From: Darth Fanboy Subject: Unnamed Porno Fanfic UPF is Authored by MK Sheppard, Falkenhorst, and Darth Fanboy. These are mostly Shep and Falks and I think I have one, maybe one in there [Deep Space Nine - Outer Docking Pylon 3 - 0300 hours] Julian Bashir grunted and strained as he levered the last crate of soup mix into the airlock. He wiped his brow and stood back, hitting the start cycle. The door ground closed and the airlock decompressed with a whoosh, sucking the soup crates into space, where unknown to anyone but a few spacers, they joined an increasingly dangerous ring of soup crates orbiting Bajor. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Bashir had single-handedly kept the Trill Porno industry alive against stiff competition from the Ferenginar and their porn industries. He was also the Trills' middleman, handling their exports to Risa, which had been the keystone of Bashir's whole plan and addiction. The porn would be smuggled into DS9 inside soup crates, and then carefully uncrated and shipped out to the rest of the Galaxy as a whole through Quark's shady contracts. The money kept flooding in, and Bashir was thinking about expanding onto the Vulcan porn scene before the year was up. At this, Bashir couldn't help but chuckle. The fact that Vulcan HAD a porn industry at all was always a surprise to the uninitiated in the porn business. He then derided himself for thinking too far ahead. He still had several hundred cartons of unsold Ferengi porn to sell - seems only the Ferengi liked that kind of crap, although there were always a few deviants out there who were sick enough to like that kind of shit. Shuddering, Bashir walked back to his quarters, knowing that the money he was paying Chief O'Brien would keep his secret rooms full of sex toys and porno safe from all but the most intense inspections, as they didn't show up on the station's blueprints anymore. [Runabout _Orinoco_ heading towards Bajor] Commander Benjamin Sisko sat back in the runabout's pilot's seat and enjoyed the view of Bajor and her moons hanging motionless in front of his craft. Suddenly, a banging noise sounded, and Sisko sat up, and saw with disbelief a can of Trill soup mix ricocheting off his windshield. "What the fuck was that?" Moments later, a piece of flimsipaper slapped onto the windshield of the runabout, the speed of the runabout plastering the paper all over the windshield, giving Sisko an eye-opening view of one of the Ferengi porn industry's most famous stars. Sisko fought the urge to vomit, and failed. [1 hour later] Sisko stepped out of the runabout on it's landing pad outside the Bajoran Council Building, wearing a fresh uniform. He had spent the last half an hour cleaning up his own vomit from the runabout's interior, and had pretty much succeeded, except the runabout now smelled like cleaning fluids. A Bajoran officer walked up to him. "The Kai will see you now." Nodding, Sisko followed the officer into the building, and found the Kai standing in her office holding a can of soup mix. "Kai...is that by any chance Trill soup mix?" asked Sisko. "Why yes it is...how did you know?" replied the Kai, incredulous at Sisko's observation. Sisko put on a weak smile. "I ran over several of them on the way here." "Yes, that is what I called you here for, Commander. These cans have become a hazard to navigation within our solar system, and worst of all, we have found large caches of porn floating in space from time to time." "Interesting," said Sisko, "Do you have any idea who's doing this?" "Yes, we do. It's coming from _your_ station, Sisko." "I will not tolerate the corruption of Bajoran Morals by these vile porn-runners, and if you do not take steps to arrest the individuals responsible for this atrocity, I will be forced to expel the Federation from Bajoran Space!" snapped the Kai. Sisko was taken aback momentarily by the force of the Kai's demands, and it was several seconds before he replied. "Yes, we'll take care of them." Sisko countered in a voice as cold as interstellar space. "The little hatfuckers who are using my station as a waypoint for porno will find that it does not pay to fuck with me." thought Sisko. PORN FANFIC CH 2 [England, Earth] Sheppard and Falkenhorst stepped in out of the rain, having left their burly bodyguards back in the limo at the gate. The butler escorted them into the mansion to a large library, where he told them they would be met by the owner of the mansion and the vast surrounding estate. The two men stood waiting patiently for ten minutes. Finally a pair of large Oak doors opened and a grotesquely fat man floated into the library on a hover-sled. He looked them over with his beady eyes before speaking in a thick, rumbling British accent. "I assume that you all know why you are here." rumbled the fat man. "Yeah, for the estate. How much you want?" replied Sheppard. "Have you found my initial offer of 4,000 bars of gold-pressed latinum agreeable?" asked Malcolm Reed V. It was no secret to those in the know that this bloated descendant of the famous Malcolm Reed intended to retire to Risa with the substantial inheritance from his father's underground porn empire. Malcolm Reed IV had only just passed away in the last six months, and had no other surviving relatives save his horribly bloated and equally perverted son. "Perfectly so," countered Falkenhorst in a cultured voice as he motioned for the bodyguards to bring the cases out from the hover-truck. "Excellent!" rumbled the fat lecher, bringing a handkerchief to his mouth as he descended into a fit of squelching coughs that caused his rolls of fat to do a sickening dance and sent his hover-sled rocking on it's antigravs. When he recovered, he went on, producing a folded document from his specially tailored size XXXXL suit coat. "This paper ensures the transfer of all... shall we say attached assets that you will acquire along with the estate." he said. Falkenhorst and Sheppard quickly drew out their pens and affixed their signatures to the paper. "Excellent, while the latinum is being counted, we might as well take a tour of your new estate." said Reed, folding the paper. With that, the fat man floated away on his hover cart. "To your left, is the famous Risan Rock," where Malcolm Reed the First became the first man to set foot on the world of Risa, and paved the way for an empire of Porn!" rumbled the fat smut lord as he floated down the wide hallway. Sheppard and Falkenhorst followed behind him, gazing reverently at the many relics lining the hallway. Suddenly, Reed turned around, his antigrav cart squealing in protest, and for a moment both Shep and Falk thought he was going to fall, but the antigravs held. "I'm very sorry, but in the excitement, I forgot all about my liposuction treatments at five o'clock, to prepare me for my eventual retirement to Risa. "Here's a map of the grounds. I suggest that you look in the study to find what you seek." Reed paused for a moment. "I must warn you: my ancestor was somewhat...obsessive...about his hobbies; so don't be surprised at the shit you're gonna find down there." As the corpulent descendant of Malcolm Reed floated away on his wheezing antigrav sled, Sheppard muttered. "Some people shouldn't have that kind of money." "He won't have it for long," replied Falkenhorst before he raised a communicator to his lips and spoke in short clipped tones to the bodyguards outside. "Mister Reed is leaving for a doctor's appointment. See to it that he does not survive the appointment. Also, recover our latinum as well, then come back." [1 hour later] Malcolm Reed V lay on the padded table face down, as a medical technician sucked the fat out of his body. Soon, he would have the body of his dreams. Money was so wonderful, especially when you were as lazy as he was. He dozed off to the sound of his fat being sucked out of his ass, and thus didn't hear the door to the room opening. "I'm sorry, but this is a private roo&!" protested the Medical Technician just before his head was blown off by a silenced 9mm round from one of the goons' pistols. "Suppressors. What a wonderful invention." remarked the head goon as he slowly unscrewed the suppressor can from the barrel of his 9mm. "Take the liposuction machine - I'll hold him down." he ordered. "What do I do with this shit, man?" asked the other goon when he saw all the blinking lights on the Liposuction machine's control panel. "Turn it up to the max, you stupid fuck! Do I have to explain everything to you?!?" Nodding, the goon cranked the machine up to the max and gripped the liposuction hose, thankful that they had put on extra-thick gloves before entering the building to hide their fingerprints. The machine whirred louder as the suction increased, and Reed woke up from his slumber at the change in the machine's noise, and he turned