So the Doctor is a pothead? Or are those drugs for the producers, writers, and directors of his show? Both?

By the way, what about the Doctor inspired the hatred that made you write about Zaia kicking him in the balls, Falk to kneecap him, and the gnomes to rape him and turn him into one of them?

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

No hatred, but I needed the second time machine.

As far as where the narcotics and such came from, this is UPF. They come from wherever.

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC XXXVI: "SHITLER HAD IT COMING" or "WHAT'S GREEN AND GROUND AND SMOKED ALL OVER?"


[b]April 30th, 1945

Berlin, Germany

Deep within his bunker, Adolf Hitler waited patiently, although his beloved capital of Berlin was under attack, there were still many German Superweapons that he could deploy at his leisure. The jet powered Aryan Flamethrower brigades, the Massive tanks the size of large buildings, and the marxist seeking rockets were but a few of the advanced weaponry that the Russians and Americans would face as the entered the perimeter of the city. All Hitler had to do was wait for the right moment and use his personal key to unleash the machines.

Feeling relaxed, and far more stable than his inner circle gave him credit for, Hitler calmy strode into the small bondage room in the Bunker where he recieved his daily schtuping.

Although Hitler saw the irony in being the man who condemned thousands of homosexuals to die while he himself enjoyed having his rectum plugged with a large Austrian piece of Sausage named Bruno. But Adolf had attributed the schtupings had to his early political success and decided to continue them in secret as he rose to power and began prosecuting his great war of revenge. Bruno had just finished strapping the now nude Fuhrer to the table and had begun preparing him with the barrell of an emptied Luger when the door burst open and two men speaking a version of English that to Adolf sounded horribly bastardized. The two men, wearing what appeared to be fine suits immediately began exchanging money and suddenly Hitler no longer felt relaxed.

Seconds earlier...

Faleknhorst and Sheppard casually walked over to the antechamber that Sheppard had told Falkenhorst about on their way to 1945. They had carefully stalked Hitler throughout the bunker and had reached the antechamber where Sheppard had claimed that Hitler recieved daily ass poundings.

"So Shep, what you're saying is that Hitler had some leathered up guy fuck him silly every day before breakfast?"

"Yeah, Something about his colon being too tight even by German standards, I dunno. Anyways I know this is true, I saw it in some classified files I stole on a job a long time ago." The latter part, at least, was a lie as Shep had garnered his information from the futuristic Wikipedia aboard the timeship, the same Wkipedia that the Academia Nut must have been using for references, because after a quick search for himself, he realized that incorrect spellings and information in the Wikipedia articles were what caused the Nut to call Shep and Falk, "Fhep and Salk".

"I don't buy it. That's just too fucked up even for a cowardly shithead like Hitler."

"Care to wager fifty bucks on that?"

"Oh you're on dickweed."

Falkenhorst, eagerly awaiting his fifty dollar victory bet, kicked open the door to the antechamber and within five seconds began reaching for his wallet. Both men averted their eyes as quickly as possible, but neither men were prepared for the raw sight of one of Earth's most reviled dictators taking it in the ass from a leather clad bondage gimp whose mask was sealed over his mouth via zipper.

"Motherfucker." Falk exclaimed as he passed Shep a fifty dollar bill. "That was just revolting, and I once spent an entire week producing Piss Fetish and Coprophilia movies for the Nausicaan porn market."

"If it makes you feel any better, we can go double or nothing on if Henry VIII was fatter than Taft."

"Deal." Falkenhorst looked back over one last time at Hitler, taking the time to shoot Bruno in the back of the head and wince as the bullet tore through the large Nazi's mask and cranium, casuing his lifeless body to fall forwards on Hitler, who squealed like a dying mongoose, quaking with fear and stuttering in German.

He scrambled to his feet. The Americans had learned his secret, and there was no telling how many people they might tell. Eternal Glory at the head of his German Empire meant nothing if everyone thought he was queer. He decided to scrap the superweapons, and isntead move on to Plan B. Hopefully Evan Braun still had his female wardrobe and those capsules of cyanide...


June 7th, 1980

Boca Raton, Florida, U.S.A

Carl Spackler, the groundskeeper of Bushwood Country Club, was taking the time out of his day to enjoy a little harmless fantasy. After smoking what he described as a "fantastically humongous joint the size of a giraffe's neck", he teed up for a few practice drives at his secluded corner of the golf course.

"Cinderella story. Outta nowhere. A former greenskeeper, now, about to become the Masters champion. It looks like a mirac... It's in the h......what the hell?"

Suddenly, what appeared to be an oversized telephone booth of sorts materialized in the way of Spackler's drive. The ball careened off the side and shot towards a nearby fairay, striking an unaware club patron in the head and knocking him unconscious. From the doorway, A large man wearing a bloodstained hockey mask peered out. "You Carl Spackler?" He asked.

Unsure of what to say, but to high to really care. The greenskeeper nodded his head in the affirmative. The large man pumped his fist and motioned with his arm. "Get in, we just packed a fresh one."

Spackler stepped inside, thinking that he and whoever else was inside would be "hotboxing", but instead saw that the interior was spacious and stewn with junk food wrappers and pizza boxes from wall to wall. The biggest shock to his doped up system though were the five men seated on the circular couch that looked exactly like him. Carl stepped over and rubbed his hand against his forehead, wondering if he needed to curb his consumption, when a man in a brown jumpsuit with a crazy looking backpack started to pass him a three foot tall bong.

"Here you go handsome." Spackler's "twin" said.

"Much obliged." Carl responded as he inhaled deeply, taking an incredible hit into his lungs eliciting a cheer from the others. After he felt his world had been sufficiently rocked, he passed the bong to his left, towards a man in a light blue outfit with a red cap on his head.

"You're probably thinking to yourself right now, 'Damn I need to cut back', but trust me buddy, we all thought the same thing. This is about as real as it gets." The man stood, stumbling awkwardly as his balance escaped him. "Name's Venkman, Peter Venkman" he said as they shook hands. "You've met Mr. Zissou the oceanographer here, to his left is Private John Winger, US Army, Professional Bowler Ernie McCracken, and Actor Bill Murray."

"Wow," Carl muttered. "You're all so lifelike."

"Well we are alive." Zissou quipped. Now I know we've been having a lot of fun but as I recall we were all promised some money?"

"And money you shall have," the man in the hockey mask said. But first, I need to know if any of you are in posession of a green leaf shaped gem?"

Without taking the time to think about it, Each man reached into his pocket and procured a small green stone shaped like a leaf, within seconds the stones all began to glow brightly.



Fanboy pulled the medallion the red headed cokewhore, (now lost somewhere randomly in time after a tablet of bad acid had caused her to step out of the TARDASS during time travel because she thought there might be what she described as "pudding birds") had given him out of his pocket. It too was glowing, a bright golden color that resonated with the green stones.

"Sweeeeeet." He said.

"Hey, guy!" Yelled Bill Murray, "I mean thanks for the dank and all but, uhh remember you said something about money?"

"Oh right," Fanboy said. He opened the door to the TARDASS and peeked out in time, too stoned to full comprehend what he was seeing in the 4th dimsension and sparing what sanity he possessed. He spied his target, and then ran back over to the controls to angle for his attack.



November 24, 1971, The airspace between Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington, United States


Dan Cooper, leapt out of the plane, his $200,000 in cash clutched tightly up against him as he prepared to make his escape. It was a bold plan, but he had pulled it off, and he would finally have all the money he needed to import high-priced Communist Whores and cigars from Cuba, despite the U.S. Embargo.

But just as he began to deplouy his parachute, he was startled as a large, box like object began streaking toward him at high speed, with what appeared to be a man's arm hanging out of the window. The arm managed to grab hold of Cooper's suitcase full of money, with a few thousand dollars in bills spilling out as he wrestled to regain control. As he looked up he saw that the arm was attached to a grusesome looking man with a mask, who then used his other arm to punch Cooper in the face to wrestle the remaining cash into the box like ship. Cooper was helplessas as he was released from the man's grip by the punch and then caught in the wake of the box, which accidentally pulled him into the timestream.

He emerged in the future, surround by a cadre of robotic cylinders with crazy weapons, each of them breathing heavily like a fat man climbing a flight of stairs with a curly haired tiny man leading them. The curly haired dwarf moved toward him and sniffed him.



The Gnomified Fourth Doctor recognized the scent coming off of D.B. Cooper. The one that had stolen his time machine was responsible. Eager for more information, he motioned to the horde behind him.

"Take him to the master! He will want the information this one holds, then prepare him for gnomification."

"IN-SEM-IN-ATE, DINK DINK HAIL GNOMAGE" The cylinders cried out, as they dragged D.B Cooper away, no trace of him ever to be found again.

Fun, but why have five Bill Murrays as Fanboy's assistants? (Personally, I'd have picked Bruce Lee, Jet Li, Chow Yun-Fat, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Kurt Russell.)

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC XXXVII: "Drunk Driving force of History!" or "Historical Bloopers Part One!"

2004, Somewhere Over the Indian Ocean

"I think it's really neat that you've managed to pilfer all of those Nuclear Weapons out of Iraq, no really I do..."Zaia said sarcastically. "But don't you think that using the Time Machine's tractor beam to haul them around makes us rather inconspicuous?"

[ CUT TO an exterior shot of the time pod, struggling to stay in the air and keep altitude while carrying an enormous payload of nuclear weapons with it's tractor beam. ]

"Aw come on, you know how hard this shit is to find back in the 24th century!" Shep protested.

"I think's she's right Shep. Although I admit those cases of Uranium you got with the North Korean Flag painted on them will be worth huge cash to a 24th century historical museum, but that shit is cutting into our speed. We are barely doing 70kph up here, and my grandmother does 70 kph in her Beep-Chair! I'm cutting the power."

Zaia and Shep both scrambled to stop Falk's reach. "No! Wait!" They each protested simultaneously, but the deed was done. Hundreds of megatons worth of ordinance plummeted into the sea. It feel in just such a way that it feel into a deep and previously unexplored crevasse before exploding, setting off a terrible chain reaction of events and creating a terrible Earthquake. Zaia immediately started recording data with the ship's sensors.

"Shit! That was a 9.3 magnitude Earthquake! The resulting wave are going to..." Suddenly Zaia was revisited by a memory of one of her Earth History lessons back at the Zeonic Military Academy for Aspiring Emasculators.

"The great 21st Century Tsunami occurred in the Italian Ocean, the result of male negligence in building too many settlements near the coastline without the proper procedures in place for advance warning and evacuation. Over thirty billion people died when the subcontinent of Indiana was washed away entirely."

Although the accuracy of the textbook in question was suspect, mainly because the population of Earth at the time was far less than thirty billion and the fact that the Indian subcontinent still existed, there was no disputing that a terrible disaster occurred, and she had been privy to it!

"Oh fuck what else could go wrong."


October 10th, 1871, Chicago, Illinois, USA

"What do you think you're doing you fucking idiot!"

"I said i'd take you back to Chicago! This is it!" Fanboy pulled the large Cuban cigar out of his mouth and yelled back at an obviously irate Bill Murray.

"Yeah but it's the wrong year numbnuts! I need to go back to 2008!"

Fanboy rubbed the back of his head. "Oh man I am so baked."

