according to HAB and PMoHV terminology, a Sovereign was classed
as a Objective Interim Life Pod, Ultra Light, Civilian)

The HAB maintained a large fleet of Fokker DR.LIs, which by decree of the
Great Leader, had triple wings to allow more wing area to mount ordnance
under, and were open cockpit to allow pilots wearing their Objective Interim
Bipedal Life Support Systems (Light) to enage enemy targets with the pistol
or brick. For easy visual identification, they were painted Objective Interim
Visual Standard Red, using Gnomish blood.

Bridge of the USS Repulse

"Sir, the lead enemy plane has....thrown a brick at us?" remarked
the sensor officer in puzzlement, not really believing his console.

The captain snorted. "Hah, it won't even dent our shields."

Moments later, the 3 pound brick slammed into the frontal shields
at almost 0.9 c, causing massive explosions all over the bridge
as conduits overloaded.

"Sir! Our forward shields are down!"

"Fuck, Set course 090, Maximum warp and get us the fuck out of here!"
shouted the Repulse's captain.

Starfleet Headquarters, Admiral Janeway's office

"...and that's how I escaped."

"Uhm, that's very interesting, Mr. Riker. I'm not sure whether
to believe you or not." replied Janeway, trying to keep a straight face,
at the ludicrous claims Riker was putting forward.

"Goddamnit, do I have to show it to you?" muttered Riker as he began
to pull down his pants.

Basement of Starfleet Headquarters, Starfleet Marine Corps Office

He'd finally overrode the safety interlocks preventing the anti-founder arrays
in the office from firing at Level 16, and Frigidmagi pushed the ACTIVICATE

Starfleet HQ Central Computer Core

The massive computer core, which controlled Starfleet HQ's computers and building
systems was running Windows 2500, and it hadn't been given a critical system update
in the last week by the rather lazy systems operators who kept it running. So a floating
point error occured as it was processing the directive from the Marine Office, causing
the order for phasering Janeway's office to be changed into one phasering the entire
building except for Janeway's office.

All Over Starfleet HQ

People screamed as they were vaporized by the phaser beams, which in turn caused
the carpeting on the floor to catch fire, burning many more to death and suffocating
those in areas unreachable by the phaser beams to death by smoke inhalation from
the highly toxic standard federation carpet, which as it burned, produced radioactive
fallout, due to the highly unstable nuclear processes utilized by the cheap replicator
corporations in former China that produced the stuff at low cost for Starfleet.

Several Days Later, Tijuana, Mexico

Janeway sat on the bed in the seedy motel room on the other side of the former border and
drained a bottle of Tequilia. It had been a bitch after the great fire at Starfleet HQ to smuggle
her and her lover Stravo across the old border, because even in the 24th century, there was
a big illegal transportation network, requiring a network of transporter scramblers to keep
illegal passage to a minimum.

"All right, sweetie, lets do it." growled Janeway as she motioned towards Stravo.

Passchendale City, HAB Capital World

Frigidmagi knelt before THE GREAT LEADER in terror. He'd failed in his mission
to eliminate all knowledge of the HAB in Starfleet. God knows what kind of terrors waited
for him in the People's Museum of Heroic Vehicles.

Strangely enough, the Great Leader was in a good mood.

"Even though you totally, utterly failed in your objective of securing our secrecy, The
Great Leader is pleased by the mass slaughter at Starfleet Hedquarters and has
decided as such to place you on extended sentance probation, meaning The Great
Leader can order your execution at any time until you have sufficiently redeemed
yourself," rumbled Kim Jong Il the 86th.
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2005-01-14 12:25am

UPF Chapter 20: The Farscape Special Edition of UPF

By Darth Fanboy, recovered from a total hard drive failure by Shep who had a copy on his email

"Chianna, What the fuck?"

John Crichton awoke to find himself covered in a thin layer of mucousy Nebari female ejaculate, attempts
to scrub the slimy concoction from his body were futile. Chianna had come in his room the night before with
her usual craving for male affection. Normally, Crichton never let her go past oral but he had been drinking
heavily to try and forget about Aeryn, she was acting like a creepy bull dyke after she met the mysterious
aliens from the far off planet of Zeon. She had shaved her head and added flame decals to the side of
her Prowler while constantly booby trapping Rygel's quarters.