around to see a thickset man twisting the controls to the max. "What the fuck is going on?!" he shouted as he tried to get up and pull the suction tube out of his ass, but the head goon slammed him down onto the table violently, breaking his jaw in the process. The other goon finished manipulating the controls and grabbed the suction tube and after stabbing it into his back, began to work it around his insides, sucking internal organs out of the fat man with a horrible "squicking" noise as Reed screamed in pure agony. "You made the biggest mistake of your life, fatboy, when you messed with Sheppard and Falkenhorst," announced the man who was holding Reed down. "They intend to make a load of money off your fucktard of an ancestor, and nobody is going to be suing them for royalties." The transparent tank full of liposuctioned fat quickly changed from a pale white to blood red as the machine ravaged Reeds' insides like a cheap whore doing a cock job for $25. Within minutes, Malcolm Reed the Fifth was dead, and the Reed line ended in that liposuction room. "Fat fuck was harder than he looked." commented one of the bodyguards. "Yeah, good God man, I had to suck 20 kilos of flab out of the fucker before I hit any organs," countered the other guard as he peeled his bloody gloves off, revealing another set of gloves underneath. "Well, I wonder what the bosses are doing right now, we'll be stuck here till two cleaning up after this fucker to make it look like an accident." replied the other guard as he began to arrange the corpse of the medical technician so that it would look like your typical murder/suicide. [Same Time - The Reed Estate] "Damn," breathed Falkenhorst, drawing out the word into several syllables as he saw the true extent of the original Malcolm Reed's secret files deep inside the hidden basement of the estate. The files stretched away for what seemed like miles of shelving, each file labeled with precisely lettered labels describing their contents. "Sheeeeit, how much crap could one man have gotten?" muttered Shep. Falk picked out one of the tapes at random and looked at it's label: "Hoshi + T'Pol Tape 22 of 50". Sheppard was also rummaging through the endless line of tapes when he stopped at one. "Interesting. Seems he also had a kink for the other team." commented Sheppard as he picked out a tape from the shelf and said it's label out loud. "Captain Archer in the Shower 1 of 10", said Sheppard in a disgusted tone of voice. "Burn that shit, man!" snapped Falk as he grabbed the tape out of Sheppard's hands and smashed it with his boot heel. "We can watch this crap later, man. We gotta find the KEY to Reed's porn empire." commented Falk as he looked around the vast underground cavern that had been carved out of the bedrock of England in secret. "Should we call the boys back?" asked Sheppard. "Nah, they can take care of themselves. Besides, I told 'em to come back after they were done with old man Reed himself and had gotten our latinum back." "It's gonna take some of that latinum to bribe the cops, you know." added Shep. "I know. But then again nobody here liked Reed so we should be able to get off by screwing the Chief of Police with a few bars." [20 minutes later] It had taken nearly a half-an-hour of searching the seemingly-endless cavern, but they had finally found Reed's office, which seemed to not have been used in quite some time. Picking up a rolodex, Falkenhorst began to flip through it. "This shit is worthless, man. Half the people in here are dead, dead, dead..." Suddenly he paused. "Shit, I know this fucker! He was my fuckin' Seventh Grade Teacher!" "Then maybe he'll help us." countered Sheppard. "You can always slap child porn charges on the hatfucker with what we have here, if he doesn't cooperate." "True, that. Oooh." muttered Falk as he ran across another card. "Seems one Jean-Luc Peeecard, or however the fuck you spell his last name - fuckin' Frenchies...has been knee-deep in the porn business ever since he got stabbed by a bunch of Nausicians in a falling out over some porn the good ensign had sold them." "That's not the official story, Falk." commented Shep. "And with fuckin' good reason, man. Could you imagine the sounds of heads exploding if it was told to the public at large, that Captain Picard, hero of the Federation got stabbed by a bunch of Nausicians because he stiffed them on a porn flick?" "And this is just one of that fat fuck's rolodexes. Want to grab the others and flip through them while we 'review' those old tapes for quality?" finished Sheppard. "Only if we burn the gay porn crap first. No one in their right mind would want that," said Falkenhorst with an air of finality to his voice. "Well, we could always sell it off to another porn dealer for more latinum." countered Sheppard. "Why destroy a possibly valuable source of income?" "There's that. But I like to have *some* kind of morals, man." pronounced Falkenhorst in a firm tone of voice. [END CH 2] [UPF CHAPTER 3] "Captain Picard, there are some men to see you," replied Data, who tried to hide his disgust at being forced into Picard's gay porn holos in order to retain his rank and position on the Enterprise. "Send them in," replied Picard as he put away the whips and told Wesley to get the fuck into the closet. Life was good, ever since Wesley had returned from being with that Traveler asshole. He was now Picard's bitch, and Beverly was none the wiser. Picard cracked an evil smile at that. He truly was master of his domain. The doorbell chimed, and a moment later, in stepped two rather brutish and hulking gentlemen, their well-tailored coats trying valiantly, but failing to hide the fact that the men were obviously bodybuilders. "Captain Picard, we presume?" asked the taller of the two, whose hair was completely jet black, and had a wicked-looking white scar running across his forehead. "None other. Whom do I have the pleasure of talking to?" replied Picard. "I'm Frankie, and this is my colleague, Seppo." said the tall man. The short, thickly built Seppo looked at Picard with a dangerous, hungry stare. "We are here because our employer is worried about you," said Seppo in his thick New York accent. "Well, I appreciate his concern, but I'm rather sure I'm in no danger." replied Picard, beginning to wonder where this was going. "He's worried you might get hurt unless you can cough up 50,000 bars of Gold Pressed Latinum, Picard. Nobody cuts in on our bosses' business without paying his dues." said Frankie, shifting his stance. "I don't know what you're talking about!" stammered Picard. "And besides, 50,000 is an outrageous sum, even for me!" Picard began ranting about how Gold Pressed Latinum was illegal and how the Federation was a moneyless society. It was nothing new to him, and he was in fact lying through his yellow French teeth. He had learned to bullshit his way through these kind of arguments, and he was using his skills to full effect, or so he thought. His self-righteous tirade was cut off as Seppo pulled out a holodisc from his pocket and thumbed it on, throwing it on Picard's ready-room table. Immediately a title flashed in the air: ANDROID HOMO FUCK MACHINE # 5 The scene began showing Data and Wesley stripping down, then they began fornicating in full Technicolor 3D action with surround sound. Picard's voice trailed off to nothingness. "Where did you get that piece of gutter trash?" he finally replied after several long seconds of silence. "You should know that, frenchie, since you're the one behind it." replied Seppo. "Our bosses don't like this kind of shit, and besides, you're cutting into their bidness. So pay up." Picard began to stammer out excuses. "I ah....uh....don't have that kind of money on me. Hell, my business doesn't even make that kind of...." "Our prices are negotiable." replied Seppo with a sharp tone of voice. Picard thought this over for a few minutes, with Seppo and Frankie looking on intently. Suddenly, the door chimed and in stepped Data. Picard smiled. "Wonderful invention, hidden alarm buttons." His face then hardened. "Mister Data, these gentlemen have discovered our secret. Dispose of them, will you?" "I am afraid not, Captain." replied Data suddenly. This time, it was Picard's turn to stare in openmouthed shock for the second time in as many minutes. "I have had enough of your perverted desires, Captain. And besides, these men are paying me more for this one job than you ever paid me in total for my forty appearances in your films." A deathly silence then filled the room as everyone stared at each other. It was suddenly broken by a loud banging noise from one of the closets in the Captain's ready room. "Frankie, open that door, see what the fuck's in there." ordered Seppo. Opening the door, Seppo barely avoided being knocked over by a sobbing Wesley Crusher