"Forget it!" Murray yelled. "I'm just going to go make some more of those pizza bites or whatever. Let me know when you've figured out how to get me home."

Fanboy shook his head and cursed, hoping that he was still sober enough to work the controls. Before he did though he flicked the still smoldering remnant of the large cigar out of the machine and into the nearby barn. Unfortunately, it struck the back of a cow belonging to one Catherine O'Leary in the backside, causing it to thrash about uncontrollably as the cigar bounced into a dry pile of hay. And as the TARDASS took off at high speeds, it kicked up a furious wind that added to the already volatile conditions.

The fire grew and grew, until finally it was enough to threaten the city of Chicago, which it did all through the night.


March 23rd, 1989, Prince William Sound off the coast of Alaska

"Now this is a foolproof plan!" Falk said. "Once we get this oil to the post-Peak Oil market in about 2020 we can sell it and make billions!"

Falkenhorst had set the timepod down on the deck of the first Supertanker he spotted and then bribed the crew with copius amounts of fresh whiskey he had stolen and stored in the past, returning to the futre, it had now aged properly and was now a valuable commodity. He and Shep had maneuvered the boat outside of the shipping lanes to covertly begin letting the oil drain.

"Falk i'm all for making a buck, but you were making fun of me for tryying to carry nukes, how the fuck are we supposed to transport a few million gallons of crude oil dumbshit!"

Sheppard covered his ears as Falk remotely detonated the side of the boat with explosives.

"Easy! Falk said, I rigged the transporters up to beam all of this shit up out of the ocean, we'll keep it stuck in the transporter pattern buffers all technobabble-like and then cross trhough the time stream. Hey, where'd your bitch go?"

Shep shrugged his shoulders. "She said something about 'Not wanting to be party to one of the most heinous environmental disasters of the 20th century.' Whatever that means."

Falk shook his head dismissively. "Fine by me, it's not like I was going to give her a cut of the profits anyway. You know she's bad news. Yeah I know I was reluctant to go on this time travelling gig but this could be the most fuckin profitable thing we've ever done."

"Even more than your discount plastic surgery setup?" Shep asked.

"Yes!"

"Even more than when you let loose that bacteria on ferenginar that bred in ear wax and made millions selling those cotton swabs as a high tech "cure"?

"Yes!"

"Did you remember to rig the transporter so we could finish beaming this shit up once your detonator went off?"

"Y....errr....no."

Shep and Falk rushed over to the side of the boat as the oil began to slowly ooze out of the side. Both men had underestimated the winds of the ocean, and the oil was spreading out father and faster than they realized it would.

"Fuck! Falk if this shit goes too far and mixes with too much salt water the transporter isn't going to be able to handle it!"

Falkenhorst surveyed the situation, and without hesitation, lit a cigarette and calmy walked back over to the timepod. "Shep, sometimes it's best just to walk away."

However it was not so easy for Shep. After spending much of his adult life investing in various criminal enterprises, he never felt right unless a job was properly covered up. Running back to the bridge, he stepped over an incredibly drunken helmsman and set the course of the Supertanker to steer into the nearest reef. Satisfied that no one would realize the damage was done by explosives, he ran back to the time pod. When Zaia was sitting in the backseat reading a magazine while Falkenhorst just sat in the co-pilot's seat smoking a cigarette. He climbed into the pilot's chair and punched in a new time destination.

Punching in the time to head forward in time, he decided to visit a relative of his in Louisiana. A distant cousin of his who had served in the old US Army Corps of Engineers used to work on the dams and levees there in the city, and Sheppard had always heard that New Orleans was the place to go for a party, he would invite his relative along also. Really, how much could it hurt if the man had a few drinks on the job?


1341, Somewhere in Europe

After finally returning all of his guests to their respective times after numerous failed attempts. Fanboy decided to relax. He selected a random time and place and then decided to set himself loose upon the nearest whorehouse.

As luck would have it, he ended up somewhere in the year 2254, where he ended up near the Federation Starfleet Academy in San Francisco. Unfortunately he had caught a nasty strain of Orion Gonorrhea. It was introduced to Earth by a Federation officer who had caught the disease on the fringe of Federation space and spread it to dozens of local prostitutes, skanks, and hobags upon landing a position as a teaching instructor at the Academy.

The Gonorrhea was particularly nasty, and Fanboy's unique drug-addled metabolism had caused the bacteria to mutate upon contact with him. Still, the doctors assured him that a steady dose of penicillin would cure the disease. With his prescription in tow, Fanboy had decided to head a thousand years in the past, to get as far away from the legacy of diseased genitalia left by one James T. Kirk.

With the TARDASS to transport him, it had only taken a week for Fanboy to visit every brothel from London to Venice.

But, because of his failing memory brought on by years of LSD abuse, Fanboy had forgotten completely about the virulence of his new disease, which had stopped hurting him thanks to the penicillin he had not shared with the women he sexually employed.

Each woman suffered terrible pain, horrible fever, and frequently vomited on their clients. This not only helped to spread the rapidly mutating disease, but also helped to create the vomiting fetish hundreds of years earlier than it would have otherwise. Boils erupted on the skin of the infected, and the great plague eventually became airborne, and spread a "black death" across the continent of Europe.

It hardly mattered to Fanboy though, he had used his refractory periods to decipher the mystery of the jade leaf shaped stones he had acquired from his friends earlier, and assembled them compeltely onto his medallion. The leaves combined to form the shape of a glistening marijuana plant, and the medallion began connecting with his mind, like a computer uploading thousands of terabytes of data into a one gig flash drive and somehow forcing it all in.

"Whoa." He said, realizing that he needed to finish off the gnomes so that he could return to his own time as fast as he could.


Beyond Space and Time, the Gnome Kingdom

"Show me the humans who would defy our glorious conquest!" Darth Garden gnome yelled to the pair of Gnomeks standing before him. One of the Gnomeks opened a small hatch, and a tiny naked man stepped out and handed a series of pictures to his master. The pictures clearly showed Fanboy, Falkenhorst, Sheppard, and Zaia.

Darth Garden Gnome became enraged, these were the four that had destroyed his Gnomish Empire in the 24th century by destroying his illicit pornography exposition. He recognized Zaia as the one who shot his old body to pieces before leaving him for dead, forced to take refuge in that red-haired monster's arsehole before escaping the HAB space station.

"Get me Zor! Tell him to have the Random Alternate Reality weapon ready as soon as possible! We leave for the past at once!"

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC XXXVIII: "What Happens in the 21st Century, STAYS in the 21st Century!" or "What Time Does Your Ride Come?"

Las Vegas, Nevada, United States.

The young stripper, a blonde who had barely just reached the second decade of her life slid down the pole with the grace of a panther stalking its prey. The young lady writhed her way onto the floor, making her way to the end of the runway on her hands and knees towards the large stack of money placed there by Sheppard and Zaia. Ever the Zeon, Zaia had taken the intitiative in enticing the young girl towards her, ever the gentleman and voyeur, Shep did not object as the Zeon Special Operative reached into his jacket pocket and removed a stack of bills made up entirely of Shep's winnings from the frequent bets he had been placing with Falkenhorst, who himself had a crippling gambling addiction and was busy losing thousands of dollars at the Ceasar's Palace roulette tables.

Zaia had agreed to this small side trip to the Las Vegas on the condition that afterwards they would begin the process of restoring the timeline. Privately, Shep wondered if she was warming up to him, or if there was any truth to the rumors of rampant nymphomania in Zeon that he and so many other men fantasized about in the 24th century. But before he could speculate further his communicator began buzzing in his pocket. It was Falkenhorst, calling from the Strip.

He picked up the communicator, cleverly disguised in form and function as a 21st century cell phone thanks to technology stolen from the Academia Nut's time shuttle. "Sheppard here."

"It's Falk." Came the familiar voice of Falkenhorst, which Shep noticed was far more anxious than he was accustomed to hearing from his partner.

"Can this wait Falk? Our travelling partner has a comely young femme in her lap and hopefully i'll be following them to the VIP lounge here in a few minutes."

"Good you're having fun, that's good! I'll make it quick yeah. Listen, I met this guy at the casino..."

"Going queer on me old friend? That cache of shit from the Reed Estate turn you over? Not that i'm going to judge I just need to know if you've been checking out my pecker or someth..."

"Shut the fuck up Sheppard. He's a smart fucker, name is Tannen. Anyways, he's been making a killing at the Sports book over here, turns out that the guy got a hold of a Sports Almanac from the future and now he's got more money than an eighty nine year old woman giving out two dollar handjobs at your dad's house."

"I swear to god i'll fucking shoot you unless you cut to the chase Falk." Shep cursed, no longer in the mood for this conversation as the exotic dancer began to straddle Zaia's lap in reverse, grinding her back into Zaia's chest and putting her body into a grinding wavelike motion that was suited for a slow ride on a mechanical bull.

"Yeah your right, I probably shouldn't talk about your dad AND your grandmother like that. Look, the point is that i'm taking the time machine. Don't worry, i'll come back a second after I left. You probably won't even notice i'm gone. But if I am not at the meeting place out front of the MGM Grand right away it won't take me very long."

Sheppard looked over as the stripper had her finger hooked through the strap of Zaia's dress and was leading her into the rear of the club. Every gut instinct he had was telling him to get the fuck out of that club and stop Falkenhorst before he took off on his own, but those instincts were overridden by a now massive erection that threatened to tear a hole in the fabric of space and time itself, not to mention his trousers.

"Fine, just make sure you are out in front of the Casino right at 3am or so help me I will make it to the future on my own and I will find your grave, dig you up, and shit in your brain cavity." Shep swore.

"No worries man, this is going to be EASY money. I just have to remember 3am, MGM Grand, September 18th 2008 on the dial. I'll pick you up and then we'll go do whatever it is we were doing before this. Can't imagine it's going to make us any money though." Falk muttered.

As if on cue Sheppard heard a loud giggling sound coming from the back, he had to end the conversation now or risk being denied a once in a lifetime opportunity to witness secret Zeon sensual techniques never before seen by male eyes. "Just be there at three dipshit." Shep powered the communicator off and breathed deeply before downing the remainder of a cheap gin martini in one long gulp, a smile began to form on his face as he walked to the back of the club.


Beyond Space and Time, the Gnome Kingdom

"So the Random Alternate Reality Weapon will be on schedule as promised?" Darth Garden Gnome demanded.

Zor, the human collaborator scientist and one of the few humans tolerated by the gnomes, bowed his head"Of course it will, unless for some reason an act of Q replaces all of my trained technicians with the three Hundred Spartans from Thermopylae against a dozen Jaffa led by Teal'c with their..."

"SILENCE!" Darth Garden Gnome bellowed. "That weapon is the key to ensuring our continued domination of all time and space. With humans present in the active timestream we cannot afford to wait. Soon, all creation will be under gnomish control!"

"Of course my leige, but a question if I may?"

Darth Garden Gnome sighed, anticipating another ridiculous scenario. "One, and be quick about it."

"Could 200 gnomes with slingshots riding on top of Bears defeat one Tank provided that the tank is a model from 1953 or earlier?"

Knowing he could not kill the source of his frustration outright, Darth Garden Gnome hung his head low, and sighed.