He had no idea that unchecked Nebari women like herself could produce come at a rate surpassing
that of any sentinent species in the known galaxy, and he was reminded of a time when she rode
Dargo's tentacles in the Starburst Chamber. Moya's efficency levels were less than half of their usual rate
for almost a week, and pilot kept bubbling slime out of his mouth for the entire time period.

Looking to the corner of the room where she was fingering herself frantically in a futile attempt to replicate
the previous night's ectasy, he stared. It took over two hours for Zan and the DRDs to free him, with Zan
taking some of the slime for her own benefit. Apparently Nebari come also worked as a potent neurotoxin
in certain species. Hence why Nebari Cunnilingus was outlawed on certain worlds. The now-clean Crichton
found Dargo in his quarters, sulking.

"What's a matter big guy?"


"You sore that I banged your ex-girlfriend?"

"No, i'm sore because I did bang her, and then after we finished she had to go over to your quarters to
finish herself off. What kind of Luxan am I if I can't even please a nyphomaniac like that?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I just spent the better part of the morning cleaning her fucking slime
off of me, that bitch is too out of control."

"I agree, I mean its nice that we can rent her out whenever we need to, but this is goddamn ridiculous.
You realize I caught her the other day below Moya's control console licking Pilot?"

"Do I dare ask where she was licking him?"

"Well she claims that she spilled some tea and was trying not to waste it, but Pilot said his asshole hadn't
been that clean since before he was plugged into Moya."

"You mean she's doing that and we're taking turns letting her go down on us? This is so not right."

"That's not all, i'm pretty sure she's got some sort of VD."

Crichton was really nervous when he heard that. "Wha? How can you tell?"

"Well for one this you've got sores all over your skin."

Crichton looked down at his skin, sure enough pus fulled sores began rising and bursting all over his skin,
creating a burning itch. It was as if his skin had become a boiling river of pus.

"Remember when I first came to Moya, and you gave me that initiation?"

"Yeah I remember, I still don't know what that stuff you call 'vaseline' is."

"Never mind how much that hurt, but I was wondering if you've still got that little dungeon intact."

"I go down there and oil the chains every so often in case of emergencies."

"All right, here's the plan then. I'll have Zan mix up a pot of fake semen, and we'll make a trail down to the
dungeon room. then once she's in, you'll lock her inside and give her whats coming to her."

"And where will you be?"

"Getting some fucking penicillin!"

Meanwhile, aboard the Command Carrier

Scorpius hung by his ankles from the ceiling as Braca, his Gimp-Garbed manservant tightened the
choke collar. He adored pain almost as much as he enjoyed dealing it out, as Braca would find out
soon enough. Usually the manservant was much better at performing his tasks but the other day he
had made the mistake of using hot candle wax. Scorpius endured so as not to appear weak before
his bitch, but his low tolerance for heat made the torment almost unbearable.

It would all be rectified soon though, Scorpius' Gammake researchers had provided him with the latest in
Peacekeeper rectal torture devices, designed for maximum pain without causing the subject to black
out from intense bleeding and stretching.

Oh yes it would be a wonderful experience indeed, perhaps he would even film it...

On Board Moya

Pilot's screams began sounding across the ship, a shrill wail that sounded as if he was being buggered by
lucifer himself! "Moya's proximity alarms are going crazy!"

Crichton was the first to reach Pilot, Dargo was delayed as he had to run across the entire length of the
Leviathan from his makeshift dungeon, where Chianna's punishment was entering its third day. He ran into
the room cursing and muttering to himself, clenching his buttcheeks together as the fouler aspect of his
new STD was beginning to affect his colon.

"Whatever it is Pilot hurry up, I gotta drop some kids off at the pool! What the hell is wrong with Moya!"

Crichton sat down and squeezed his legs tightly together, hoping he could induce some sort of manual

"I don't understand John Crichton, one moment we were travelling through space, and suddenly we picked
up another ship on our long range scanners, suddenly Moya starts freaking out, I don't know whats going
on! Game over man, game over!"

Aeryn stormed into the room and pushed Crichton off of his seat, causing him to momentarily lose control
and allowing a short burst of steaming semi-fluid shit into his pants. Instantly, she started bitching.