bound and gagged in a leather outfit complete with ball gag in his mouth and a anal plug in his ass. "That does it. Fuck the bosses' orders." muttered Seppo. [The Next Morning - _La Italy Bistro_ , Sussex, England] Falkenhorst and Sheppard sat in the corner booth of the Italian diner sited on the outskirts of Sussex, a few minutes away from the Estate of Malcolm Reed, now wholly owned and operated by them. Unfortunately, they still hadn't hired any servants to cook their food, and they didn't trust the replicated crap, so every morning and at night, they would make the half an hour trip to the town of Sussex to eat in a trusted diner that was known to use wholly organic ingredients. Sheppard was reading the local rag, and Falkenhorst couldn't help but notice the lurid headlines splashed across the front page. "Guess old Frankie and Seppo did the job, even if they did exceed orders," commented Falk. "Can't say I can blame them," replied Shep as he flipped over to another page in the paper. "Seeing what they saw would drive me to a murderous rage too." Falkenhorst took another sip from his Coca-Cola as he scanned the headlines on the papers that other guests of the diner were reading as they ate that morning. "HERO OF STARFLEET DIES IN GAY SEX SCANDAL!" screamed one of the major British tabloids. Underneath that in smaller type were the words - "Saved Earth from both Borg invasions". "SECURITY TAPES SHOW NOTHING!" shouted another tabloid. "PICARD INVOLVED IN TRYST WITH SON OF DOCTOR!" yelled the Guardian, which was still publishing after several centuries of lies and slander. "YOUNG CRUSHER FOUND DISEMBOWELED" proclaimed yet another tabloid, and upon seeing that, Falk chortled. "My, my, our friend Mister Data is quite the amateur proctologist, isn't he?" "Speaking of proctology," added Sheppard, "I find it amusing that the dear Captain was found with Mister Crusher's head stuck up his ass." "That's physically impossible!" countered Falk. "I know," replied Sheppard with an evil grin. All trace of humor suddenly left Sheppard's face as he spoke to Falk in a low tone of voice. "Are you sure that the restraining chip you fitted to Mister Data works?" "Sure as rain, Shep. Besides, if that doesn't work, we always have these," and with that, Falk patted the compact form of the Dympel Electromagnetic Pulse Gun strapped to his thigh. "I hope so for your sake and for Humanity's sake," replied Sheppard. "Data could become a dangerous sexual predator...the most heinous rapist of all time!" Sheppard finished with a shudder. "We'll deal with that if it comes up, Shep. Now let's just sit back and let the money roll in from our business." replied Falkenhorst as he sat back in his seat. [END CH 3] UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC FROM FALK AND SHEP, CHAPTER 4 Odo sat down at the table next to a nervous Dr. Bashir in one of the side booths in Quark's. "You don't look quite well, Doctor. Perhaps the food here isn't good for your complexion?" asked Odo in the same voice that had spelled doom for countless scumbags over the years. "How are we gonna get around this search, Odo? Sisko's really pissed off; I heard he was going to have Eddington do it this time, instead of you." muttered Bashir. Odo muttered a dark curse. Damn Eddington. Fucking Starfleet Grade A Pansy... "What are we gonna do?" moaned Bashir, an increasingly desperate tone of voice creeping into his speech. He took a hefty swig from his drink. "Calm down my dear Doctor. We simply frame someone else. It will require some of your.... collection, though." "WHO?" practically screamed Bashir, only to be put off by Odo waving his finger in that annoying manner of his. "Who has the money, and the motive to be running such goods through the station, Doctor? Certainly not you...but our host...." and with that, Odo cocked his head enough for his eyes to lock onto their host, Quark, who was serving a bunch of people at the bar. "What about him?" asked Bashir, dabbling at his sweaty forehead with a napkin. Odo cocked his head back around, and looked at Bashir. Could he actually BE this stupid? "We kill Quark...." began Odo, and almost immediately, Bashir shouted him down "No, NO!" "If we kill him, we'll be getting into an even bigger mess than with Sisko!" A shocked look came into Bashir's eyes. "Almighty God, man, you haven't seen the publications I have, the ones the feds don't give out...the ones that they make us docs swear an oath not to reveal!" "What publications?" asked Odo in a deadpan voice. "The ones that tell us precisely how much dosage we need to put into the replicators; my God, man!" exclaimed Bashir, rubbing his eyes and refilling his glass. "Dosage? Have you been snorting Bajoran Angel Dust lately?" asked Odo in a disgusted voice. "Think about it, Constable! Why are your Bajorans always so rowdy, along with Humans who've stayed on Bajor eating their food?" "It's because Bajor isn't a Federation member yet, and doesn't have a full fledged replicator system for food!" "Let's not even get into the truth drugs....." said Bashir with a visible shudder. "Or the TORTURE DRUGS...." whispered Bashir, his voice barely above a whisper. "Torture Drugs, Doctor? Now you're just being a idiot. Aren't they banned by the Federation Constitution?" replied Odo. "That's just bullshit to pacify the Vulcans...just go ask your underworld contacts about Vaccine #10120, Odo. You'll find out more than you ever wanted to know...." A pensive look came over Odo's face. Bashir was telling some pretty damn tall tales here...He'd check them out later... "I'll ask, Doctor. But we need this matter taken care of NOW. Eddington begins his search tomorrow at 0530 hours. Barely enough time to get this job done..." Bashir looked down into his empty tumbler. "Fine, Odo. Do it. Just do the fucking thing." [5 hours later] "Ohh, Quark, come in here baby...Sweetcakes wants you..." crooned the disgustingly ugly Ferengi whore that was Quark's main lay these days when he couldn't import high quality whores from Bajor. She was so obsessed with making sure her ears were just right that she didn't notice that the chair across from her was slowly creeping towards the bed... The chair then extended a pseudopod and jabbed the whore with it roughly, injecting a whole gram of Bajoran Angel Dust into the Whore's bloodstream before slowly backing into the corner, where it would watch the fireworks... The only person who knew what had just happened were Odo and unfortunately for him and the esteemed Doctor Bashir's future plans, a discreet holocamera hidden in the ceiling...a holo camera that transmitted it's recordings to Earth every few days to a computer system in the Malcolm Reed Estate... MEANWHILE, IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY... Emperor Palpatine sighed in lecherous contentment as he had his way with the pleasure droid. The HRD bucked and heaved to a heavy tempo beneath him, uttering random selections from its six million programmed phrases of endearment. No human or even alien females could withstand Palpatine's dark-side enhanced bedroom skills. In the beginning, he had enjoyed using up nubile young women and then snuffing them, but his twisted, evil mind soon ran short of gruesome diversions. Live females died too quickly under his sadistic attentions. Palpatine screamed Sith curses as he got his rocks off. Angry, incandescent bolts of force lightning began arcing from his loins, slamming into the pleasure droid, which began spouting gibberish as it's circuits were fried. The droid's artificial skin erupted in flames, filling Palpatine's nostrils with the acrid stench of burning polymers and latex. The droid's faux blonde hair sizzled and burned off, it's eyeballs popping and melting as the internal optics overloaded. A twisted, perverted smile warped Palpatine's face as he screwed the pleasure droid to death. "Fuuuuuuucccccckkkkk Meeeeeeeeeeeee--*zap*sizzle*" the droid's voice trailed off into mechanical sputters as the machine twitched a few times and died. Palpatine got off the bed, gathering his robes about him and cackling evilly as his acidic smegma burned through the droid's insides and started the matress smoldering. As he turned to walk away, a glint of polished steel caught his eye. His curiosity piqued, he leaned in closer to have a look. Affixed to the forehead of the droid, normally hidden under it's false skin, was a manufacturer's plaque. Palpatine brushed away the soot and read the stamped script: PD SERIES A-26 # 452610009 TARKIN ADULT ENTERTAINMENT LTD. INSPECTED 02 27 IY 0023 Palpatine ripped the plaque from the still-warm skull of the pleasure droid and dropped it into a hidden pocket in his robes. The Dark Side rose like a storm in the Emperor, and he unleashed another barrage of force lightning on the smoking skeleton of