Chapter XXX Part I:
Only Vin Diesel knows the name to the Unnamed Porno Fanfic
“Hmm, you look nice, sweetie,” groweled Kathryn Janeway as she took
a long drag off her unfiltered Marlboro, something that she could only
get south of the border on her monthly trips.
“I sure am, hon. Five hundred,” replied the hooker that Janeway
was solicting. Janeway thought over the cost and benefits of buying
this woman's services. Five hundred ferenginar credits wasn't cheap,
but this woman looked relatively disease free, which was a rarity
in Tijuana, and those trips to sickbay were beginning to attract
unhealthy attention from her higher ups.
“Yay, me.” replied the hooker sarcastically.
[30 minutes later]
Janeway unlocked the door to the room where she was staying with Stravo;
as the door opened, the hooker frowned in disgust at the sight of a naked
man tied up with handcuffs to the bed, and happily eating what looked
It was with glee that she noted the disgusted look on the hooker's face. Well
now, it was too late, far too late for the woman; she'd taken the money
and she was theirs for the next couple of days.
[15 minutes later]
Stravo felt his manhood become even more swollen as he watched his mistress,
his bright shining star, the unimitable Kathryn Janeway prepare to eat out the
hooker before reaming her out with the double sized strap-on dildo that he
had come to know very well.
Suddenly, the hooker closed her legs around his Kathryn's neck, and he could
hear her gasps for breaths as she struggled to breathe.
“So, Admiral, you thought you could escape blowing off the Principality of
Zeon over our sperm shipment? You thought wrong,” snarled the hooker as
she tightened her legs ever further.
Stravo struggled against the handcuffs on his arms and legs, the steel biting into
his flesh as he tried to rip them off, to save his love from this vile beast that was
Janeway's eyes began to bulge out of her sockets, and blood vessels began
to burst on them as she strained and exerted herself, causing Stravo to
begin struggling even harder against his bonds.
“Oh sweetie, don't worry. I'll take care of you,” crooned the hooker, and with that,
she smothered Stravo's face in her generous bosom.
The hooker grinned evilly as Stravo struggled against her suffocating tits,
before lapsing into unconsciousness. Between her legs, she also felt Janeway's
struggles weaken, and then finally stop. A foul stench filled the cheap motel
room as Janeway's bowels emptied, causing the hooker to almost gag, before
her training suppressed the instinct. She'd been through worse as part of her
The mark was almost certainly dead, but a bungled assassination attempt in the
past had made Zaia cautious of people who appeared to be dead, so she kept
Janeway in a leglock for a further ten minutes, just to be sure.
[30 minutes later]
“Goddamn, this is one tough bitch,” muttered Zaia as she struggled mightily
to stuff Janeway's body into an ice cooler that she had bought from a replicator
station ten minutes ago.
Dropping Janeway's limbs in disgust, Zaia left the room for several minutes,
before returning with a fire axe that she had appropriated from the nearby fire
In a few minutes, she had the former admiral of the Federation in the cooler,
and the room now resembled a bloody rohrsach painting. Wiping the sweat and
blood spatter from her brow, she glanced over at Stravo, who was still unconscious
from when she had breast-suffocated him about forty minutes ago.
Walking into the bathroom, Zaia stripped down to bare skin, and quickly
stuffed the hooker duds into a trash can which she promptly filled with lighter
fluid and lit off. As the filthy clothes burned, she showered, wearing the soap
down to a nubbin in an obsessive attempt to cleanse herself of the stink of
Janeway and Stravo. For some reason, she felt particularly unclean after
touching those two.
Finally, when the hot water of the entire inn had run down, Zaia finally left
the shower, wiped off and put on the clean clothes she carried in her purse.
She also had one task to carry out before she left the sanctuary of the motel
room; and that was to place the diplomatic seal of the Principality of Zeon
onto the cooler. Now no man could touch it and live. The Principate was
very very good at ensuing that happened.
Lifting one end of the cooler, Zaia rolled it out of the room on it's little wheels,
leaving behind Stravo handcuffed to the bed. With any luck, someone would
notice after a couple of days and free him. If no one did, well it wouldn't be much
of a loss.
[1 hour later – Tijuana Starport]
As Zaia boarded the liner that would begin her long journey back to Zeonic Space,
she sighed. This had been a productive trip, but she felt uneasy about leaving that
deficient specimen of manhood alive back in the motel; surely she should've killed
“Damn it, I'm losing my killer edge.”
Unfortunately for Zaia, and the other 34 men, 42 women, 21 children, and
104 orphans who were being sent to a Federation Orphanage on Trill on the
liner, the head of the ground maintenance section of the Tijuanian starport
was one of Montgomery Scott's bastard children; who suffered from a strange
variant of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome which only affected those children that
Scotty had fathered.
So it was thusly that Charles Montgomery, a.k.a. “Ron” Mexico had forgotten
to bolt the matter/antimatter intake feed splitter back into the warp core after
cleaning it earlier that afternoon. He'd also forgotten to reinstall the various nuts
and bolts he'd removed to get to the feed splitter.
As a result of this, the warp core on the Liner simply came apart at an altitude
of 4,000 meters, and the dangerous matter/antimatter mix combined outside
the safety of the core.
Everyone on the liner, and the surrounding ten kilometers around the spaceport
was vaporized by the fireball of the 1 gigaton detonation. As the monstrous
mushroom cloud rose into the sky, a poisonous rain began to fall over what
was left of Tijuana....