3 am @ the MGM Grand

"That was...exhilarating." Sheppard said, lighting a large cigar as he stepped out of the cab.

Zaia shrugged her shoulders and exhaled, Shep's witnessing of her indiscretion at the strip club was normally a Third Degree C-Level Offense (A Zeonic term for castration with extreme prejudice). However, her head was somewhere else, and she was in an incredibly pleasant mood not contusive to genital mutilation. "What can I say, i'm a sucker for accents like hers. Besides, who knows if we'll live long enough to see this through. I suppose a prolific flesh peddler such as yourself doesn't go without very often, but as a soldier it is not often that I actually get to indulge myself."

"Well you should indulge yourself more often. A recording of what I saw back there could have made you and I each an instant fortune."

Talk of wealth did not normally entice Zaia, but this time her curiosity was piqued. "Define, 'fortune' for me."

Sheppard ran the numbers in his head, hypothesizing profits in his head was like second nature to him. "Well on this world it might not mean as much what with the free access to pornography. But in our time, without the Federation tariffs and oversight we're looking at enough latinum for say, a small moon, and a luxury stellar yacht to carry you around it in, and a bottle of fine Romulan Ale, or eighty five bad bottles of Klingon Bloodwine.

Zaia gasped at the amount. "Really, there is that much money to be made in your line of work?"

"Yeah, so long as you don't mind being shot at by every crazy Starfleet task force or Feminazi space cruiser. I won't even bother dealing with the Ferengi. You know they even rub their wicked little twig dicks all over their money? What fucking bank, legit or otherwise, is going to take a cargo hold of latinum coated in Ferengi Jizz!"

That disgusting thought had snapped Zaia's head out of the clouds, Shep sensed this and immediately adjusted his collar.

"Err, sorry, uhhh, Falk should be back any second now." Shep stuttered, embarrassed at his gaffe.

"You sure he knows what time to come back to?" Zaia asked.

"Yeah, I made sure to remind him, September 18th, 2008." Shep assured her.

"That's good because I....wait...did you say 2008?" Zaia's face went pale as her expression turned to horror.

"Yeah, we're in 2008 right?"

"With a steel toed boot Zaia reeled her foot back and brought it forward so fast Shep had no time to react, her foot crushed into his testicles with such force that Shep vomited instantly. A pair of middle aged tourists from South Dakota were treated to the unpleasantness of Shep's regurgitated $5.99 Prime Rib Buffet Dinner.

"It's 2007 you moron! TWO ZERO ZERO FUCKING SEVEN."

The one good thing about the terrible pain in his balls, was that Sheppard felt no other pain as Zaia stomped him down on the street in front of dozens of bewildered tourists. The stomping lasted for several minutes until Shep was rewarded with blissful unconsciousness.

Amazon Jungle, Peru, Earth, 1967, forty years ago to the day.

"And you say this is where you found the temple ten years ago Dr. Jones?"

"That's right Mr. Fanboy. But we need to talk, your financial gifts to the university up to this point have been beyond generous. But I'm telling you there is nothing left at the site." Indiana Jones said as the two men trekked through the Jungle to the site of Indiana's discovery of the Ugha tribe's temple.

"That's not what this medallion is telling me Doctor Jones." Fanboy looked at the jade glow of the weed medallion he had successfully assembled. "Something yet remains here in this rubble, something not meant for the Mayans. Something meant for me, my birthright if you will."

The medallion glowed ever brighter as they made their way to the temple ruins. Unseen to the explorers, a larger jade light began to glow beneath the debris.

The rubble began to shake and tear apart, and at first Indiana Jones and Darth Fanboy thought that they were in the midst of an earthquake. They realized their error quickly as stone altar burst forward from the ground and rose above the shattered temple. It was small, and unimpressive, but as Indiana recalled so too was the holy grail. The two men stepped forward to examine the altar and fanboy noticed a small impression in the face3 of the stone the same size as his medallion, with intricate six leafed designs chiseled into the stone around it. He inserted the medallion and as he did a green bolt of energy travelled up his arm and ended at his head. After a couple of brief seconds the shock stopped, and Fanboy paused to shake the cobwebs out of his head.

"That's a hell of a way to make a dsicovery." He said deadpan.

"What was that?" Indiana Jones asked.

Fanboy looked up to the stars, smiled and, in a barely audible voice replied.

"The answer to everything Dr. Jones, the answer to everything."

UPF! FUCK YEAH!

I am highly amusing, on the other hand, the condom thin plot is going nowhere.

---

Sig left blank in the name of the Society for conservation of Bits

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC XXXIX: Part One, "Explanations".


Las Vegas, Nevada (September 18th, 2008)

Falkenhorst straightened out the collar on his slick new suit as the time machine re-entered the 21st century. He was no worse for the wear, and if his grand scheme played out, he would be so incredibly wealthy when this thing was over that he might be able to put in for retirement.

At first he had taken Biff Tannen's advice, but in his greed he had managed to make more enemies at various sports books throughout the 20th century. At first it had been difficult, Falkenhorst had actually managed to place several losing bets and was then forced to travel through time to make the necessary "corrections." Donning a green sweater and headset as a disguise he single handedly torpedoed the Chicago Cubs' 2003 World Championship, used the time machine's advanced sensor systems to deliver intel to the New England Patriots on three different occaisions, and stabbed three weelchair bound race competitors to death prior to the 2012 Paralympic games.

It wasn't the surprising difficulty of the triple homicide that eventually swayed him, but the realization that the eventual socialization of Earth in the late 23rd century would make all of his newfound fortune completely useless. Still, he hid the money in a swiss bank and kept the information close to him.

Disguising the time machine as a black '69 Bonneville that was so god damn shiny you could see your skeleton in the reflection, Falkenhorst made his way to the MGM grand, where he saw Sheppard and Zaia, the latter of which was carrying a small package in her arms and looking very angry at Sheppard.

"Hey. Sorry about that, I know i'm a couple of minutes late but there's no reason to be upset right." Falkenhorst paused and looked closer at the package Zaia was holding, and noticed that it was an infant. "Hey whose baby is that?"

Sheppard hung his head low. "She's ours."


Las Vegas, Nevada (September 18th 2007)


"Okay, so we're probably going to be stuck here for a year or so. It's not the end of the world, I mean, so we wait, it will be fine." Sheppard said, trying to put himself at ease as much as he was the incrasingly irate female next to him.

"FINE? We're stranded in some ass backwards part of the 21st century and you're trying to convince me that there is nothing wrong with that situation? We don't have any money, or a place to live, Fuck we just spent most of our money on an overpriced stripper whose tits were about as fake as your sincerity!"

"You weren't complaining earlier when you were stuffing a few grand so far into her G-String that you nearly got your fingers caught on her cervix." Shep growled.

"Things were different then. For one thing I was insatiably horny, and I thought we had plenty of money, until your buddy walked off with that and the one means we had to restore the timeline and return home!"

Shep knew she was right, it wasn't the first time he had allowed sapphic entertainment to cloud his judgment and let Falk get away with something that nearly impoverished them both. The two checked in to a dive in North Vegas for the night to conserve what little of their precious money they had left. After a short skirmish with a division of cockroaches that Zaia assumed were laying in wait for the eventual Third World War to claim most of this area, the Zeon assassin went to sleep, while Sheppard, unable to rest knowing that he might have to seek out the 21st century Earth Equivalent of his old job mopping semen from crusty adult bookstores.

Knowing that there was only one chance for a quick, painless, and easy solution that did not involve a lot of work. With their last hundred dollars in hand, Sheppard set off for the Casino.



Las Vegas, Nevada (September 18th, 2008)


"All right I get it, I left you guys with jack shit. But this isn't my fault right? Shep DID tell me the wrong date. You aren't going to go all psycho on me?" Falk asked defensively, his adrenaline in overdrive at the thought of having to flee unarmed on foot from a trained Zeon killer, who would most likely figure out a way to emasculate him within thirty seconds of the fight.

"I won't kill you if that's what you are wondering. But had Shep's plan not worked out as well as it did, then he wouldn't be here right now, and neither would my darling little girl." Zaia said as she looked down and cooed at the baby in her arms.

"Yeah...about that..." Falk asked.


Las Vegas, Nevada (September 19th 2007)


Zaia woke up with the harsh sunlight of the Nevada sun stinging her eyelids, and the infamous Obscenity Dealer known as Mark Sheppard nowhere to be found. A quick search of the room revealed that not only had he absconded with the last of their money, but had left no indication of where he was headed.

In a rage she picked up the room's small television and tossed it into the wall in front of her. The cheap drywall failed to hold up against the outdated viewing machine's weight, frightening the pair of heroin addicts in the next room who felt that it was perfectly acceptable to chase the dragon and bliss out at 8:00am on a Wednesday morning. Zaia stood surveying the damage when she heard the door slowly open, the squeaking of unoiled door hinges betraying Sheppard's entry.

"YOU SLIMY FUCK!" Zaia screamed as she charged, intending to drive her knee into Sheppard's testicles so far that the external genitalia would resemble a second pair of kidneys in Shep's lower abdomen.

Resisting the urge to squeal like a child and wet himself, Shep fell backwards into the fetal position, holding up a suitcase as if to defend himself. Fortunately, it managed to attract her interest long enough for her to suspend the attack. "Where did you get that?"

"Just open it," Sheppard said as he stood up and dusted himself off. "Our money problems are over, which is good because the liquor stores on this planet during this time are better armed then most Federation Tactical Assault Squads."

Zaia opened the suitcase and smiled big, the suitcase was stuffed to the brim with money.

"I figure there's at least two hundred fifty-kay in there, give or take. Should be enough to rent out a nice place and eat for a year at least."

Zaia was still in shock. "But how did you manage to do this? We only had like, a hundred bucks left!"

Shep's cockiness returned. "Sheppy Pooh's got your back baby. Now lets get out of this dive and find your sugar daddy a fucking steak.

The remark did not go unrewarded, but neither did it go unpunished. Zaia leaned in and delivered a quick kiss on Sheppard's cheek before reaching down and squeezing his testicles, twsiting them around as hard has possible and pulling. This caused Shep to violently expel his previous night's meal of Casino Buffet Dinner and fall to the floor in Agony.

"Refer to yourself as my sugar daddy again and this alliance is terminated."


Las Vegas, Nevada (September 18th, 2008)


Falkenhorst laughed so hard that he snorted. "Shit man, if I had known you were going to have that kind of luck at the Casinos I wouldn't have been so quick to leave you guys behind. But I wasn't asking about the money. Even without the cash I know Shep could have grifted his away to a life of luxury if he really wanted to. I was asking about the kid..."

"Her name is Marina, I named her after my adoptive mother." Zaia said, hoping to cut off any references to her dear child as an object.

"Fine, little Marina, call her Gigglepuke for all I care, whatever. But Shep's been pining for you ever since you two first met, and you work directly for the most powerful ultrafeminist in human history. I'm thinking that there was a lot of alcohol involved, and quite possibly a whole lot of rationalization on your part afterwards. Heh."

"Shep would you take the baby for me so that I can disembowel your friend here?"

Falkenhorst reached for his pistol. "Shep you take that baby and I swear to god I'll shoot you in the kneecap."

"Both of you shut the hell up. Look, Falk, can I talk to you for a second in private?"