the pleasure droid, reducing it to a puddle of melted metal and slag, and completely disintegrating the bed. He left the mess for the droids to deal with. So Tarkin thought he could muscle in on Palpatine's well-established underworld Empire, did he? Although the Emperor controlled the galactic government, he also had his filthy claws deep in the slimy underbelly of the galaxy. Palpatine's agents trafficked in all the vilest adult entertainment imaginable, from alien fuck-a- thons and slave trading to holonet porn sites and millions of brothels on nearly every world of the Empire. He would tolerate no competition that was for sure. Nobody had any idea how much of the funding for the vast Imperial War-Machine came from Palpatine's dirty dealings, but it was a sizable percentage. Tarkin would have to be informed of his error, clandestinely, of course. Palpatine keyed the comlink on his throne, and spoke into it. "Summon Lord Vader. It is a matter of pressing urgency." As he spoke, Palpatine shifted in his throne and unleashed a long, rumbling fart that rolled through the vast throne room and echoed off the ceiling. He smiled in blissful satisfaction. Sex always helped relieve his chronic constipation. "Uh... What the fuck was that, sire?" asked the young Lieutenant on the comm line. Palpatine even surprised himself when he dismissed the young man's question. He hadn't taken a shit for days, and he was feeling alot better. He began cackling evilly as the horrible rotten stench spread throughout the vast chamber and the small bat like rodents in the upper rafters began suffocating and dropping lifeless from their perches from the deadly effects of his rancid Sith fart. [END CH. 4] UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC CH 5 by Falkenhorst and Sheppard ***************************************** Geordi LaForge sat back in his office on the Enterprise, a bottle of Gin in one hand, and his dick in the other. In front of him lay the complete technical blueprints for the proposed _Telemachus_ class heavy battleship. Geordi's favorite pastime was jacking off to the latest blueprints from the Advanced Starship Design Bureau at Utopia Planita. From time to time, his people would wonder why he always seemed to have a problem with white scum buildup on his walls and control panels. Geordi gasped as he came, shooting his cum all over the walls. Damn, he was going to have to find some other place to do this, but it kept turning him on, to do it in such a public place. Taking another swig from his bottle of gin, he pulled his pants back up, and cursed as he saw some cum dribble down his left inseam. Fuck, that was gonna leave a stain. It had been a stroke of genius to use his high-level access to program in a secret code to make the ship-board replicators produce high-quality booze, allowing him to obtain cheap alcohol, and avoid the high prices commonly associated with that bitch Guinan's secret Bootlegging operation. From outside the office came a trickling noise, like a faucet being turned on, and Geordi stuck his head out to see what it was. It was nothing but a bunch of his guys having another one of their pissing contests to see who could whizz the farthest down the core shaft before it impacted the warp core containment field, giving them a mild shock. This was known amongst Starfleet engine crewers as "tickling the lizard". Normally, this would cause no problem, since if the piss didn't vaporize on the forcefield, it would trickle down and pool in the field modulator nodes. Today was different. Ten decks below, in the darkest reaches of the Enterprise-E, Doctor Crusher was having one of her regular gangbangs, with the entire crew of those lower decks running a train on her. After the last crewer had shot his load inside her, Crusher stood up. She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell now clogging the small compartment where she went for her weekly orgies. "The Blowers should fix that problem, Doctor," said the man who had just shot his load into her, and reaching over, he turned on the main blowers. A rumble shook through the ship as the giant blower units kicked in, and ten decks above, 40 gallons of stale piss was sucked out of the warp core and into the main vent shafts, where it vaporized into a fine mist and spread throughout the ship. With the stale festering mess gone, the modulator nodes unclogged and power efficiency zoomed up 10% in just minutes. Thirty decks above, the recently promoted Captain Riker was pounding into Troi on his new ready-room desk. He was enjoying the dark, mushy charms of her Betazoid ass when a greasy, gurgling fart was heard in the ready room. Riker paused, looking scornfully at her, and then realized the sound was coming not from her well stuffed back door, but from the ventilator grate on the wall. Riker turned to look at it just in time to receive a foul blast of piss-mist in his face. He screamed in agony as the piss burned it's way into his eyeballs, and he pulled out of Troi with a wet slurp. All over the Enterprise, crewers screamed as the piss-mist swept it's way through the Sovereign-class starship, quickly filling it with the foul stench of rancid piss. "Turn those goddamned blowers off!" shouted Riker as he stumbled onto the bridge, his face burning from the piss. "Yessir," replied Data, his android fingers rushing over his touch panel at lightning speeds to shut off the ship's blower system. "Blowers stopped, sir." A beeping noise came from Data's station. "Oh for fuck's sake, what now?" snapped Riker. Data looked at his panel, and then replied. "Sir, Admiral Janeway is coming aboard in an hour's time for the annual Starfleet inspection required of every ship in the fleet." "Fuck me dead." was Riker's only reply as his hands clenched into fists. Goddamn it. Not now... [1 hour later] Despite the Enterprise crew's frantic efforts to cover up the ship's newly-acquired smell with lots of replicated air-fresheners, the ship still stank of rancid piss. As the transporter beam faded out, and conscious thought returned, Admiral Janeway took a sniff of the ships' air, and was almost bowled over by the acidic stench of stale piss... For the first time since Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, she felt like she was at home again. *BooTLeG uNNaMeD PoRNo FaNFiC BY DaRTH FaNBoY* (Temporary replacement to the lost Episode VI) ---------------------------------------------- Kira Nerys, no longer content with the hi-powered sex piston purchased during shore leave on Risa threw the 15-inch device to the floor in disgust. Normally she would just dial up Odo and use those shape shifting powers to her own advantage, but for some reason he was being all secretive and talking to Bashir more than usual. "Fuck it, time to go get a holosuite" Kira stormed her way down to Quark's but the Ferengi was notably absent. Taking advantage Kira walked over to the closest holosuite and opened the door. "All right time's up asshole its my...What?" Kira was stunned to see Ezri Dax, sitting in a holographic Jacuzzi completely naked. She was writhing herself in pleasure over one of the jets, she barely noticed the door open. "Ezri what the fuck?" "Oh! Major! I was just umm well..." "It's ok, looks like we're both here for the same reason" "Odo not around to shape shift into whatever you want?" "What? Yeah how did you know?" "Odo has fucked every girl on this station, I only knew about it at first because I have some of Jadzia's memories. One time she had Odo morph into a Romulan ridgeworm and god damn...." "That fucker! He said he only did that for me!" "Why don't you just sit down in the tub and relax. The water is all nice and bubbly on my teats anyway?" "Did you just say teats?" "You wanna fucking enjoy this or what bitch!" Kira, suddenly turned on by the domineering Trill stripped and then jumped into the water. "You know what I like best about being a woman major? We know what we like, Curzon used to spank it with a thumb up his ass to Orion slave girls taking it DVDA?" "DVDA?" "Double Vaginal Double Anal, like when Odo turns into the Andorian multispider with the slick legs" "Oh yeah.... hey shut the fuck up its not funny!" "You think you're the only girl to be fooled by Odo? He is such a fuckin' star it isn't funny," Ezri then moved over towards Kira and climbed on her leg. Besides, everyone on this station thinks you're a dyke anyway!" "The hell I am! What makes people think that?" "Come on major, the short hair, military attitude, hell some of these memories from Jadzia about that time on the Runabout..." Kira gasped slightly and screamed "THAT WAS JUST AN EXPERIMENT!" "Sure it was, now here's the deal, quark's holographs have no stamina whatsoever, to cater to his male customers probably. I think I'm going to have to use you