"Pilot! If you don't get this flying bitch under control Im going to grab you by the nuts and twist them around so
many times that when I let go they'll spin around so fast they'll fly away from your putrid loins and end up in a waste chute!"

"I'm trying Aeryn Sun, but Moya is responding to something on that freighter, there's nothing I can do right now!"

Crichton struggled back into his seat, legs tightly clenched. "Calm down you stupid cunt! We'll figure something
out a lot quicker if you'd tuck that huge dick of yours between your legs and start using your damn brain!"

Aeryn moved over to Crichton and punched him in the gut hard, causing the contents of his intestinal tract to
empty with great force, she then reached around behind him and grabbed the waistband of his underwear
and gave him a thorough wedgie. Crichton now had a substantial mud flap wedged tightly in his crevice,
but at least he no longer had to take a shit.

Moya's great speed allowed her to overtake the small freighter soon, crashing into it with great force. The impact
brought everyone on board off of their feet, except for Rygel who tumbled out of his chair and into the toilet which
he was precariously hovering over, he struggled to emerge from the bowl and he was now completely covered in
the digested and rancid contents of his three stomachs.

D'Argo and Zan finally showed up and the crew gathered to watch the developments on screen when another collision
rocked them off their feet, and another collision, and another, and another.

D'Argo smirked, "If I didn't know any better i'd say Moya was humping the snot out of that freighter." Zan immediately
perked up as she heard this.

"Pilot, what is the status of Moya's lust deprivation systems?"

"Coolant levels have fallen to under forty percent and are dropping steadily. There appears to be a malfunction in
one of the main valves!"

"Can the DRD's fix it?"

"Moya has assigned all DRD's to C deck to provide electrical stimulation to certain sections of the ship."

"Then we will have to wait until Moya tires herself out and then fix the problem."

Without warning a transmission began beaming in from the other ship.

"Unknown Leviathan, this is the Freighter 'Plot Device', please cease your attack! We are carrying highly volatile
fuel to a waystation in a nearby sector. If we take too much more of your ship's dry humping we're all gonna blow up!"

D'Argo just sat there and sighed. "Why didn't someone tell me we had to spay the ship...."

Crichton started laughing, "Spay...Ship...Spayship...Spaceship! Bwahahahaha! That's hilarious!"
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by MKSheppard » 2005-01-14 10:50pm

UPF Chapter 21: We're as broke as Michael Jackson!

By Darth Fanboy in Gnome Hunter Style, expounded into coherent narrative format by Shep

The Federation and Principality of Zeon were on the brink of war due to Miles O'Brien's kidnapping,
the massive Federation fleet had been brought to the border of the Principality, and on the other
side, an equally mighty fleet of refitted D-7s hung in space.

Although the D7s seemed inactive, their battle-hardened feminist crews stood at the ready,
running through practice battles in preparation for the battle to come, while the Federation
crews were confident in their new technological edge brought about by the Kill-O-Matic
class, with it's impressive NUKEY NUKEY-equipped photon torpedoes.

The exquisitely plotted and detailed battle was about to commence in a stream of phaser fire
and explosions, in which many ships would explode, and thousands would die....

*Computer image dissipates, model starships hang limp in front of an inactive green screen.*

"Cut, Cut, CUT!" shouted Sheppard, who was wearing a George Lucas-style sweater, and
a ball cap emblazoned with the logo of UPF.

"The fuck is going on Shep? We got a big fucking scene going on here thats gonna kick
more ass than Paul Bunyan punting a fuckin donkey, and you stop it! Our fans will have our
blood!" shouted Fanboy as he came out of the pyro bunker where he had been ready to
fire the explosive squibs that would blow the exquisitely detailed models into smithereens.

"We got a big fucking problem, Fanboy. We're broke," grumbled Sheppard as he shouted for
the prop people to go home, and that they were all fired as well, don't bother coming back

"You bastard! What about our paychecks?" shouted the lead SFX artist, someone they'd lured
away from ILM with promises of money and hookers.

"The checks are in the mail," said Sheppard, lying through his teeth.

"Broke? What the fuck? What about all the money we made from Chapters 1 to 20?" shouted
Fanboy as he kicked the rear end of one of the departing SFX artists. "Get out you scumbag,
and don't visit the catering trailer on the way out, you bastard!"

"Spent it all on props and effects," replied Sheppard laconically.