If Falk and Zaia's eyes had been phasers, they would have been set to kill and Sheppard would have been disintegrated the second he stepped in between them. He leaned his head in towards Falk, desperately hoping Zaia would not hear.

"I know that you brought some cash back. I need you to give it to me."


Fortress of Fanfic Solitude

It's not that he could not run, nor that the activity in itself bothered him. But the Prime Dalton did not really derive any enjoy the act of running when the cost of stopping to take a breath could possibly be his life.

He had been monitoring the UPF situation, when the entire Fortress of Fanfic Solitude had been attacked and subsequently overran by an army of gnomes. Several explosions had rocked the fortress, creating holes that, although small, were just big enough for the tiny gnomes to enter and begin swarming the entire complex, like a nasty strain of the clap in an unsuspecting nursing home orgy. All through the complex, the sounds of "Dink Dink" echoed in a ghastly requiem.

Alternate reality Daltons from all across the Multiverse threw themselves at the gnomish attack, and although they achieved a lopsided kill ratio (Dalton 300 by his self was responsible for taking out six hundred of the little peckerheads) The odds were far greater against them.

The Gnomish Collaborator known as Zor and his Random Alternate Reality weapon were to blame. Indeed the irresponsibility of UPF's writers, had allowed the Gnomes to create a mechanism where they were not only in control of their own reality, but now the masters of others as well.

The Prime Dalton would not have that. "I want all availiable Daltons to guard the core complex! They must not be allowed to get into the Fanfic Repository! Otherwise the gnomes will be able to change every fanfic ever written! Can you imagine what would happen if they changed Armageddeon so that, instead of Demons, the Earth was being invaded by gnomes intent on raping the world's muffin supply and forcing the enslaved humans to eat those muffins? Shit!"

Prime Dalton tried but failed to avoid trampling the gnomish soldier in his path. Although the result of a gnome being killed was desirable, having his nice new sandals covered in the blood and grey matter of his victim was not. Dalton's foot crushed the gnome's skull like an eggshell, ruining the shoe and also creating a slippery mess that nearly toppled him.

"Fuck!" He yelled, angered that in this desperate hour, his dialogue had been reduced to one liners and short quips consisting mostly of curse words.

"I will never say it out loud..." Prime Dalton thought, "But now, in our darkest hour, UPF may be our only hope left! If they don't kill of the gnomes, then the gnomes will ruin fanfiction forever!"


---------
UPF Authors Note:

More to come on this chapter after I make extensive consultations. Also, if you drink Whiskey and Dr. Pepper and mix it too strongly, you run the risk of never being able to comfortably drink flat Dr. Pepper again. Also also, never ever ever get really drunk beyond your control while wearing face paint, it exacerbates any problems you might encounter.

Don't give it away if you figured it out!

Episode -1, Part IX, 1 of 3

We've never been apart
the day has come
I'm feeling that your sun
shines away from me

Tease me
holding my hands you smile again
I couldn't see you away from me
I do realize it now

Fanboy was no stranger to odd sensations, but this particular disconnection from reality was much different than the others.

He was with Fangirl again, in a cramped but warm shower. They were making love at a frenzied pace, her back pushed up against a wall and her leg bracing her with all of her strength. She clutched him tightly as he thrust upwards. He made no effort to control his pace or restrain his orgasm, but still he could not climax. She beckoned for him; her passion rang out in his ears as she called out his name so loud it would have been heard in the next solar system.

And just when he thought that his orgasm was in reach, she disappeared, along with the shower, his erection, and seemingly everything else.

Now he was standing alone, in a field surrounded by nothing but empty horizons. Above him, the night sky was lit up like a sea of stars, vast beyond measure with no indication that anything else in the world existed. Fanboy stood in this place, and saw that he was alone. He took another quick glance back up at the sky and noticed one particular star was shining much brighter than the others.

The scene changed again, and the effect was starting to make Fanboy feel rather incorporeal. He was now standing in a room, a chamber formed from concrete. In the distance he could hear thunder, and what sounded like the screams of dying men, and when he looked down at his feet he saw only the woman he loved, her body broken and lifeless, covered in blood.

He knelt over her, a void formed in his chest that swallowed all of his screams. He tried to fight against it, and let loose his rage in an attempt to shatter the entire world and undo the tragedy that had claimed his beloved. But there was nothing.

Once again, Fanboy was taken somewhere else; it was a lifeless, barren place. A compulsion overtook him and he made his way towards a ridge overlooking a vast and barren landscape, the site of an ocean dried up ages ago now more suited for a cemetery than water. He sat on the edge of ridge, desperate to figure out where he was when he was startled by a pair of lithe arms wrap around him. He did not resist though, the distinctive scent of his lover filled his nose as she leaned down to his ear. Although he never looked back at her, he knew it could only be her, and she whispered in his ear.

“Wherever we are together, is where I want to be when it all ends.”


His eyes opened, and reality began to return as the images of the dream faded. He was by himself, alone, but there was a buzz about the facility that let him know that there were other beings still present.

An oddly dressed being stepped into the room, one of the few humans that Fanboy had seen on this mission. He was accompanied by a pair of Reman guards.

"Are you the mercenary they call 'Fanboy'?" The human said, arrogance and contempt almost dripping off of his tongue.

"Only the ones I leave alive long enough to learn my name." Fanboy said, unable to resist the posturing that was inherent in his line of work.

The Reman guards made a motion towards Fanboy but the human waved them off. "You reputation precedes you. You've killed no fewer than a half dozen of your cohorts since we left Romulan territory, and I suspect you've also been responsible for at least one or two Romulan deaths as well."

Fanboy was not eager to continue playing games. "Well Shinzon, and I am quite confident that is your name, if your reputation precedes YOU then a few Romulan deaths are probably not going to cause you to lose any sleep."

There was a brief pause and some uncertainty before Shinzon let loose with a smug laugh that made Fanboy want to gouge out his own eardrums. "Not one who is afraid to speak your mind! No wonder you've caused more damage to the Jem'Hadar on this planet than any other mercenary i've brought in. And yet, I have a feeling that this next job I want you to do, you'll do for free."

Fanboy grunted and rolled back over on his cot, turning away from Shinzon and his entourage. "Please, I'd expect a Tal Shiar to try and skip out on the bill, but this is just pathetic. If you've got some extra cirricular work you need done then my fee is going to go up, you want to try and kill me so you don't have to settle by all means, i'd love to see how many of those bat-faced fucksticks you call bodyguards I could take down before you managed to finish me." As soon as he finished the sentence, Fanboy leapt out of his cot, bradishing a disruptor pistol he had picked up from a dead Romulan in the battle before. The barrel of the weapon was aimed right at Shinzon, causing the REman guards to raise their weapons, ensuring that if anything happened to their leader that Fanboy would be shot down without mercy.

"Your reaction is not unexpected Fanboy, but I do like to think of myself as a good judge of character, and I know that there is no rational reason you would choose to accept an assignment without collecting your usual exorbitant fee. Unless, your wife was the mission's objective..."

Finally! We can get back to senseless violence and destruction!

By the way, what happened with Fangirl? Is she dead? Or did she shoot Fanboy in the back and then run off with his money?

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

Episode -1, Part IX, 2 of 3

Living in me

You are living in me

I feel you by my side
your living soul wants to run away with me
inside of me


There were hardly any Jem'Hadar left to speak of in the compound, and what few remained were almost certainly busy dealing with the increasing number of their assimilated brethren. Fangirl wondered if the Drones that were once Jem'Hadar found it difficult to resist their previous training, and had difficulty not trying to kill their enemies outright but instead trying to incapacitate them so that they could add to their growing numbers.

It had hardly mattered, the six other mercenary operatives assigned to the mission were now either dead or assimilated, and Fangirl was only counting the minutes until she was next. The group had infiltrated deep into the heart of the compound during what they thought was an attempt by the Dominion to move sensitive materials away from potential attack by the Romulans, they had no idea that the Jem'Hadar were under another sustained attack by a faction of Borg that had miraculously survived their crash landing on Exmodeus III.

In fact, Fangirl's survival was extremely luck born from her terrible luck. During one of the battles a pair of Jem'Hadar had managed to get in close. She had tried to land a roundhouse kick but the attack had been blocked, and her ankle subsequently shattered into pieces. Although she managed to draw a pistol, a .44 Magnum she had stolen from Fanboy, and unloaded three round into his attacker's face and neck the kill did nothing to make her more mobile. The other six had no sympathy, despite her valiant efforts, and had left her for dead. She had tried desperately to crawl to shelter, only to encounter one of the mercenaries later. The Chalnoth had been assimilated, but even had he not been Fangirl would not have hesitated to use her remaining three rounds as she did. Bringing her former colleague down.

Now, with only a small hand phaser unsuited for fighting Borg and heavily armored Jem’Hadar, she crawled into an abandoned bunker, taking cover behind a large round tank of some sort, hoping that the next being that found her wasn't going to try and kill her.



A trio of Jem'Hadar moved along the Western perimeter of the base with orders to seek and destroy all Borg by any means necessary. Five seconds and one small explosion later, there were zero. Fanboy's grenades were perfectly placed on either side of the group, and they absorbed the shrapnel like a sponge soaking in water. Fanboy placed another small charge on the wall itself, and another few seconds later there was a large opening in the side of the building.

Shinzon's intelligence had been correct. The Borg had focused all of their efforts on the Eastern side of the base, deciding to swarm in through the primary personnel and freight entrances that they now controlled. The other sides of the base had become irrelevant to the Borg, thus making that part of the base ideal for Fanboy, who wanted to get in and out of there as quickly as he could.

In exchange for the intelligence, and the transportation to and from the base, Fanboy was supposed to place signal beacons on the Jem'Hadar's cloning banks, so that they could be taken by the Romulans later. For what purpose Fanboy did not particularly care.

The target was supposed to be in the center of the base, and the corridor Fanboy found himself in only traversed left and right. Hearing footsteps coming from the left, he chose to go right.



“Quickly! We have to finish clearing all of this data! We can’t let the Borg or the Romulans get their hands on our research! “ Dizel screamed as Cardassian techs were left scrambling without help as their Jem’Hadar protectors were occupied defending them from the Borg.

“Dizel!” Screamed on of the Cardassians, Our ships in orbit have begun to engage the Romulan Fleet! We have to leave soon or we will lose our chance to escape!”

“Don’t you even think about leaving Cardassian or you will wish that I had fed you to the Borg! Not even your old Obsidian Order could fathom proper Dominion Justice, although it would be tempting to give those cybernetic devils the key to ravaging your quadrant once and for all!” The Vorta yelled back as he continued downloading every last piece of data he had onto a portable hard drive for safe keeping back to his masters. Never before could he have believed that any Dominion fortification could ever have fallen the way his had. Salvaging the data he had gathered was the only way he could avoid being killed and preserve his genetic line.

A bloody Jem'Hadar stumbled into the room and nearly passed out, it didn't take much for Dizel to guess that the trooper's injuries were made worse by a lack of Ketracel White. "There is still life in you trooper! Why aren't you back at the battle fighting for the Dominion!"