instead." "Use? Me? I'm a superior officer!" "Shut up, you're my bitch that's what you are. Computer, program Dax Beta Nine" Almost instantly the tub disappeared and a virtual dungeon surrounded the two nude women, devices from all corners of space surrounded them. "You aren't going to use this stuff are you?" "No this is one of Jadzia's old programs she used to do with Worf, now there are a pair of fucking freaks. I only need one thing...." Ezri walked past several harness like devices, a set of odd looking straps, and a plastic egg and finally found what she was looking for. She picked up the object, a small computer chip looking device. She then waked back over to Kira and kissed her while inserting a finger into her drenched pussy, Kira responded back but pulled away with a sharp pinch against her clit. "Freaking Tap Dancing Prophets what have you done to me!" " That computer chip was replicated so it's not just a hologram. You're going to wear that around while I control it with this transmitter. Worf used to do this to Jadzia all the time out on missions, sick fuck but its quie brilliant. I'll be in control of your every orgasm." Ezri pulled out a small remote and pushed down on the button. Kira's legs began to melt and she fell to the floor with pleasure. "I'm in control now you hear? Now get your clothes on and get back to your quarters bitch!" Kira nodded gathered her shit and left. Suddenly the naked female form turned to liquid and reformed as Odo. Odo was always in control of his bitches whether they knew it or not. He had just pulled almost the exact same trick on Ezri a couple days prior. Odo knew in his mind he was the man and even while he was busy helping Bashir get his shit together there was no way he was going to lose control.... over his bitches. *BooTLeG uNNaMeD PoRNo FaNFiC BY DaRTH FaNBoY*The UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC: CHAPTER 7 Written by FALKENHORST in absence of MKSheppard Props to Darth Fanboy and Crayz9000 for conceptual help with this chapter. Captain Sisko walked into his quarters, kicking off his boots. It had been another long, luckless day of fucking around trying to get to the bottom of the illegal porn smuggling operations plaguing DS9. He ordered a tall glass of Malt Liquor from the replicator and padded over to Jake's room. He found Jake curled up in a fetal position on his bed, rocking listlessly. Sisko was about to chalk it up to trauma over Nog's unfortunate accident a few days ago, when he noticed his son was whispering a rhyme as he rocked and hugged himself. It went like this: One-Two, RayCav's coming for you; Three-Four, he's at your back door; Five-Six, he likes ripping up chicks; Seven-Eight, time to be his mate; Nine-Ten, never sane again... Sisko realized he remembered a similar rhyme from an old 20th Century horror flick he had once seen. He backed slowly out of his son's room and sat down heavily on the couch, and slammed back several mouthfuls of his beverage. Something about that backdoor line rubbed him the wrong way. "Computer," he said, after a moment of reflection. "Analysis of bowel movements for Jake Sisko in the past month;" he said. "Restroom records indicate Jake Sisko had 45 bowel movements in the last 30 days." Replied the computer in it's annoying feminine voice. Sisko considered his next query very carefully. "Computer, how many of those involved loaded pants?" "Please Specify." Sisko took another deep sip from his glass. It was now about half empty. "You know, the squirts, the shits, sitting in the mud, that kind of thing." "Restroom records indicate that Jake Sisko soiled his trousers 30 of the last 45 times he used the restroom." Sisko blinked and guzzled the rest of his malt liquor. So someone was buggering his son. He reached for his communicator to call Eddington. This was a mystery he would solve with maximum vengeance. Meanwhile, Doctor Bashir grinned in lecherous satisfaction as he wheeled Nog's medical cart back into the storage closet behind the supply room of the infirmary. Julian Bashir was smugly satisfied that he would come through this latest round of investigations without trouble. He had been "seeing" Jake Sisko a few times every week after he had used his contacts with Odo to blackmail the young man into becoming his personal plaything. Odo had tipped off Bashir that one Miles O'Brien was taking out his frustrations on his lovely wife, Keiko, and a plan had formed in his twisted, genetically enhanced mind. Julian had arranged for a PADD containing security footage of one of O'Brien's more brutal nights at home to be left where Jake would find it. When Bashir was certain from the disturbed look in the boy's eyes that he had seen the PADD, Julian had taken him aside and assured him that unless he cooperated fully with whatever the Doctor wanted him to do, Bashir would tip off O'Brien that Jake knew his dirty secret. Jake had feared for his life and played along with all of Julian's sick fantasies until the Doctor had begun to grow bored. That was when he made Jake do the one act, which cost him his sanity. One fine morning, Jake was sitting on the balcony on the promenade with his friend Nog. Jake was jittery and shaking, but he did his best to hide it. Nog was pretty broken up himself, what with the death of his uncle Quark at the hands of that dusthead whore. The whole incident had caused a major scandal on the station, on top of the fact that everyone naturally assumed the Ferengi were the cause of the whole Porn mess. Nog was in the process of bitching and moaning about all this to his best friend Jake. Jake thought about Julian's violent threats about telling O'Brien if he didn't do this one thing for his Uncle Julie, as he called himself. So Jake slipped a compassionate arm around his friend's shoulder and made as if to console him. In an instant, the boy had gripped the railing with his free hand and shoved the whining Ferengi off the walkway. Nog wailed with surprise and fear as he dropped like a rock. Out of morbid curiousity, Jake leaned forward and peered down. Nog's flailing body slammed into the floor 30 feet below, feet up. He landed on his left shoulder and his neck snapped with a horrifying ripping, cracking noise as his bulbous head rammed into the deck at an off angle. Jake began to scream as Nogs' blank eyes stared up at him, his crippled body quivering in spasms as his ruined nerves misfired wildly. As medics rushed to the scene, Jake Sisko went nuts. Doctor Bashir began humming a little ditty as he locked the door tight and rolled some other carts of medical tools over in front of it. He had purposely bungled the operation to repair Nog's broken neck, leaving the young Ferengi a helpless Quadriplegic. For the last couple weeks, ever since he had sent word to Rom back on Ferenginar about his son's unfortunate death in an airlock accident, the Doctor had been playing out his sick fantasies on the comatose Nog. Julian knew that when Rom came back from taking care of his Brother's estate on Ferenginar he would have to either sell or snuff Nog, but he was enjoying him too much right now to think of the future. Still humming, he flipped off the light switch and walked out into the darkened infirmary. It was the late shift, and he was going to his quarters for some sleep after his exhausting session with Nog. As Julian stepped into the corridor, 2 large men stepped out of the shadows. "I'm Frankie," said one; "and this is my pal Seppo." he finished. "Our bosses want us to give you a little message." said Seppo, pulling out a truncheon. Julian tried to turn and run, but suddenly he got a splitting headache, and the last thing he saw was the deck rushing towards him. END CHAPTER 7 (Temporary replacement to the lost Episode VI) ---------------------------------------------- Kira Nerys, no longer content with the hi-powered sex piston purchased during shore leave on Risa threw the 15-inch device to the floor in disgust. Normally she would just dial up Odo and use those shape shifting powers to her own advantage, but for some reason he was being all secretive and talking to Bashir more than usual. "Fuck it, time to go get a holosuite" Kira stormed her way down to Quark's but the Ferengi was notably absent. Taking advantage Kira walked over to the closest holosuite and opened the door. "All right time's up asshole its my...What?" Kira was stunned to see Ezri Dax, sitting in a holographic Jacuzzi completely naked. She was writhing herself in pleasure over one of the jets, she barely noticed the door open. "Ezri what the fuck?" "Oh! Major! I was just umm well..." "It's ok, looks like we're both here for the same reason" "Odo not around to shape shift into whatever you want?" "What? Yeah how did you know?" "Odo has fucked every girl on this station, I only knew about it at first because