"The fuck you say, don't we have that numbered swiss bank account filled to the loot with
Nazi Gold?"

"Do you have any fuckin' idea how fucking' expensive gnome guts are? Especially when
it's the real thing?"

"Shit, we never should have done that, but I liked seeing the gnomes being slaughtered by
our set decorators...but god damn it man," Fanboy rolled up his right sleeve, revealing a heavily
scarred arm.

"I fuckin' sold my blood for eight weeks in a row, and you're now saying it's all disappeared,
every last cent of it?"

Sheppard threw his megaphone across the room in anger, the cheap plastic casing of the
megaphone splintering as it hit the concrete floor, spilling it's electronic guts all over the
studio floor.

"Goddamnit, I know how you feel, but Zaia's agent quadrupled her fees without telling us,
the first thing I knew was when we got a itemized expense sheet from her agent demanding
$999,999 in back pay."

Fanboy blinked in surprise. "Wait, what about the money from the sperm bank from our
regular visits?"

Sheppard got out of his chair and started to scream. "You fuckhead, you had to go and
do Gnome Hunter II, and now we're broke, BROKE! You spent the money
I was going to use to build my own personal B-70, you bastard!"

"Shit. Fuck. We need cash, I got an idea."

Fanboy reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a balaclava. As he was starting
to pull it over his head, Sheppard interrupted him.

"Fuck no, you don't need to knock a 7-11 off, I got an idea."

*The Next Day*

The American Idol set had been appropriated with much speediness that night, and
the entire cast and crew of American Idol was now tied up with duct tape inside the
bathrooms of the Studio building.

Sitting in the position where formerly the star of American Idol had sat, was none other
than Einhander Snowman, who was wearing a skintight suit that left nothing to the

"HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLO ladies and gentlemen, it's with great pleasure that I bring you the
first ever UPF BACHELOR AUCTION! Now a lot of you are probably asking
why I'm hosting this event and not bidding on all the good looking boys myself."

"Well, I spent all of my damn money on herbal remedies and an apartment in Amsterdam. Plus,
I'd do damn near anything for a cutie like Shep!"

Einhander then winked at someone who was standing off stage before continuing with his
prepared lines.

"So without any further ado, lets get our first piece of meat up on the stage! He's a UPF co-creator
with a penchant for the Confederacy, Firearms, and Homemade Pudding. Ladies, give your lust to

Falkenhorst then walked out from between a pair of curtains onto the stage in a full-dress Wehrmacht
uniform, with a few significant differences. One, it was a bright sparkling purple, and two, it had Leopard
skin trim.

"Ohmygod! Looks like he's been costume shopping with Prince Harry!"

"Sup," announced Falkenhorst in a low voice that could be barely heard.

"Okay, ladies, we'll start the bidding at...." began Einhander, before a girly shriek interrupted him.

"500,000 YEN!" shouted a pair of Japanese schoolgirls in black SS uniforms as they waved their
money frantically in the air, and talked in an unintelligable and excited stream of Japanese.

"SOLD! Sold to the two hot chicks in the Himmler duds!" yelled Falkenhorst upon seeing them.

"Uh wait, Falk. Can't we take more bids?" replied Einhander, who was obviously confused at
this turn of events. "What about that woman over there who wants to bid on you?"

"I don't see anyone else. SOLD to the hot asian chickies! Let's go! Move it along!" yelled Falk
as he stepped off the stage and into the arms of the two Japanese schoolgirls.

"Uh, what the fuck?" muttered Einhander as he watched Rosie "The Hutt" O'Donell stop waving
a stack of $100 bills in the air and resume gnawing on a chicken wing.

"Uhh, fuck, that was fast. Okay, up next is one of the more intelligent men around, he's an artist
with a penchant for witty banter! Give it up for DURANDAL! Ooh, daddy shouldn't have paid
the rent this month, just look at him!"

Durandal walked onto the runway, preening his well combed hair as he did so. "Oh baby, I'm so right
for you, I'm sizzling."

"We'll start the bidding at twenty bucks," announced Einhander.

"Twenty!" shouted a pretty-looking girl.

"Twenty-five!" shouted an even hotter looking chick.

"Thirty!" shouted a busty co-ed whose bosom was overflowing with
bosomy goodness that almost overpowered the skintight tee-shirt
she was wearing.