*Sound of the film on a movie projector burning out, causing
the screen to go completely white*
“God damn it, Shep, what the fuck are you thinking?” shouted Darth Fanboy
as he beat the back of Shep's head with a giant inflatible dildo, one of the many
props used for creative thinking during UPF production by the intrepid trumvir
“What? What? I haven't killed a shitload of people in the last few chapters of UPF,
people will think I'm slipping!”
Appearing out of the darkness, Falkenhorst threw a jar of Astroglide, which
barely missed Sheppard's head by inches. “You stupid fuck, you should have
thought about that contract we'd just signed with Zaia for the next thirty chapters
of UPF before you killed her off!”
“Yeah man, we had to scalp a lot of tickets to a lot of midnight screenings to
pay those damn fees!” shouted Fanboy as he held up the next UPF Action figure
scheduled for release, the CHOPPING MOTION ZAIA with REALSOUND (TM).
“This is as close as you're coming to taking MY clothes off, male scumbag!”
shouted the figure when Fanboy pushed the button on it's back idly.
“Two, Four, Six, Eight, who do we emasculate?”
“Its my time of the month...to kill you!”
“We had goddamn gauranteed sales in the quadruple digits to the Angry Young
Virgin Brigade on SDN, you fucking twat!” shouted Falkenhorst. “Besides,
it's the closest those fucknuts would get to touching a woman anyway...”
muttered Fanboy in disgust.
“Okay, okay , you fucking bastards! You're fucking breakin' my balls here,
you know that?” muttered Sheppard as he began the RetCon.
[The Night Before Zaia's Death]
A hovertruck's brake suddenly failed as it was carrying a heavy load of donkey
manure through the streets of Tijuana. The driver, fighting to regain control of
the ungainly vehicle unfortunately ran over the intoxicated Charles Montgomery
as he staggered home to his hovel through the streets of Tijuana. Without C.M.'s
“expert” repair work, the Liner made it's way home through the spaceways, and
the UPF trumvirate made millions of dollars off of Zaia-themed merchandise...
[The Fortress of Solitude, at the center of the Fanfic Galaxy]
“Sir! We've detected a Fanfic Paradox!” shouted one of the fanfic archive
“Inform the master!”
Deep within the fortress, the Fanfic Master, Prime Dalton, sat meditating
on the meaning of Fanfics, when one of his cloned underlings interrupted.
“What is it Dalton Two-Three?”
“Master, we've detected massive plotline retconning and paradoxes in...”
Prime Dalton sighed. “Let me guess, Unnamed Porno Fanfic?”
“Their crimes against fanfics have gone too far. They shall not be
allowed to cram even more plotlines into this abortion of a fanfic.
Dalton Two-Three, take the Michael January
the monsters responsible for this.”
“At once, Prime!”
Sector 202AB – Near the wreckage of the Enterprise-E
cruised slowly through the debris field from the E-E, every
so often stopping to tractor something into her hangar bay. Even with the kind of
cash flow Porn lords like Shep and Falk had, some things were hard to find, or
too expensive for even them.
Inside Falk's living quarters, which looked like something out of a 1970s pimp
blaxploitation film, the two partners in porn were reviewing the data they'd
recovered from the Enterprise's
shattered computer core.
“Hey Shep, listen to this!” shouted Falkenhorst as he began to read a letter from
Captain Riker aloud.
To the Parents of Jessie Stamos,
Your son died bravely in Main Engineering when he gave his life to stop an influx
inverse polarization of the graviton wavefront in the Warp Core which would
have destroyed the ship.....
Who the fuck am I kidding? He was jerking off with a belt tied around his neck
in the Jeffries tube just off of Main Engineering, when he somehow slipped and
choked to death. I guess he had some good qualities....Maybe.
Captain William T. Riker
P.S. The S.O.B. owed me poker money. Please send five bars of gold pressed
Latinium to the following P.O Box....
“That's nothing.” Shep replied as he began reading another letter outloud.
Dear Mr. Jezrianna,
It pains me to inform you of the death of your daughter. She died a heroic and
meaningful death, which was in no way caused by a brutal raping from our
Klingon tactical officer. She was a good starfleet officer, and gave one hell
of a blowjob.
Captain William T. Riker
P.S. Remember, no raping involved...at all...
“Eh, it's sort of weak, Shep. You can't trust those Klingons anyway...”
Falk said in between bites of the hamburger he was eating.
“Whatever. I'd like to see you do better.”
“Easy,” and with that, Falkenhorst began to read outloud once more.
Dear Mr and Mrs Maybourne,
It is with a heavy heart that we must inform you that your son, Ensign Robert Maybourne
died while on shore leave on the planet Risa. Apparently a woman's breast accidentally
brushed against him and he instanteously incinerated into a thousand pieces in a rare
display of spontaneous human combustion.
We will always cherish our memories of having to lock him in the brig for
being a complete fucking idiot. We hope that the two of you never fuck
each other again or anyone else for that matter with the hopes that your
twisted, schizophrenic, and obviously defective DNA does not reach
If at all possible, we ask that you consider Sterilization procedures or castration,
and if possible, suicide.
Please visit your Local Political Headquarters for information regarding
forced sterilization and how you can go about leading productive lives in
a Federation Gulga...errr...Colony...
Capt. William T. Riker
P.S. If you have any other children, I will hunt them down personally and
fire them out of our torpedo bay, you two are sick, sick, sick motherfuckers.
After Falkenhorst had finished the letter, there was a long silence in the room
before Shep disgustedly threw a bar of Gold Pressed Latinium at Falk.
“Goddamit, you win.”