I have some of Jadzia's memories. One time she had Odo morph into a Romulan ridgeworm and god damn...." "That fucker! He said he only did that for me!" "Why don't you just sit down in the tub and relax. The water is all nice and bubbly on my teats anyway?" "Did you just say teats?" "You wanna fucking enjoy this or what bitch!" Kira, suddenly turned on by the domineering Trill stripped and then jumped into the water. "You know what I like best about being a woman major? We know what we like, Curzon used to spank it with a thumb up his ass to Orion slave girls taking it DVDA?" "DVDA?" "Double Vaginal Double Anal, like when Odo turns into the Andorian multispider with the slick legs" "Oh yeah.... hey shut the fuck up its not funny!" "You think you're the only girl to be fooled by Odo? He is such a fuckin' star it isn't funny," Ezri then moved over towards Kira and climbed on her leg. Besides, everyone on this station thinks you're a dyke anyway!" "The hell I am! What makes people think that?" "Come on major, the short hair, military attitude, hell some of these memories from Jadzia about that time on the Runabout..." Kira gasped slightly and screamed "THAT WAS JUST AN EXPERIMENT!" "Sure it was, now here's the deal, quark's holographs have no stamina whatsoever, to cater to his male customers probably. I think I'm going to have to use you instead." "Use? Me? I'm a superior officer!" "Shut up, you're my bitch that's what you are. Computer, program Dax Beta Nine" Almost instantly the tub disappeared and a virtual dungeon surrounded the two nude women, devices from all corners of space surrounded them. "You aren't going to use this stuff are you?" "No this is one of Jadzia's old programs she used to do with Worf, now there are a pair of fucking freaks. I only need one thing...." Ezri walked past several harness like devices, a set of odd looking straps, and a plastic egg and finally found what she was looking for. She picked up the object, a small computer chip looking device. She then waked back over to Kira and kissed her while inserting a finger into her drenched pussy, Kira responded back but pulled away with a sharp pinch against her clit. "Freaking Tap Dancing Prophets what have you done to me!" " That computer chip was replicated so it's not just a hologram. You're going to wear that around while I control it with this transmitter. Worf used to do this to Jadzia all the time out on missions, sick fuck but its quie brilliant. I'll be in control of your every orgasm." Ezri pulled out a small remote and pushed down on the button. Kira's legs began to melt and she fell to the floor with pleasure. "I'm in control now you hear? Now get your clothes on and get back to your quarters bitch!" Kira nodded gathered her shit and left. Suddenly the naked female form turned to liquid and reformed as Odo. Odo was always in control of his bitches whether they knew it or not. He had just pulled almost the exact same trick on Ezri a couple days prior. Odo knew in his mind he was the man and even while he was busy helping Bashir get his shit together there was no way he was going to lose control.... over his bitches. *BooTLeG uNNaMeD PoRNo FaNFiC BY DaRTH FaNBoY*The UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC: CHAPTER 7 Written by FALKENHORST in absence of MKSheppard Props to Darth Fanboy and Crayz9000 for conceptual help with this chapter. Captain Sisko walked into his quarters, kicking off his boots. It had been another long, luckless day of fucking around trying to get to the bottom of the illegal porn smuggling operations plaguing DS9. He ordered a tall glass of Malt Liquor from the replicator and padded over to Jake's room. He found Jake curled up in a fetal position on his bed, rocking listlessly. Sisko was about to chalk it up to trauma over Nog's unfortunate accident a few days ago, when he noticed his son was whispering a rhyme as he rocked and hugged himself. It went like this: One-Two, RayCav's coming for you; Three-Four, he's at your back door; Five-Six, he likes ripping up chicks; Seven-Eight, time to be his mate; Nine-Ten, never sane again... Sisko realized he remembered a similar rhyme from an old 20th Century horror flick he had once seen. He backed slowly out of his son's room and sat down heavily on the couch, and slammed back several mouthfuls of his beverage. Something about that backdoor line rubbed him the wrong way. "Computer," he said, after a moment of reflection. "Analysis of bowel movements for Jake Sisko in the past month;" he said. "Restroom records indicate Jake Sisko had 45 bowel movements in the last 30 days." Replied the computer in it's annoying feminine voice. Sisko considered his next query very carefully. "Computer, how many of those involved loaded pants?" "Please Specify." Sisko took another deep sip from his glass. It was now about half empty. "You know, the squirts, the shits, sitting in the mud, that kind of thing." "Restroom records indicate that Jake Sisko soiled his trousers 30 of the last 45 times he used the restroom." Sisko blinked and guzzled the rest of his malt liquor. So someone was buggering his son. He reached for his communicator to call Eddington. This was a mystery he would solve with maximum vengeance. Meanwhile, Doctor Bashir grinned in lecherous satisfaction as he wheeled Nog's medical cart back into the storage closet behind the supply room of the infirmary. Julian Bashir was smugly satisfied that he would come through this latest round of investigations without trouble. He had been "seeing" Jake Sisko a few times every week after he had used his contacts with Odo to blackmail the young man into becoming his personal plaything. Odo had tipped off Bashir that one Miles O'Brien was taking out his frustrations on his lovely wife, Keiko, and a plan had formed in his twisted, genetically enhanced mind. Julian had arranged for a PADD containing security footage of one of O'Brien's more brutal nights at home to be left where Jake would find it. When Bashir was certain from the disturbed look in the boy's eyes that he had seen the PADD, Julian had taken him aside and assured him that unless he cooperated fully with whatever the Doctor wanted him to do, Bashir would tip off O'Brien that Jake knew his dirty secret. Jake had feared for his life and played along with all of Julian's sick fantasies until the Doctor had begun to grow bored. That was when he made Jake do the one act, which cost him his sanity. One fine morning, Jake was sitting on the balcony on the promenade with his friend Nog. Jake was jittery and shaking, but he did his best to hide it. Nog was pretty broken up himself, what with the death of his uncle Quark at the hands of that dusthead whore. The whole incident had caused a major scandal on the station, on top of the fact that everyone naturally assumed the Ferengi were the cause of the whole Porn mess. Nog was in the process of bitching and moaning about all this to his best friend Jake. Jake thought about Julian's violent threats about telling O'Brien if he didn't do this one thing for his Uncle Julie, as he called himself. So Jake slipped a compassionate arm around his friend's shoulder and made as if to console him. In an instant, the boy had gripped the railing with his free hand and shoved the whining Ferengi off the walkway. Nog wailed with surprise and fear as he dropped like a rock. Out of morbid curiousity, Jake leaned forward and peered down. Nog's flailing body slammed into the floor 30 feet below, feet up. He landed on his left shoulder and his neck snapped with a horrifying ripping, cracking noise as his bulbous head rammed into the deck at an off angle. Jake began to scream as Nogs' blank eyes stared up at him, his crippled body quivering in spasms as his ruined nerves misfired wildly. As medics rushed to the scene, Jake Sisko went nuts. Doctor Bashir began humming a little ditty as he locked the door tight and rolled some other carts of medical tools over in front of it. He had purposely bungled the operation to repair Nog's broken neck, leaving the young Ferengi a helpless Quadriplegic. For the last couple weeks, ever since he had sent word to Rom back on Ferenginar about his son's unfortunate death in an airlock accident, the Doctor had been playing out his sick fantasies on the comatose Nog. Julian knew that when Rom came back from taking care of his Brother's estate on Ferenginar he would have to either sell or snuff Nog, but he was enjoying him too much right now to think of the future. Still humming, he flipped off the light switch and walked out into the darkened infirmary. It was the late shift, and he was going to his quarters for some sleep after his exhausting session with Nog. As Julian stepped into the corridor, 2 large men stepped out of the shadows. "I'm Frankie," said one; "and this is my pal