The dying trooper looked up at the Vorta, desperately wishing for the strength to rise up and crush him. "The Borg have pushed deeper into the base....they have almost overran the communications array..." The last part of the sentence robbed the Jem'HAdar of all the life he had left in him, but the message had reached Dizel loud and clear. The Vorta immediately began barking new orders to the Cardassian technicians.

"Grab whatever weaponry you can and get down there. I will finish the work here. The Borg cannot be allowed access to our communications array!" Before the Cardassians could protest, Dizel stuck his finger in the lead technician's face. "I know you aren't soldiers, but what do you think will happen if those Borg manage to get their hands on our transmitter? They'll call in even more Borg, and we will all be happy productive members of the collective, is that what you want?"

Cardassian encounters with the Borg had been limited, but the battles that the Federation had fought against the cyborg monstrosities were legendary, and the technology being developed here would make them even more dangerous. Reluctantly, the techs obeyed, leaving Dizel behind.



The assimilated Jem'HAdar were faster than Fanboy had expected, he had killed Borg before, sometimes even for sport. But these abominations were moving with the agility of a Jem'Hadar solider and using advanced combat tactics that normal Borg simply were not capable of. Fanboy and the drone strugged at each others throats for everal seconds until the Borg managed to raise a metallic knee to Fanboy's gut, knocking him backwards, but as he fell Fanboy grabbed tightly on the optical implants on the drones face. The implant tore from the Borg's face, and sparks flew out. But the Borg did not stop moving and as it moved in it kicked Fanboy in the side.

"Pain is irrelevant, Death is Irrelevant. Glory to the collective." Was all it said as it reached down for the final blow, aiming to break Fanboy's spine.

But Fanboy was not about to give up, holding the mechanical implant in his hand he lashed out, smashing it into the other side of the drone's face. Now the drone was completely blind, having it's sole organic eye competely ruined by metallic shards.

"Yeah, well fuck you too." Was all Fanboy said as he continued making his progress down the hall, reclaiming his weapon as he did, moving more slowly than before.. The drone had caught him off guard before he could shoot and Fanboy did not want that to happen again.

If the intel he had was correct, he was almost there, and he hoped beyond hope that his girl would be there too.



"What if the human fails?" Vkruk asked nervously as thoughts of Shinzon's eventual demise raced through his head, the cloned human and failed Romulan experiment had quickly become an Icon for the Reman people, and if he died before Reman independence could be reached then their cause would be set back many years.

"Then we fail, it is as simple as that," Shinzon said as he watched as the Romulan and Mercenary army started to move out, ready for one last assault. "Romulus is expecting results, and now that we have finally cornered the Dominion into a fleet engagement we have no choice but to finish this battle as soon as possible. Has there been any word from our scouts?"

Vkruk did not want to hear that question. "The situation deteriorates rapidly. The Borg are throwing everything they have at the Dominion fortifications and they appear to be winning. Their numbers increase by the hour. With what little information we have, we expect the Borg to have completely overran the facility within the next six hours."

"Assuming that is even their goal, Shinzon mused. "Most Dominion bases possess powerful communications arrays. The Borg probably want to seize that so they can call for help."

"Would the Borg even deploy to this part of space? There haven't been any reports of Borg activity near here for as long as the territory has been surveyed!"

"The possibility of assimilating Dominion technology will lure them here, and something in my blood is telling me that we do not want that to happen. Make sure the warbirds plan for an orbital bombardment as soon as the battle in space is over."

Vkruk cringed, "That will wipe out our entire army, as little as I care for the Romulans and the Mercenaries, that will cost us thousands of Reman lives."

Shinzon turned his head slowly and met Vkruk's eyes. "Better dead than a Borg."

UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC XXXIX: Part Two, "A Convenient Solution" and Part Three, "Academia Nut Kick Ass Guest Chapter"

Las Vegas, Nevada (Early in the morning hours ofSeptember 19th 2007)

A drunken, stumbling, and decidedly broke Shep tried to make his way as quietly as he could along the exterior of the motel towards the door that would lead to his room. Briefly he considering chewing on some dirt or one of the nearby bushes in the landscaping to erase the alcohol from his breath, thinking he might be able to lie and claim that he was mugged. But deep down he knew that even if he were sober, Zaia would still see through the lie and cut him down. At least he could spare what remained of his dignity by confessing.

He reached into his pocket for the key, but moving his arm caused him to lose his balance and he faceplanted into the cracked concrete of the poorly maintained walkway. He lifted his head, and he saw himself standing in front of him, so incredibly inebriated that he was having an out of body experience.

"Hey, sober up you fucking shit." He yelled at himself, or perhaps himself yelled it at he? You see, these paradoxes create terrible confusions in the time space continuum, and sometimes a narrator such as myself ends up writing about things in the first person. I've represented a disembodied voice this entire series, and now i'm taking on a life of my own.

See what happens when you violate the laws of casualty? Anyways, back to our story...

"Hey sober up you fucking shit." The incredibly realistic apparation of Sheppard said to himself, Shep patted his hands on his chest and realized he wasn't having an out of body experience, but the experience was far too vivid for a hallucination.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking right now. I know because I was the one that originally thought it. You're really hammered, but you need to listen good right now for no other reason aside from the fact that it will save your life."

Drunk Shep immediately listened up, even if his evil (or perhaps good?) twin was freaking him out to no end, the possibility of preserving his manhood was too good to pass up.

"Listen, i'm you from the future. Any other time in your life and that statement sounds like complete bullshit, but right now you're the dumbfuck from the 24th century stranded in the past with a woman not even born on this planet hoping to one day go back to the future and cruise around on his refitted alien spaceship. So right now, YES you are not fucking crazy."

Future Shep then tossed the suitcase at Drunken Shep. "There's about two hundred fifty grand in there in the local currency, it's enough to rent a very nice apartment for a year and eat well. Oh yeah, i'd set aside a few thousand though for "emergency expenses."

Drunken Shep hiccuped, and fought back vertigo and nausea as he stood back up. "What kind of emergency expenses?"

Future Shep cringed. "That you wouldn't believe."

"Wait," Drunken Shep interrupted. "Why should we even be having this discussion, you obviously have the time machine, give it to me now and this whole nightmare is over!"

"Because," Future Shep said, "leaving you here with this money is the only way that you will ever hook up with HER." He said, pointing at the door of the hotel room with Zaia inside.

Drunken Shep looked at the suitcase, shocked into a greater level of sobriety by the news. Trapped in time, in a more primitive era no less, for a year on a fixed income, was it worth but one night with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen?

It didn't even take him a heartbeat to answer. "Alright have fun! I guess i'll be back here myself to tell the next me to do what you told me now to ....uhhh tell...uh"

Future Shep held his hands in his head. "Sweet fucking Jesus I can't believe I was this goddamn retarded." He thought for a second, as if pondering something before saying his goodbye. "Don't forget when you get in there to call her sugar daddy okay? All right I gotta run, oh, and you will be very sorely tempted to take that money and run back to the Casino, DO NOT DO IT."

Drunken Shep just waved goodbye and sat down on the ground, attempting to regain his breath by sitting down on the ground next to the suitcase. When Future Shep was out of sight Drunken Shep grabbed the suitcase, looked around and started walking in the opposite direction, making his way right back for the Casino. Without warning, from behind a nearby bush, Future Shep returned and planted a steel toed boot right in Drunken Shep's nuts.

"YOU STUPID ASS HUFFING JACKED UP SHIT SUCKING IDIOT! WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU?" After planting the kick Future Shep turned and started yelling off into the distance , "All right Falk it worked this time let's get the fuck out of here!"

Indeed the plan did work, Drunken Shep crawled to the front door and pulled himself back up to his feet and used his key to unlock the hotel room door, hoping that he would go unnoticed

"YOU SLIMY FUCK!" Zaia screamed as his attempt at stealth failed miserably.



Las Vegas, Nevada (September 18th, 2008)

"I can't fucking believe that you did that, I appreciate it, but I still cannot believe that you would risk altering the timeline, or worse yet destroying everything in past, present, and future just so you could cover your ass after you got drunk and lost all of our money in a Casino!" Zaia said as the one true Sheppard climbed into the passenger seat of the Time machine, with Falk at the helm and Zaia cradling the baby Marina in the back. "Oh, and we really should have a safety seat for her. After we figure out what the gnomes have done and fix everything she and I are going to..."

Zaia was interrupted by a short laugh from Falkenhorst, which drew a sharp stare from Zaia. "I don't see what's so funny about safety considerations for an infant you prick!"

"Oh it's not that," Falk said, still grinning. "What's funny is that you think your kid is going back with you to our time."

"I'd ask you to explain your statement, but I since you are driving I don't want you saying anything that would force me to drive a knife into the back of your skull with the blade coming out between your eyes and spreading chunks of bone and what little gray matter you might have all over the controls."

"You can go right ahead, that will be a lot easier to explain that how it was you had a child while trying to preserve the timeline, I know how Zeon leadership works, you think that because you did something heroic they are going to overlook the fact that you had a one-night stand with a flesh-peddling smutlord because you were drunk and he managed to violate casualty in order to give himself $250,000? You Zeek Chicks are so bent up on your laws against unregulated heterosexual sex that they might clone you just so they can kill you again. Lying won't work either with the interrogation techniques that i'm sure you know. Face it, going through with this mission is the WORST thing you can do to you and your kid. I say we go back, collect a little more cash and set ourselves up as fuckin' kings in an earlier time before every interstellar STD of a species figures out where Earth is and this entire planet goes fucking pinko."

Zaia looked over at Shep, who was far from disagreeing, having buried his head in his hands trying not to think about it. "But...the Duchess, she's my mother! Well nto my birth mother, but she could...." But her own memories put that thought aside, memories of being held to a far higher standard than everyone else, including adherence to the strict policies of the Zeon Code of Law.

Shep broke the silence. "Falk, take us to one of the years in the early 24th century, I don't care which one. We'll leave her off here on Earth and she can grow up in a good home on the government's dime, and then when she's older she'll be around to see Zeon get founded, then her mom can meet her one day and she doesn't have to know what I do and I won't have to leave anything for her in my will, I mean errrrr...uhhh...evidence of her heritage in my will."

Shep expected Zaia to argue against the idea, and he half expected Falk to object to running another errand and wasting their time running around, but the silence returned and nobody objected.




Time Unknown, Location Unknown

THE FOLLOWING PORTION OF THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN BY ACADEMIA NUT AND IS BEING PRESERVED IN FULL FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE. IT IS A CROSSOVER WITH THE "OPEN DOOR" UNIVERSE AND IS CONSIDERED PART OF UPF CANON.

Fanboy clutched at his head, groaning for a moment before he sent out a probative hand to find the one thing guaranteed to cure his hangover. A bit of fumbling later and he had the bottle of twenty year old premium Jack Daniels to his lips. Ah, sweet, sweet liquor, cure to all ills.

So revived, Fanboy looked up and about the detritus about him and discovered that he couldn’t remember what exactly he’d been doing. Lighting a blunt to clear his head, he sat down, half empty bottle of whisky in one hand and a slowly burning bundle of paper and marijuana in the other and he assumed the ‘Stoned Philosopher’ look as he tried to dredge up the still hidden memories.

“Pizza!” He suddenly cried out. “I left the party to go get pizza, but those asshole Romans hadn’t invented it yet!”