"I'll Give y'all fitty bucks fer the hansum man up dere!" shouted a voice
from deep in the crowd of bidders.

"That voice sounds familiar..." muttered Einhander, while Durandal stopped
preening and stared with his mouth open in shock.

"No fuckin way..." he muttered.

shouted none other than Kelly Antilles, who pushed aside the smaller women as she
barged to the front of the crowd.

"Shep, I'll give you five bucks if you shoot her instead," announced Durandal.

"Well fuck, daddy needs a Big Mac Value Meal, and 'sides I'd never let something
like that happen to my worst enemy," said Shep as he reached under the seat he
was sitting on and pulled out a MP-5K.

The wet pulpy sounds of the 9mm hollowpoints striking the hideous trailer skank
was only slightly less appealing than the stench of moonshine and chewing tobbaco
that Kelly had managed to infest the bidding area with.

When the bloody corpse of Kelly dropped to the floor, Fanboy jumped off the stage and ran
over to it. With the careful practiced hands of an expert, he began rifling her pockets, pulling
out the wad blood-stained money that Kelly had expected to use to bid with.

As he was pulling it out, he took a look at the money, it looked kinda funny, and it wasn't the
stench or the blood stains.

"The Fuck? This is fucking Confederate money!" yelled Fanboy in disbelief.

"How the hell can you tell?" shouted Sheppard from
the stage.

"Where it should say In God We Trust, it says Fuck the Niggers!"

"Right, uhm, next up for auction....oooh this is a lively one, girls. All the way from the
cornhole...uh I mean...cornfields of Iowa. Look out for your panties....ITS SPANKY!!!!!"

Spanky lumbered out onto the stage, looking almost exactly like the spitting image of
the Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons, except for wearing a pair of banana shorts
and a white iron-on T-shirt that said I'd Rather Be From Japan.

Despite this being a modeling competition, Spanky was eating a foot-long hotdog
with way too much relish on it, and the relish slowly dripped down from the hotdog
where it congealed on top of the bulge of his belly, staining his shirt a snot-green

*munch munch chew chew*

Einhander blinked for several moments before finding his composure and resuming his
narrative. "Right, uhm...let's start the bidding at...Ten dollars!"

*crickets chirp in background*

"Dammit, come on girls, he's smart! He knows about all sorts of...uhh...interesting things!
Damnit, Spanky, say SOMETHING!"

Spanky merely sighed and swallowed the remainder of his hotdog with surprising ease before
beginning to swirl his finger around in the congealing belly relish deposit on his T-shirt.

"Ooookay. I bet we can get things started at five bucks! Five dollars? Anyone?"


"Damnit, you assholes are killing me out here! One dollar!" shouted Einy, obviously
getting irritated by the lack of interest in this product.

"ONE DOLLAR!" shouted an extremely beautiful woman in the back of the room.

Without missing a beat, before anymore bids could come up, Einy shouted "SOLD!

Spanky, who had been paying little, if any attention to the whole affair, perked up when he
saw the beautifully mis-proportioned woman, whose eyes were as big as dinner plates
with triple-Q breasts and a 2-inch waist with long, inhuman legs.

"Is this a boner?" asked Spanky upon feeling the unfamiliar feeling between his legs.

"Goddamnit, just GO will you?" shouted Einy, as he motioned for Frankie and Seppo to begin
moving in onto Spanky.

Getting the hint, Spanky walked off the stage with the woman. In a backroom where they were
all alone, while the woman was rooting through her purse, Spanky bent over and peeked up her

I Hope they're lacy thought Spanky before he saw It.


Inside the costume were three Gnomes standing on top of each other's shoulders, with two
other gnomes hidden in the chest compartment acting as breasts.

"MWahahaha!" shouted Darth Garden Gnome. "We have purchased you, slave!"

"For a measly dollar, you will now be forced into gnomish servitude!"

"Mmmmmm, El Fudge," moaned Spanky as he advanced on Darth Garden

"What? Wait! I'm not a fuckin cookie, wait, STOP!" screamed DGG as
Spanky picked him up and devoured him messily.

The remaining gnomes fled in terror as fast as their little legs could carry them.

*Back On Stage*

Meanwhile, Falk and Shep were counting the 500,000 yen they had recieved from
the two Japanese girls, while Sheppard was figuring out how much it was worth
through a currency converter.