Seppo." he finished. "Our bosses want us to give you a little message." said Seppo, pulling out a truncheon. Julian tried to turn and run, but suddenly he got a splitting headache, and the last thing he saw was the deck rushing towards him. END CHAPTER 7 Unnamed Porno Fanfic Chapter 8 By MKSheppard and Col. Falkenhorst Slowly Bashir woke up, and found that he was bound and gagged securely to a chair in a darkened room. He tried to turn his head, but his restraints were too tight, and the best he could do was turn his eyes left and right, widening his field of view by a few degrees. But he still saw nothing but complete and utter darkness. Then out of the darkness, a pair of bright lights snapped on, half-blinding him. A deep voice began speaking out of nowhere, and Bashir tried to turn his head again to see who it was, but again, his restraints prevented him from doing that. "My, My. You've been an inventive little bastard. Smuggling in Trill porno inside those soup mix crates and reselling it to lecherous Bajorans for huge profits." The voice paused, then continued. "It's a damn shame that you had to go and visit your...perversions onto those two poor boys. We had plans for you. Big plans." Bashir tried to mutter something, but he couldn't since what appeared to be a ball gag was in his mouth. "There's a very good reason you can't speak. This room isn't soundproofed." said the voice with an audible leer. "Now, if you will look ahead, we have a surprise for you." Bashir looked ahead, and at that moment, another pair of floodlights snapped on, illuminating a bound and gagged Jake Sisko whimpering for no apparent reason. "Rubber Truncheons, my dear Doctor. Perhaps you're very familiar with their peculiar effect of not bruising the skin, despite the severest beatings possible?" At that moment, Bashir was genuinely scared, and as much as he tried to stop it, a dark stain began to spread across his dress pants. "Good. You're scared. We would like to introduce you to an old friend of yours, who is quite pleased with our job offer, and has agreed to work with us from now on. It's a shame that he was so...insistent on what he wanted if he was to work with us. Toodle-ooo, my dear Doctor." Another spotlight snapped on, revealing a heavily breathing Nog, who had a brace around his neck and a dark red line across his neck's skin, indicating some very recent surgery there. In his hand was a rubber truncheon, and blood was slowly dripping off it. A grin of pure pleasure slowly spread across Nog's face and at that moment, Bashir lost it and the dark stain spread uncontrollably, his piss dripping down his legs and onto the metal grating where it disappeared through the cracks. [10 Feet Below] Benjamin Sisko was on his third glass of malt liquor of the night, when he felt something dripping onto his head. Looking up, a drop of piss fell into his left eye, and he clapped his hand over the eye, screaming as the acidic piss burned his eyeball. Slapping his communicator, Sisko connected with Ops. "GODDAMNIT OBRIEN! I THOUGHT WE HAD THE FUCKING SEWAGE SYSTEM FIXED!" [OPS] Miles O'Brien cursed. Fuck, another good night at Quarks was shot down before it had even begun. Now he was going to have to spend his night checking the sewage lines for leaks, and that involved crawling through the Bilges of the station. Fuck. At least Keiko's black eye had healed by now, he thought with an evil grin as he grabbed his tools. [Above Quark's - in the Secret room] "Hello, my dear Doctor," whispered Nog as he walked over to Bashir and slowly caressed the doctor's ear with the tip of the truncheon. "I remember when you would come by at night after everyone was in their quarters for the night, and you would rape me, and force me to eat your shit. Well, now the shoe is on the other foot, bitch!" With that, Nog struck Bashir so hard, with so much force, that Bashir's right eyeball ruptured and hung out of its socket by the optic nerve. Bashir tried screaming in pain, but the gag stopped all sound and the best he did was to shred his vocal chords in the process. Nog leaned over to the dangling eyeball, and slowly grasped it with his sharpened teeth and RIPPED it out completely, severing the optic nerve, and causing even more pain to Bashir. [In One of Quark's former secret compartments for smuggling] Sheppard and Falkenhorst were watching the brutal display with dispassionate interest. "Jeez, this guy's a brutal son of a bitch." Muttered Sheppard. "Yep. Be glad he's on our side." Replied Falkenhorst as he took a bite out of an orange. "Seppo, Frankie, are you sure we're getting this from all angles? This stuff will make us millions on the Klingon snuff market." asked Sheppard. "Yeah. We're getting it all, boss." Replied Seppo as he took his eyes off the monitor and towards a book. [The Compartment] As bloody goo dripped down Bashir's face from his ruined eye socket, Nog turned around to face Jake, whose eyes were wide with fear. Nog slowly walked over to an antique wooden case and opened it, revealing the inlaid gold stamping of a stylized "S & W" on the cover. Reaching into the case, Nog pulled out a gleaming stainless steel revolver, with the words "Smith & Wesson - .50 Caliber Magnum" inscribed on it's barrel. Walking over to Jake, he held the massive gun to Jake's head, and pushed a button on the chair, releasing Jake's restraints. "Get up." Slowly, Jake stood up, albeit unsteadily on weak knees from the brutal beating Nog had given him a few hours ago. "Go over to the doctor." Jake looked at Nog with a dumbfounded look until Nog jammed the barrel of the revolver into Jake's left nostril. As Jake walked over to Bashir, inside the video compartment, Shep was agitating frantically. "What the fuck? Where'd he get that fucking gun? The damn room isn't soundproofed!" Falk took out a cigarette and lit it, and took a deep drag, enjoying the nicotine high, before replying to Shep. "Whatever," and turning to Seppo and Frankie, Falk simply said; "Get ready to move." Now that Jake was standing over Bashir. Nog simply motioned towards Bashir's crotch, and said "Suck him off, or die." Slowly, unsteadily, Jake unzipped Bashir's dress pants, wrinkling his nose at the smell of acrid piss and began to go down onto the doctor. That was when Nog released the restraints on Bashir, and before anyone could react, palmed the revolver into Bashir's right hand, pointed it at Jake, who was giving fellatio to the doctor, albeit unsteadily, and pulled the trigger. The massive 440 grain .50 caliber slug, moving at 1,625 feet a second, had barely cleared the muzzle, before it slammed into Jake's head, obliterating it in a bloody spray of bone, blood, and brain matter. Bashir screamed as Jake's teeth slammed shut in an involuntary muscle reflex action, severing his dick in his final death throes. Before the sound of the explosion had begun to fade, Nog pulled Bashir's hand up and jammed the muzzle of the revolver into Bashir's ruined right eye socket, thumbed the hammer, and pulled the trigger again. [10 Feet Below] Everyone in Quarks had started screaming and running around the moment the massive explosion had burst forth out of nowhere when mere seconds later, a second explosion, as loud as the first, roared forth. In the bathroom, Sisko was draining his lizard when all of a sudden, the twin explosions boomed loudly, causing him to bump his head against the wall and leave a massive shiner. _What the fuck was that fucking shit?_ he thought, still momentarily deafened by the twin blasts like everyone else in the bar. It was then he noticed that he had sprayed piss all over his dress pants. _Fuck._ And then something hot and warm began dripping onto his head. Looking up, he saw a dark crimson stream of blood begin trickling down the walls from the grates above. "Fuck me." Sisko said aloud. [15 feet above the bathroom and in the secret compartment] "Fuck us!" shouted Falk as he grabbed the holo tapes from the recorder, and rushed out the door behind Seppo, Frankie, and Sheppard, followed closely by Nog, who had bits of brain matter from both Jake and Bashir on his face, along with a bone- chilling grin. Ducking into a little used maintenance corridor, with all it's twists and turns, they were sixty feet ahead of everyone when the first horrific screams and curses began to come forth. Just as the security personnel discovered the gruesome secret of Dr. Bashir and his young protégé, Jake. [15 minutes later] Everyone ducked into the little-used service airlock on the outer docking ring that nobody used. In fact, the airlock's service records showed that the last time it was used was during the Cardassian occupation of Bajor, and that was for spacing people the Obsidian Order had no need of anymore. "Why the FUCK did you do that fucking shit?" snapped Shep, as he glared