Sometimes the way you could really get yourself lost if piloting while inebriated really outweighed the convenience of a time machine. Checking over the gauges, Fanboy realized he didn’t have a clue when or where he was. He didn’t even know if he was in the normal confines of the multiverse.

“Piece of crap,” Fanboy muttered while smacking the completely un-enlightening instruments.

Mentioning bodily excretions did however remind Fanboy of the copious amounts of liquid he had consumed the previous night, so taking another swig from his JD before he set it down on a stack of rolling papers a foot high, he sauntered over to the TARDASS’ bathroom.

One look inside had him exiting at a considerably higher speed than he had arrived at.

Inhaling a long, hard drag on his blunt to help banish the smell, he muttered, “Right… going to need to hold a plumber and a crack team of illegal immigrant Mexican maids at gunpoint for that one.”

He made a mental note: next time he ran into a guy with simultaneous twin and obesity fetishes, he would also check for coprophilic urges as well so he could put the fucker out of the universe’s misery right then and there.

Still, while he would have to watch himself and make sure he didn’t slip and go to bed sober for the next month or the horrors he seen within that bathroom would haunt his dreams, he did still have the rather pressing need to piss.

Glancing at the environmental sensors, he noted that if he stepped outside he wouldn’t immediately die or have something likely to bite his dick off, so with a shrug he said, “Fuck it,” and opened the door.

Stepping out of his TARDASS, he glanced about and discovered that the phone booth shaped time machine had landed somewhere wooded and quiet at night. Glancing about, he walked over to a nearby bush, tucked his blunt behind his ear, and unzipped.

However, as glorious relief began to stream, he noted with some dismay that he heard screaming from somewhere else in the woods nearby. It sounded young and feminine and of the ‘oh help I’m about to be ravished by a tentacle monster’ sort of scream. Sighing, Fanboy finished off, zipped back up, and then went out to examine what was going on.

Moving relatively quietly through the woods, he discovered a small clearing where… where well a young, nubile woman in a school girl outfit was being ravished by a tentacle monster. Well… half tentacle monster. The creature looked mostly human except for the fact that his arms were bundles of extremely long and flexible tentacles, except instead of suckers he had dozens of little human mouths on each one. Currently he had his victim wrapped up like some sort of rope fetish doll and pinned against a tree, her legs wide open to admit his thrusting, surprisingly non-prehensile cock. His little mouths were also spreading a copious amount of droll over her body as they licked and suckled and bit at her sensitive spots, although judging by the thin welts the tentacles could also function as whips. It would also occasionally shut the girl up by plunging a tentacle or two, often wet from penetrating another orifice, down her mouth, but once she could breath again she would inevitably wail like a banshee.

Not one to let shit like this fly, especially since tentacle rape tended to make the victims super horny for their saviors afterward for some logic defying reason, Fanboy decided to interrupt this little moment by charging in.

In retrospect, trying to grapple with a creature that grappled its enemies and raped them probably wasn’t the greatest of strategies, but hey, in his defense, Fanboy was incredibly high and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Rather started, the tentacle monster dropped his victim and turned to get the rather large, rather inebriated man off of him. Despite the ability to tie up and support off the ground the struggling girl, the finger thin appendages were no match for Fanboy’s superior strength and combat training, and with surprise on his side, Fanboy quickly had the monster pinned to the ground, his hands about its throat.

Then the element of surprise turned on him when he got a rather large tree branch, more of a leafy club really, across the back of the head. The girl, her underwear still about one of her ankles and her shirt still completely unbuttoned, started whaling on Fanboy while crying out, “Get the fuck off my boyfriend!”

Fanboy had just enough time to look confused before he blacked out from a minor concussion.

He woke a short time later to a hand smelling rather strongly of feminine secretions smacking him over the face. His eyes flickering open, he stared up at the ‘tentacle monster’, who now that he had his tentacles wound into a tight bundle that acted like a rather flexible arm, looked remarkably like a rather frightened young man.

“Hey man, you okay? Cathy hit you over the head pretty hard,” the kid asked. He glanced over, and Fanboy’s gaze followed to see the girl, still half dressed and with all the parts that were supposed to stay hidden still in plain view, with a distinctly miffed look on her face.

“What just happened?” Fanboy asked, his head still ringing from the unexpected blows.

“Well, you interrupted me just before I got my girlfriend to climax, so now its going to take me an hour to get her back there as she’s kinda pissed now, and she expended all that orgasm mojo in hitting you over the head. Why’d you do that man?” The guy asked.

“Do what?” Fanboy asked, still trying to put two and two together and not get duck.

“Attack us while we were getting it on? Come on man, you don’t get the tentacles unless the gods like you and they don’t put up with rapist fucks,” the guy said.

“Why the screaming? And what gods?” Fanboy asked, the ringing finally starting to fade enough that he could try and prop himself up.

“Man Cathy, you must have nearly added him to the throne you hit him so hard! Come on man, don’t be dense, any girl who likes to play with a dude like me is gonna be into the kinky stuff. Cathy likes the role play and she’s practically bound to a banshee she’s such a screamer anyway,” the guy explained.

“So I just broke up consensual sex between a schoolgirl and a guy with prehensile tentacle arms… alright, I think I need a drink,” Fanboy groaned as he discovered that he was still getting three as an answer to the square of two.

“Sure man. Come on Cathy; let’s buy the dude a beer. I don’t think he meant any harm even if he was an idiot,” the kid asked his girlfriend.

She turned up her nose and said, “He drinks, you fuck! My pussy’s all tight with anger and I need it loosened up!”

He extended out one of his rather long tentacle arms to where she was standing and started playing with her clit while his little mouths made slurping noises.

“Yes dear,” he said with a smile.

Fanboy really needed that drink.

About five minutes later and the three of them, Fanboy leaning on the tentacle guy, whose name turned out to be Tyler, while he tried to clear his head and get his full balance back. Cathy seemed like the kind of girl who really needed a good fucking to pound the bitch out of her if that was how she hit normally. She seemed content to half kiss half suck on one of his tentacles while they walked, and while she had pulled up her underwear, her ample rack was still on display.

Fanboy had to give Tyler credit in that while his girlfriend was a needy bitch, at least he had fine taste in picking a bitch.

Walking down a quiet road on the outskirts of what looked like a thin suburban area around a major high tech metropolis, massive towers glowing with gold and silver light and twinkling with every color of the rainbow in the distance, Fanboy finally had the presence to ask, “So how did you get those things in the first place? Were you uh… always like that?”

“What? My tentacles? Nah, I got them as a gift for impressing Mislaato in a Tzintchian ‘Fuck-Off Duel’,” Tyler explained.

Fanboy stared at him blankly.

“Cathy, you really hit this guy hard. Okay man; let’s see if I can jog your memory. A Tzintchian Fuck-Off Duel is a kind of duel where the objective is to piss off the other guy to the point where he meets the failure conditions. So anyway, this big Asukhon fucker decides that he doesn’t like how I make my money so he gets out and challenges me to a duel. I accept and declare that it shall be in Tzintchi’s name with Mislaato overseeing, which is to say that instead of directly fighting, we plot and scheme until one of us uses the safe word, which in this case was ‘Fuck off you fucking bastard!’. Well… not exactly, but that was the point where everyone agreed he lost,” Tyler explained, half the words going over Fanboy’s head, but he just nodded as if he understood.

“So anyway, the fucker’s all with the petty pranks as I think he invested everything into his fighting prowess and not much else. I get hit a couple of times, things like having a case of cement dropped on me and breaking a shoulder, or the toilet bowl rigged with a hydrochloric acid bomb, but nothing permanent. Me though, I’m clever. I get his sister, his girlfriend, and his mom to all agree to wear gimp masks and bondage rope and nothing else while I fuck them up the ass on the steps of city hall and hold up a sign that says ‘Fuck you Petrov’ for ever bystander and the local news to see. Mislaato was so impressed she gave me the tentacles as soon as I won. It was awesome,” Tyler explained.

Pulling the tentacle out of her mouth, and throat judging by the length she had down there, Cathy said, “I was part of the orgy that celebrated his victory and trying out his new enhancements. We hit it off after that. He’s like a fucking machine now.”

Fanboy just sort of gaped in awe. He needed to know more about these guys, they sounded either insane and/or completely and utterly awesome.

“So what other kinds of duels are their?” Fanboy asked.

“One for each god and one set of victory conditions for each god, plus reversed conditions, for thirty-two different varieties, although most of those aren’t used. There’s Tzintchian Fuck-Off Duels, which are matching wits; then there’s Mislaati Fuck Duels which are basically a grappling contests; then you have Asukhonate Weapons Duels, which are where you try and hurt your opponents with sharp and pointy things; and then you have Reiglish Endurance Duel which is either a long distance race or two people taking turns punching each other, sometimes both. The conditions depend on which god you request to observe. With Mislaato, it’s until someone yields; with Asukhon, it’s until first blood; with Reigle, it’s until knockout; with Tzintchi, it’s to death, and sometimes beyond. You need legal permission to have Tzintchi observe duels as they tend to turn into riots, terrorist campaigns, or vendettas quickly. You can also reverse the conditions, like the first person to draw blood loses. Tzintchian Fuck-Off Duels are always normally reversed as the point is to piss off your foe to the point where they break the condition, but you can play them straight,” Tyler explained.

Fanboy was only sort of half listening as other people were starting to appear on the streets, and not only did Tyler look normal, but Cathy looked modest. There were guys walking around with pricks on display that looked like the belonged to ancient fertility gods, and girls that looked slutty enough to get double penetrated by those ridiculous cocks. There was a guy who looked like he’d been dead and left in a dark damp place for quite some time as he had mushrooms growing on the rot, while a chick with excessive scarring, dreadlocks full of glass and rusty nails and whole human skulls as part of a belt leaned into him and had her hand down his pants.

There were also ordinary looking people walking around doing ordinary looking things, except that some of them were also publicly having sex or other strange things. Not just vanilla sex, there was bondage and a whippings and spankings and doing lines of drugs off of asses. Hetero, homo, bi, ones, twos, and threes, there was every sort of depravity going on. But no one cared, they just stepped around the participants, who usually had the decency to move off to the side of the streets in any case, and it just seemed like a normal day to everyone.

How anyone got anything done was a question that rattled about Fanboy’s head while he also tried to figure out if he wanted to burn this place to the ground or ask for an application form.

“Here’s the bar,” Tyler said while pulling open a door to a boxy little building that didn’t seem to have any noticeable signs that Fanboy understood indicated it was a place to get liquor.

Looking inside, Fanboy discovered a place that appeared like it a strip club designed by H.R. Giger. The place was dark and smoky with burning drugs and there were dozens of little booths where topless women- and some men with really nice racks- in gimp masks lounged with what appeared to be large dildos on the ends of pipes connected to the ceiling surrounded their heads. Occasionally one of the loungers would unzip their masks, reach up and suck off one or more of the dildos. Meanwhile people would suck on the tits of the loungers while not otherwise busy fucking each other or doing drugs.

It was all rather strange and twisted to Fanboy’s perspective, but he didn’t exactly argue.

Tyler and Cathy led him to a table where a particular strange woman had curled up. Literally. She didn’t have legs, she had a lower serpentine body complete with scales and then intentional scarring to simulate the appearance of scales up her back and sides. She was also idly playing with herself while waiting for… something.