"Hey Shep, isn't 500 thousand yen some kinda record? We should be able to make
hundreds of shitty little fanfics on this kind of dough."

Sheppard looked up from the computer he was pecking away at and announced,
"Well, lets see...500,000 Yen converted into US dollars is...about...$14."

"What? Fourteen bucks?" shouted Falkenhorst. "Fuck, my mom says when I was a baby,
I could have sold for FIVE GRAND!"

"Actually," interrupted Fanboy, "the going rate for white babies is about $7,000 these days.
As high as $10,000 each if you can find a good set of twins."

Sheppard and Falkenhorst stared for several moments at Fanboy, as if he had sprouted nipples
out of his forehead.

"Man," finally said Sheppard, "...just...get outta here!"

"Next up for bids, you know him! You hate his guts! DARTH FANBOY!" announced Einhander.

"I'll bid zero," announced Zaia.

"You can't bid zero dollars, Zaia," replied Einhander in a annoyed tone of voice.

"Well why the fuck should I pay for something I can get for free whenever I want?"
shot back Zaia.

"Well, the money is going for a good cause..." replied Einy somewhat nervously.

"Like what?" snapped Zaia "What cause is that? Screw this, I'm outta here."

*the entire crowd leaves*

"Well, that was a fucking loss," muttered Sheppard.

"I'll say," replied Fanboy. "I could have been spending the night with Zaia. Looks like I'll
have to try and get back my old job mopping floors at the adult bookstore, if we're to
continue UPF."

"I see you've failed your mission once again, minion," came a booming voice from the back
of the now-empty soundstage.

"Damnit, Great Leader, it's not my fault!" replied Sheppard. "You think I can raise the money
needed to pay you off for destroying your Objective Interim Force Beyond Next Liquid Refreshment
Dispenser with this kind of shit to work with?"

"Then consider your HAB Membership revoked..." The Great Leader announced.

"Wait! Wait! Wait...fuck, hmmmmmm. Listen, I got a proposition for you...."

"I'm listening..."
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944

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Post by Falkenhorst » 2005-01-15 04:04am

Prepare yourselves for another installment of UPF, again with recognition to MKSheppard and Darth Fanboy, without whom this story would not be possible.

I wish to warn readers that this chapter contains very dark themes and violent sexual degeneracy possibly worse than the crimes of Jeffery Dahmer. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


[Assosciated Press Release]

Lord of the rings director Peter Jackson announced today the postponement of filming on the Lord of the Rings trilogy, saying a leading actor involved in the multimillion dollar remake of the classic literary trilogy had suffered an accident and was hospitalized. Sources close to the LOTR cast members and British authorities confirmed that Sir Ian McKellen had been flown to an undisclosed hospital in New Zealand after an incident in which the actor suffered severe injuries to his colon following what local witnesses described as a wild liquor drenched orgy involving several prominent members of the local Gay community and a large sheep.

[Entertainment Tonight]

Following actor Ian McKellen's sordid accident in New Zealand, the aging english actor has been hospitalized in intensive care as he battles complications arising from acts of homosexual abuse committed on him by what conflicting reports by witnesses describe as a PCP crazed male sheep. The sheep remains at large following the incident. LOTR director Peter Jackson expressed his sorrow at the condition of the actor, and said he plans to visit him. Jackson also announced that he was making a list of potential replacements for McKellen, as continued delays could cause potentially serious setbacks to his project.

[MOVIES Section, New York Times]

As english actor Ian McKellen continues his long and slow recovery from septicemia following his attack by a male sheep on the set of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, his agent announced that his contract for the role of Gandalf the Wizard had been cancelled, and he had been paid a severance. Director Peter Jackson said that although it was his "sincerest wish" to keep McKellen as Gandalf, he was forced by time and money constraints as well as his shooting schedule to recast the role. Tapped to play the character was American comedian and actor George Carlin.

(TERMINATOR theme song plays)

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Chapter 22

da da dummm dumm da dummmmm





The scorched life pod tumbled end over end through space. For 6 weeks it had travelled through the void, it's course drawing a line back towards the asteroid field where, if one looked closely, they would find the wreckage of the Gnomish asteroid base, and that of the USS Enterprise. Inside the escape pod, if you were to float up and peek in through the blood spattered viewport, you would see a grisly abbatoir. And if the void of space could carry sound, then the dear reader might just hear the weak, raspy voice from within repeating the same insane mantra over and over again...