Muttering, “Fuck it,” Cathy lay face down on the table before thrusting her hips up and pulling down her underwear, with Tyler immediately penetrating her. Lying there, she said to the snake woman, “Hey Natty, how’s life?”

The snake woman just shrugged nonchalantly, the entire scenario obviously utterly mundane to her.

“Well this fucker we dragged in with us decided to interrupt us about thirty seconds before climax, but it looks like he got amnesia sometime before or after I whacked him on the head so we agreed to buy him a beer. Well before he gets one I’m gonna need a round to loosen up my cunt again. The usual please,” Cathy demanded before tossing a bill of some sort into a bucket filled with other such bills and coins.

Nodding, the snake woman unzipped the mouth of her gimp mask and reached up to begin sucking off one of the ribbed, alien wang dildos, which contained sort of liquid as Fanboy could see stuff flowing through the translucent, neon illuminated pipes this close up. She then thrust her tits in Cathy’s face and in turn Cathy started sucking on one of the snake woman’s nipples.

Fanboy had to admit, a girl in a schoolgirl outfit lying on a table sucking off a gimp mask snake woman’s tits while her tentacles for arms boyfriend fucked her was pretty hot, but it didn’t bring any understanding to him.

“What the…?” Fanboy demanded.

“Have you been stuck in the woods since the first Tangday?” Tyler asked while he continued to thrust into Cathy’s pussy and have his tentacles play with her tits.

“Uhhh… just bear with me here. What’s going on?” Fanboy asked.

“The beer comes from the tits. All the waitresses here have special breast implants that turn their knockers into miniature chemical plants. They can rapidly synthesize the materials they ingest into just about anything, and in this case they produce alcoholic beverages right from the nipple,” Tyler explained.

Finishing up, Cathy exhaled happily before wiping some foam off her lips and patting the breast before her fondly.

Fanboy was quiet as the implications dawned and he asked, “What about other drinks?”

“Rum, vodka, flavored schnapps, whisky, rye, whatever you want, these girls can cook it up in about a minute. Although if you really want to see a show, they’re going to whip up some jizzpagne in about ten minutes. The owner of this place will suck off like fifty guys while getting whipped, wax dripped on her, and mild electric shocks applied to her pussy, asshole, and tits. She’ll then process all the spunk and add in the endorphins released by pain and make a sparkling wine out of it, then sell it off to the highest bidder. Girls who drink that stuff can fuck for days and have full body orgasms for hours,” Tyler explained while giving the thumbs up. Cathy seemed to smile at a fond memory.

“What about if you want your drink cold?” Fanboy asked tentatively.

Tyler shrugged and said, “Tell them. Their implants have temperature controls so you can get ice cold beer or hot cider if you want. You can also get a chilled glass if you want to relax for bit.”

“So you’re telling me I can get any alcoholic beverage I want straight from the tit?” Fanboy asked.

Tyler nodded.

A single, joyous tear rolled down Fanboy’s cheek. He had found his holy land.


Fanboy clutched at his head, groaning for a moment before he sent out a probative hand to find the one thing guaranteed to cure his hangover. A bit of fumbling later and he had the bottle of twenty year old premium Jack Daniels to his lips. Ah, sweet, sweet liquor, cure to all ills.

…wait a second…

Fanboy jumped to his feet and ran over to the TARDASS controls. He wasn’t where he had last been.

“Noooooooooo!” Fanboy cried out in agony. Had it all been just a dream? Or worse, had he actually found such a heavenly place and then lost it?

The universe was a cruel, merciless bitch.


Author's note: end of AN's contribution, now all of the other chapters I write following it will suck in comparison :p.


Aboard the starship Fontaine's Folly, near the center of the Fanfic Galaxy

For the first time in his life, Prime Dalton knew failure. His home, the Fanfic Fortress of Solitude had fallen to the gnomish invasion, and was spitting out fire and flames as Prime Dalton's personal starliner turned escape vessel made its way through the cosmos.

"My Lord," yelled Dalton #86 "we're registering a very large neutrino build up in the Fortress' pulse capcitors! It could be a crossover!"

Prime Dalton nearly jumped out of his seat and double checked the reading on the instruments. "A crossover? between two universes? Now? But the Fortress is damaged and the space-time regulators have been demolished! A crossover now will lead to a...."

The eyes of everyone watching the carnage unfold went blind as the explosions destroyed the Fanfic Fortress of Solitude, The bright whitish green lights sparkled against the dark void of space in an elegant yet chaotic pattern that erased everything in its path from existance, including a small planetoid at the outskirts of the Fanfic System."

"Well fuck there goes Fantastica." Prime Dalton cursed. "I'll bet UPF is behind this, although what sick bastard willing to combine literary efforts with those cretins also deserves my wrath!

"But my lord, at least the explosion destroyed the gnomes! They'll never be able to recover the Indestructible Black Box of Restoration now! So long as we have that then we can restore everything to it's rightful place!"

Prime Dalton crossed his arms, feeling a sense of satisfaction for the first time in a long time. "Good, I do not want to be denied my luckdragon rides. Fetch the Indestructible Black Box from the ship's hold and we will begin celebrating our victory at once!"

"The ship's hold? It's not in there sir," yelled Dalton #411, "I did the whole manifest before we lifted off, there wasn't anything like that in there."

Prime Dalton became livid. "WELL WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO LOAD IT? BRING THEM TO ME!"

Dalton #86 coughed nervously. "Errr, I believe the movements and usage of the IBB are limited strictly to Dalton designated Prime."

"WELL THEN BRING ME THIS PRIME DALTON AT ONCE OR....orrr......ohhhhhhhh....."

"Sir, we've located the IBB!" said Dalton #6969, working feverishly at his sensor console. "It's right at the epicenter of that huge scary looking rift in space at the epicenter of the explosion which destroyed the old Fortress."

Prime Dalton turned around and slumped back into his chair. "Some days it just doesn't pay to be the omniscient immportal being in charge of amateur literature based off of established properties."

So I just finished reading every chapter* of UPF (for the first time). I managed to get started once upon a time but I didn't resume until recently.

*Every chapter except Sidewinder's, what the fuck were those? I couldn't read anymore after the first couple.

My 'Unnamed Porno Fanfic' fanfics are like Tom Clancy's "nonfiction" works, something to keep me busy when writer's block prevents me from starting or continuing other stories. They're even told from a rightwing nut's POV!

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

Well Phant I hate to do this to you but here's another one.

---

Episode -1, Part IX, 3 of 3

And now
will something happen to me?
how did I lose my guide?
you left me all alone

But now is too late
I know is natural but now
what can I do without your presence here?
a never-ending pain


Huddled behind what she now realized had been her mission objective, Fangirl squeezed her arms around her body tightly. Power had failed in the base save for the most vital systems, which did not include the climate control. The temperature had started to drop, and although the cold helped numb the throbbing pain in her ankle, she cold metal of the room pressing against her was most unpleasant. She had sat there hidden for what seemed like an eternity before she heard the footsteps . A slow march that could have only belonged to a Borg drone. She gripped the small phaser, a compact model widely used by Starfleet security officers, and held it in front of her, breifly wondering if she shouldn't use it on herself instead. Her arms shook as she pointed the phaser forward, expecting the Borg to come into her sight at any moment to try and assimilate her.

The Borg did come into sight, but not in the way she had expected. There was another sound of pounding on metal, and the Borg flew through the air into her vision as if it had been thrown by some sort of catapault, Fangirl heard the drone's neck break with a loud crack as it contacted the bulkhead before collapsing to the floor in a heap. The drone, once a Cardassian by the looks of him, twitched for a bit but it's life was ended as a large man weilding a combat knife so big it nearly classified as a sword, the man knelt down and started stabbing the drone repeatedly, severing as many cables as he could in the process.

Fangirl whimpered at the sight, loudly enough to be heard by the Drone's attacker. His face was an instant relief.

"D? Is that really you?"

There was a brief silence as he leaned in and held her before he managed to whisper in her ear. "That answer enough for you?"

She forced a laugh as tears incresingly streamed down her face. Neither of the two saying much of anything. Their shared joy eclipsing their previous argument, in both of their hearts they knew that they were whole again.

"Come on" Fanboy said, "i've got to place these beacons on the cloning tanks here and then we can find our way out. The Rommies are going to launch their final attack soon and there isn't any money in dying for them, which is all anyone around here is going to do unless they're named Shinzon."

"Fanboy becan placing the first of the transporter beacons as Fangirl climbed up onto her one good foot. "You don't have to tell me we need to go fast, While I was hiding I could overhear some of the Cardassians screaming about how they had to get off the planet before the devices kicked in."

That had piqued Fanboy's interest. "Devices? Like explosives?"

"Sort of." Fangirl said as she leaned onto her strong leg and braced herself, gingerly making her way towards the room's exit. "Not exactly a bomb though, some kind of radiation device, Thayla-whatsits."

Fanboy's eyes widened. "You mean THALARON?" To which Fangirl shook her head in acknowledgement. Fanboy responded with a stream of exotic Klingon curses. "HOw big are they? Did they say how many they had?"

Fangirl shrugged her shoulders. "Nope, but I take it that's bad right? Maybe we should skip the transporters and get out of here now."

"It won't matter," Fanboy said grimly. "Those weapons are banned for a reason, even in wartime, if you have enough devices, you can probably kill an entire world, not that there is anything indigenous to kill on this rock anyways but you get my point. We need a ship or we're fucked. Stay here while I scout ah..."

Fanboy didn't have a chance. A lone Jem'Hadar that had just happened to come across the room on a security sweep trying to halt the Borg incursion at that exact second as Fanboy's back was turned placing a transporter beacon. The Jem Ha'dar raised his weapon and fired, and Fanboy never saw it coming.

But Fangirl did.

Pushing off of her good leg she dove into the path of the shot, taking the full impact of the blast in her chest and falling to the ground in a heap. Fanboy turned in time to see his wife take the shot and immediately he drew his last resort pistol, a late 21st century 1500 Nitro Express Revolver that he had acquired at great expense, it was one of the last models of large revolvers ever made, and also one of the last produced before the popularization of energy weapons. The biggest drawback was that it had become next impossible to get ammunition for the weapon and he had but one bullet left, Fanboy couldn't think of a better time to use it. The Jem'Hadar stopped, momentairly confused by the sacrifice made by the human he had failed to notice, it was a fatal mistake. Fanboy's aim was true and the bullet hit the Jem Hadar in his right hand. One second, the hand was holding a weapon, the next second the weapon was on the floor and the hand was little more than a bloody stump of ravaged tendons and protruding bone.

Fanboy followed up his shot with a charge across the room that knocked the Jem Hadar to the floor. He let out a primal and Feral cry as he grabbed the Jem'Hadar's head with his hands and clutched tightly, slamming the back of his enemy's skull against the metal floor. The skull had caved in well before Fanboy had stopped, and a large pool of blood and brain matter was spreading outwards from the barely recognizeable skull. Fanboy's own hands were bleeding from the grip he had held on the Jem'Hadar's head spikes.

His rage spent, he turned to see Fangirl laying on her side with blood pouring from her chest, a nasty side effect of the de-coagulants in Jem'Hadar weaponry. He turned her over and with his hands he applied as much pressure as he could to try and stop the bleeding. He was frantic for a solution.

"D..." she said weakly, using the last of her strength to grasp on to his hand as the blood oozed out under his hands. Accepting that there was nothing left that he could do he took her hand into his own, and clutched tightly. Fangirl tried to speak her last words, but she couldn't. In her last act she pulled Fanboy closer to her and they kissed one final time. She tilted her head back and looked upwards, after a few seconds Fanboy reached down to her and closed her eyelids, helping her get to sleep one last time.

Gritting his teeth, he supressed the urge to pick up the Jem'Hadar's weapon and join his beloved, but the thought was banished quickly. Suicide would not do when there was still revenge to be had, and there was still the matter of the transporter beacons he had not yet placed.


---


"I want the cloning tanks to be dispersed amongst the fleet, in case we lose any of the fleet as we make our escape." Shinzon ordered as he prepared to board the scout ship that would take him back up to the fleet, as Exmodeus' electromagnetic storms were wreaking havoc with the fleet's transporters. "Vkruk where are our ground troops?"

"I have just recieved word that they have begun to engage the enemy Lord Shinzon, but i've already recieved reports that the Borg have begun assimilating as many of them as possible."

"It matters not" Shinzon dismissed. "None of them know anything important worth taking, and not even a Borg can adapt to an unshielded orbital bombardment. Our victory is assured.


Author's note: Part X will be the last part in this story arc.

I'm so sad.

What's wrong with you, Fanboy? Why do you have to make me sad? Why can't you just make me fear for my sanity, like UPF is supposed to?

Damn. And I was warming up to the idea of Fangirl as a party girl to join Fanboy and some of my characters in a hedonistic, drug-addled orgy or something.

Now I have the strange idea of Fangirl and Padme Amidala sitting at a coffee table, reading Cosmopolitan or some other trashy magazine and discussing what kind of lingerie they should wear when they greet their husbands in heaven.

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

Heaven?

Considering how badass Fanboy and 'Scars of Mustafar' Anakin are, do you think Satan and Saint Peter will be able to stop them if they say they want to visit their wives?

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

Aw man, I just started reading Scars of Mustafar. I didn't know Padme dies!

I didn't say WHEN she died, did I? Feel free to guess if this happened hours after the Battle of Mustafar, due to the injuries Anakin inflicted when he Force choked her; a hundred years later, due to old age, while grandchildren read poems by her deathbed; or somewhere in between.

---

Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

well honestly I would expect Satan to sort of bow in Fanboys presence as he walked by or an appropriate submissive gesture. This is my Gary Stu after all we are talking about.

Episode -1, Part X: What You Take With You


"Lord Shinzon, the beamings are complete. The Mercenary has finished his job and the fleet is preparing to bombard the planet." Vkruk said, relaying the latest reports from the Romulan Warbirds in orbit.

Shinzon clenched his fist, and regarded it as he savored the taste of his victory. "Excellent, it's time we made our departure."

Shinzon and his Reman attendants made their way to the bright green Romulan shuttlecraft, as he made his way inside the cloned human nearly doubled over with a terrible cough, and he sturggled to press forward. Vkruk was the only one to voice his concerns. "Your condition worsens my lord. You need to get to a medical facility immediately."

"It matters not," Shinzon said as he spat blood onto the deck of the ship. "The Jem'Hadar cloning technology will be the breakthrough we need. Picard is not an option so long as this war lasts."

"Nevertheless sire, the medics aboard the Scythe can stabilize your condition and give us more time to implement the treatment." Vkruk said, worry evident in his voice.

Shinzon spat again, in the past his physical weaknesses were nothing he couldn't overcome with focus and determination. Now it was something he could no longer ignore. "Just get me into space and get that damned bombardment underway!"



Dizel watched on his viewer as the surface of Exmodeus III grew more distant as his shuttle ascended into the sky above his beleaguered installation. The Romulan Army and their mercenaries had engaged the Borg just as the last of the Jem'Hadar were wiped out. There were probably a handful more of the Dominion foot soldiers down below but even were they to survive the battle, their lack of Ketracel White would doom them within a day. Carefully, he activated the timer on the Thalaron detonator, and took a seat at the rear of the craft.

Looking down in his hands Dizel regarded the detonator for the Thalaron failsafe. Now that his survival was no longer in doubt he had the luxury of waiting until he was out of the blast range in order to detonate the devices. For the first time in a long time, Dizel smiled, believing that with the valuable data he had, he could restore his honor and good standing with the Founders.

"Pilot" he yelled to the cockpit, where his Cardassian pilot carefully guided the shuttle away from the battle in orbit. "Keep us away from those Warbirds but don't get us too far away from the planet. I have to be in range to activate the failsafes!" The Cardassian pilot failed to respond though, prompting Dizel to head towards the front of the ship to confront him directly.

"Pilot you will follow my instructions to the letter! Need I remind you of the justice served by the Dominion...pilot?"

As Dizel arrived in the cockpit he saw that the ship was on automatic, on a course that would have it pass dangerously close to the Romulan Fleet. Frantic, Dizel climbed into the pilot's seat and tried to decipher the controls. In his rushed state, his acute sense of hearing failed to pick up on the heavy footsteps behind him.

"Stand up Vorta, and keep your fucking hands where I can see them." Dizel complied, and turned around to witness the largest human he had ever seen pointing a Jem'Hadar rifle directly at him. "Don't be surprised," the human said, "You've been so busy sending your guards off to die that you made it nice and easy for me to take this ship. If you do what I tell you, I might even let you live."

DIzel's survival instincts kicked in, Vorta were a very compliant species and at this moment compliance was a very good thing. "Of course...but you must realize we are too close to the Romulan fleet! They'll shoot us down!"

"The Romulans aren't going to do shit. Check the sensors if you want, your fleet is toast and those ugly green buzzards out there are going to start disintegrating everything down below in a matter of moments."

Dizel motioned towards the device in his hand. "They won't have to though once my failsafes activate."

The Human regarded the device with caution. "You already activated the Thalaron weapons? How much time do we have?"

Shocked at the human's knowledge of his failsafe, Dizel looked at the small screen on the detonator, it's display in the standard written languange of the Dominion. "Less than five minutes!"

"And there is no way of reversing the detonation?" the Human asked.

"Not unless you want to go back down there, and I don't think you do! Now if you get us out of here I'll make sure you are well compensated!"

"Oh we'll be leaving, but you and I aren't going to the same place." said the Human as he raised the Jem'Hadar weapon.

Dizel screamed and raised his hands up in a futile effort to shield himself as Fanboy shot him repeatedly, blasting the helpless Vorta repeatedly until the body began to smolder.

After the deed was done he sat down at the controls, and made his way to the edge of the system as fast as he could, not wanting to miss the fireworks as the Romulan fleet began to open up fire.



"Shinzon's shuttle is on its way back, and our bombardment has been 100% effective. The Borg and Dominion forces are dead." said the junior Romulan Officer. "The Dominion Shuttle we detected is running fast.

The Scythe's Captain sat down, feeling as if he was exhaling for the first time in years. "Let it go, perhaps whoever was left alive will live to tell the tale of Romulan glory that took place on this world. Still, using our forces in order to keep the Borg occupied so that we could destroy them all for orbit was a terrible price to pay. Continue the firing sequences just to be sure their sacrifice was worth our efforts."

"As you command Captain, I also wanted to let you know that our engineers were detecting strange levels of radiation from the equipment that Lord Shinzon ordered us to beam aboard."

"That whole planet is covered in all sorts of forsaken radiation Lieutenant, I wouldn't be surprised if..." The Captain's sentence was then cut off by a blaring alarm klaxon. "Report!" He demanded.

"Captain, It's coming from the cargo hold, radiation levels have spiked nearly ten thousand percent in the last few seconds!"

"That's impossible only a bomb could...Contact Lord Shinzon and tell him to break off his course now!"



"Lord Shinzon, we are recieving an urgent communication from the Scythe," Vkurk informed from the Cockpit. "He is warning us not to approach the ship!"

Shinzon, still holding his sideswatched on the main viewscreen as his flagship, and every other ship in the fleet were all destroyed by terrible explosions. "All ships have been destroyed! We are detecting unprecedented levels of thalaron radiation at the epicenter of the explosiosn! Altering course to avoid it!" Called one of the Reman pilots.

As he watched, Shinzon knew he had been betrayed.

"Lord Shinzon," the pilto called back again. "We're being hailed by a Dominion shuttle, it is only lightly armed, should we respond?"

"Audio only." Shinzo replied, not wanting to be seen in his weakened state. The pilot opened the frequency and notioned that it was okay for Shinzon to speak. "Unidentified shuttle, stand down and..."

"Save it Shinzon."

Shinzon recognized the voice of the mercenary he had assigned to gain the Dominion's cloning technology. "You! You did this to my fleet!"

"That's right. Funny how your boys couldn't figure out that they were beaming nice big bombs aboard instead of the cloning tanks."

"What posessed you to do such a thing?" Shinzon demanded, wanting an explanation above all else.

"Let's just put it this way, neither of us got we wanted from that base. But that isn't going to stop us from making one last deal."

"The only deal I will make with you is that I will let you choose which slow and painful death you want when I put you in irons and..."

"Baldy you need to shut your damn mouth. Because the data I got from this Vorta that I just killed is probably the only thing you can salvage out of this operation so that you can justify it with your superiors. I'll send it to you right now if you make sure that I get what I want."

Shinzon let his disgust creep into his voice. "And what might that be?"

"All I want is my ship back from where it's being stored on your space station Lagga. After that you won't see me for the rest of your apparently short life."

"That can be arranged should your data be worthwhile enough, i'll have you know though if I ever see you in Romulan territory again i'll have you disemboweled and then tossed into a star."

"I always wanted to go out that way, Fanboy out."



One Year Later



Fanboy's ship landed on the edge of the crater where the Dominion base had once stood. Even with the war over, the journey had taken weeks and during that time Fanboy had gained true sobriety for the first time in months. His depression had reached the point where he had nearly reconsidered making the trip, at one point he had even considered killing himself as soon as he arrived, hoping that somehow his gesture would send him into whatever abyss his beloved was in and return her to the world of the living that she deserved to be a part of.

It took a few hours of talking with a half-drunk Vulcan before Fanboy got it into his head what he needed to do. In his state the Vulcan slackened in his stoic persona and started to ramble about logic.

"The thing about Logic my friend is that, like any other coping mechanism, it has its limits. Logic is a sentient being's way of taking all of the chaos in this universe and giving it a sense of purpose, so that we can delude ourselves into thinking that there is an order to things, and that we have a place somewhere in that order. But the chaotic universe doesn't always conform so nicely, and that is when we lose our sense of purpose. When that happens there is only one logical thing possible to do....survive."

At that point Fanboy had heard enough, and decked the Vulcan for daring to make sense when he was perfectly content to sulk. But there was a nugget of truth in the Vulcan's words that Fanboy decided to take to heart. As he looked over the crater he decided that he would survive, but he wouldn't waste his survival in monotony.

She wouldn't have wanted that.



Author's note: Thus ends the Episode -1 Story Arc. Apologies to my fellow writers and to the readers for putting you through this crap.