One-Two RayCav's coming for you

Three-Four gonna kill a whore

Five-Six he's cutting up chicks

Seven-Eight watch him mas-tur-bate

Nine-Ten RayCav lives again...

But before there was the deranged occupant in his lonely escape pod; before there was the transformation of Lt. Commander Data into a deranged sex criminal by the machinations of the notorious mobsters Sheppard and Falkenhorst, before the birth of the Federation or even the United States, there was the man called Raymond Wilson Cavendish.

Born of a prostitute mother and a cruel, red eyed halfbreed bounty hunter, this child of woe grew up in Salem Massachusets in the middle 17th Century. He grew up hard and he grew up mean and learned the woods and how to kill from his father, and the way of the streets from his mother. He grew up into a skinny but quick-witted and sharp eyed man, always chiseling the last shilling out of everyone he dealt with, drinking hard and fighting harder in the inns and seaports of the coastal towns. He became a modest trader of marginal success in Boston. Needless to say, like any criminal, Raymond Cavendish started out with a fantasy, and bit by bit, little by little he started turning it into a reality. First some hookers were found floating under the piers. Then the woman he had taken for his wife in Boston city turned up dead, seemingly mauled to death by wild dogs. Cavendish went to trial on the word of a girl who said she had witnessed him perpetrate the crime upon his wife, but the girl went insane before she could testify. Ostracized in the Boston community, he returned to the town of his birth and his father's life of the woods and trapping again.

Only it didn't end there. His lust and his rage grew and grew, and just like staring into the abyss, the abyss stares back. An old Indian told his grandson on his deathbed that one night in a dark cold swamp west of Salem, Satan sought out Ray Cavendish. It was there, the Indian said as he died, that he became RayCav, and from Satan that he recieved the power; to feed his pleasure on the blood of virgin womanhood. From there on, no-one knows how much is true, and how much is a nightmare. Soon after that came the incidents leading to the Salem witch trials. We in the modern age have our whitewashed historical renditions, those of Miller and the silver screen Hollywood treatment, but the truth, the mark of the guiding hand behind those dark events was so terrifying that just like a person whose innocence is destroyed by the hand of their father as a child, the memory of it was willfully erased from our consciousness.

The unspeakable molestations that occured, the demonic orgies of old women and little girls, the subliminal victory of RayCav, won in his master Satan's name in breaking the will of the good and righteous John Proctor, the incitement of the authorities to sentence the innocent to hang, the virulent black insanity that gripped Salem, all this was the work of RayCav. A careful investigation of the records of the time by the modern scholar will reveal serious inconsistencies in the population figures for Salem and the surrounding villages in the years leading up to and following the events of the Salem Witch trials. One will find evidence of both the reduction of the female population and tampering and doctoring of the records later.

Just as a coward dies a thousand deaths, so the legend goes, a hero only dies once. No-one knows for sure who among the townspeople finally found the courage in his soul to confront RayCav, but in all probability it was John Proctor. In a terrible struggle one cold autumn night following the conclusion of the trials and the petering out of the insanity for lack of fresh blood to slake it's dark thirst, the two battled to the death. John Proctor's body was found, the man dead of terrible injuries, human bite marks showing the wounds that killed him. Nearby his corpse, amid signs of a struggle, a puddle of blood soaked the ground around the base of a broad Oak Tree. Upon the Eastern face of the tree itself was the smoldering, charred imprint of a man, with a burnt pitchfork rammed several inches deep into the hardwood of the tree in the heart of the burnt shadow of him who had died there.

For years it was thought by those few whose souls are burdened with such dark lore that RayCav had passed back into the grasping arms of his master in the lake of fire, but this was not to be. One more time RayCav returned to the world of men to take his pleasure. In another small Massachussets town, not so long after the memory of Salem had scabbed over and begun to fade, the hand of RayCav steered the fate of 2 people towards a coupling that would spell terrible suffering for uncounted souls yet to be born.

That Reverend Dimmesdale and Hester Prynne fornicated and produced a child one night in the late 1600s is dramatized in Hawthorne's book, The Scarlet Letter. The book is thought to be fictitious, but this ignores the grain of horrible truth that lies buried in it, the truth that stares mockingly into the faces of all who see it, blissfully unaware of the creeping fate that stalks them. For the truth is that RayCav's spirit rose from Hell that night to inhabit a man's body once more, and on that night, Reverend Dimmesdale's will was not his own. The seed of RayCav was planted in the soil of mankind once again. Down through the ages, the seed slept dormant in the bloodline of Hester Prynne's daughter Pearl and all her children. In the 1800s, one of Pearl's granddaughters married a filing clerk for the railroad named Ebenezer Barclay, and they lived happily together, siring many children, all of whom unknowingly carried the seed of darkness wrapped unassumingly in their genetic code, waiting for the right moment.

A Barclay lost an arm in Burnside's bungled assault on the Crater at Petersburg, leading his brave black soldiers in that futile attack. His son caught syphillis in a brothel working as a horse groomer for Roosevelt's Rough Riders in the Spanish American war. One of his sons was a stock trader on wall street on black friday in 1929. A brother of his was one of only 3 survivors of a US Submarine in World War 2 that sank when a crew member carelessly jammed the exhaust valve on the pressurized latrine open when the boat dived.

And so it went, through the years, that members of that particular bloodline, while smart and ambitious, suffered extremely bad luck.

The latest member of the Barclay family suffered probably the worst stroke of bad luck in his life when he Ejected from the doomed USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E as it exploded near the secret Gnomish Asteroid base. He and 4 other survivors had been adrift for 2 weeks in the escape pod when the rations gave out. As hunger and desperation began to set in, the seed of RayCav saw that at last the time was right, and the other survivors in the escape pod noticed that the eccentric Lieutenant Commander seemed to be looking at them like he was... Hungry.

4 Weeks later, the escape pod still tumbled through space, by now filled with the remnants of 4 occupants, recently deceased, and one very much alive and newly cannibalistic survivor. The change was almost complete now, and the man who had been known as Reginald Barclay gnawed scraps of flesh off Ensign Therese Sanchez's thigh bone as he jerked himself off furiously with his other hand. The man who had once been Reginald Barclay was gone. The seed had transformed him into an exact likeness of his long dead ancestor, RayCav; and RayCav had in turn transformed the escape pod into his own natural enviroment, the bulkheads splattered with the blood of his victims and his own dried cum. He threw his head back, blood and gristle dripping from his lips, and laughed in a squealing, almost inhuman voice as an idyllic planet began to loom in the single viewport.

The Pod bearing RayCav was finally dragged into the gravity well of the planet, which it's inhabitants knew as Middle Earth.

BOTM 15.Nov.02

Post #114 @ Fri Oct 18, 2002 4:44 pm

"I've had all that I wanted of a lot of things I've had
And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad"

-Johnny Cash, "Wanted Man"


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Post by Darth Fanboy » 2005-01-15 07:07pm


Fanboy awoke in the completely unfamiliar place, SHep had told him that there was a way they could make a lot fo money for UPF. Shep and Falk had taken Fanboy to the west side of town in an old abandoned apartment. As soon as they reached the door though he was knocked unconscious, his head hitting the ground hard.

Upon awaking he tried to raise his arm and look at his watch, it was gone, along with his wallet and several other items on his person. He lifted his arm and he realized he was in a large bathub full of ice, there was a note sitting near him that read:

Dear Fanboy,
We're sorry we had to tell you liek this, but this way we figured you'd cooperate a little easier. The Bachelor auction got us shit but we pawned your watch and some of your other stuff and we'll be able to continue production as usual.

Fanboy clutched his aching side, wondering what he had eaten the night before to upset his belly so, he continued reading the message.

Also, it turns out that your blood type is the same as the Great Leader's, an extremely rare Z type. So just in case he ends up suffering from massive renal failure, we're keeping a spare kidney in cryogenic storage just in case. We used some of the cash we made to buy you some Pez, but Falk ate it all. Once again, thanks.

Shep and Falk

"If it's true that our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little."
-George Carlin (1937-2008)

"Have some of you Americans actually seen Football? Of course there are 0-0 draws but that doesn't make them any less exciting."
-Dr Roberts, with quite possibly the dumbest thing ever said in 10 years of SDNet.

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