angrily at Nog, who was still grinning. "You said I could get even with them," replied Nog, slowly licking the brain matter off his sharpened teeth. "Well, yeah, there is that." conceded Shep, "But goddamnit, did you have to be so fucking brazen as that? You knew it wasn't a sound proofed room!" Nog simply shrugged. Falk then interrupted. "Either way, we got some WICKED footage, this shit is going to guarantee us a twenty percent share of the Klingon snuff market at the least!" Everyone laughed at that, then Sheppard simply said what everyone was feeling; "Let's book." With that, the small group of Porn Lords, Muscle, and Insane Psychopaths stepped through the airlock and into their stealth shuttle, which would take them to their stolen Klingon battle cruiser lying under cloak in the outer edges of the Bajoran system. [That night] Sisko had locked himself into his quarters, and using his Station's commander's override, had programmed his personal replicator to produce unlimited quantities of malt liquor. With teary eyes, he looked at the crime scene holographs of his son, his beautiful only son, having been killed in a brutal sadomasochist sex act by that fucking pervert Bashir. Life wasn't worth living anymore, he thought. And with that, his eyes traveled across his quarters to his personal sidearm, a modified Type II Phaser. [NEXT CHAPTER OF UPF] The GNOMES make an appearance! (Temporary replacement to the lost Episode VI) ---------------------------------------------- Kira Nerys, no longer content with the hi-powered sex piston purchased during shore leave on Risa threw the 15-inch device to the floor in disgust. Normally she would just dial up Odo and use those shape shifting powers to her own advantage, but for some reason he was being all secretive and talking to Bashir more than usual. "Fuck it, time to go get a holosuite" Kira stormed her way down to Quark's but the Ferengi was notably absent. Taking advantage Kira walked over to the closest holosuite and opened the door. "All right time's up asshole its my...What?" Kira was stunned to see Ezri Dax, sitting in a holographic Jacuzzi completely naked. She was writhing herself in pleasure over one of the jets, she barely noticed the door open. "Ezri what the fuck?" "Oh! Major! I was just umm well..." "It's ok, looks like we're both here for the same reason" "Odo not around to shape shift into whatever you want?" "What? Yeah how did you know?" "Odo has fucked every girl on this station, I only knew about it at first because I have some of Jadzia's memories. One time she had Odo morph into a Romulan ridgeworm and god damn...." "That fucker! He said he only did that for me!" "Why don't you just sit down in the tub and relax. The water is all nice and bubbly on my teats anyway?" "Did you just say teats?" "You wanna fucking enjoy this or what bitch!" Kira, suddenly turned on by the domineering Trill stripped and then jumped into the water. "You know what I like best about being a woman major? We know what we like, Curzon used to spank it with a thumb up his ass to Orion slave girls taking it DVDA?" "DVDA?" "Double Vaginal Double Anal, like when Odo turns into the Andorian multispider with the slick legs" "Oh yeah.... hey shut the fuck up its not funny!" "You think you're the only girl to be fooled by Odo? He is such a fuckin' star it isn't funny," Ezri then moved over towards Kira and climbed on her leg. Besides, everyone on this station thinks you're a dyke anyway!" "The hell I am! What makes people think that?" "Come on major, the short hair, military attitude, hell some of these memories from Jadzia about that time on the Runabout..." Kira gasped slightly and screamed "THAT WAS JUST AN EXPERIMENT!" "Sure it was, now here's the deal, quark's holographs have no stamina whatsoever, to cater to his male customers probably. I think I'm going to have to use you instead." "Use? Me? I'm a superior officer!" "Shut up, you're my bitch that's what you are. Computer, program Dax Beta Nine" Almost instantly the tub disappeared and a virtual dungeon surrounded the two nude women, devices from all corners of space surrounded them. "You aren't going to use this stuff are you?" "No this is one of Jadzia's old programs she used to do with Worf, now there are a pair of fucking freaks. I only need one thing...." Ezri walked past several harness like devices, a set of odd looking straps, and a plastic egg and finally found what she was looking for. She picked up the object, a small computer chip looking device. She then waked back over to Kira and kissed her while inserting a finger into her drenched pussy, Kira responded back but pulled away with a sharp pinch against her clit. "Freaking Tap Dancing Prophets what have you done to me!" " That computer chip was replicated so it's not just a hologram. You're going to wear that around while I control it with this transmitter. Worf used to do this to Jadzia all the time out on missions, sick fuck but its quie brilliant. I'll be in control of your every orgasm." Ezri pulled out a small remote and pushed down on the button. Kira's legs began to melt and she fell to the floor with pleasure. "I'm in control now you hear? Now get your clothes on and get back to your quarters bitch!" Kira nodded gathered her shit and left. Suddenly the naked female form turned to liquid and reformed as Odo. Odo was always in control of his bitches whether they knew it or not. He had just pulled almost the exact same trick on Ezri a couple days prior. Odo knew in his mind he was the man and even while he was busy helping Bashir get his shit together there was no way he was going to lose control.... over his bitches. [UPF Chapter 9] By MK Sheppard, Col. Falkenhorst, with Help from Illuminatus Primus for this chapter. Senator Timothy Jones smiled as he whipped his Jet-Ski around the pristine beach off the penal colony of New Zealand. Ever since the Federation had evicted all the New Zealanders to Australia in the 2350s, New Zealand's beaches had become one of the hottest vacation spots since you didn't have to worry about offending the natives, since there were none. Unfortunately, he didn't know that he had been targeted for liquidation by powerful enemies. Unbeknownst to him, deep inside his GNOMEicon Jet-Ski, a radio signal was received from a hidden transmitter on the shore, and the Plasma flow of the Jet-Ski's engine was redirected into a specially designed buffer where it built up... Several minutes later, the Jet-Ski blew up with a thunderous explosion that reverberated all over the beach, and parts of it were found by Security Personnel up to half a kilometer away from the explosion site; of the late Senator Jones, nothing was ever found, as it was found that the plasma explosion had been directly underneath the Jet-Ski's seat. [Somewhere in Deep Space] The modified Klingon Battle cruiser "Kloth's Pride", the Klingon script having been crudely crossed out and replaced with "Asskicker" cruised at half-impulse power, having been converted to a pleasure yacht, albeit one with enough firepower to cripple most starships. "Hey boss," mumbled Frankie. "Some shit's gone down on Earth." Falkenhorst whirled around in his command chair, Sheppard being away in his quarters, sleeping. The two of them divided command of the battle cruiser into 12-hour periods, to make sure nothing was missed. "Yes?" "This is coming in over the subspace news networks; I thought you'd be interested." With that, Frankie switched the main view screen over to the ship's subspace receiver array, and the face of the Federation's most famous news anchor, Kelly Antilles, appeared on the screen. "Today, in an apparent terrorist bombing, the Federation's most respected legislator, was killed." On the view screen appeared a picture of the late Timothy Jones. "Authorities believe that the assassination is linked to Gnomish terrorist groups upset over his authorship of the Gnome Resettlement Bill of 2367 and the Gnome Pornography Laws of 2368 that cut off the newly resettled Gnomes from their primary income, Gnomish Pornography." "Interesting," muttered Falk. Another player in the great game of interspecies porno, they would have to be eliminated...eventually. Turning his attention back to the news, Falkenhorst listened in to the rest of the newscast. "As well, the Gnome Porn King, who goes by the handle of "Darth Garden Gnome" was indicted by the Federation Court on 2,451 counts of Gnomish Pornography. He is unavailable for comment." "Typical." muttered Falk. "In other news, tragedy today on Deep Space Nine, where former commander Captain Sisko, went on a murderous rampage with his Starfleet Issued phaser, killing well over fifty civilians and numerous security personnel on the rampage before he was killed by security forces." Everyone blinked at that, except for Nog, who grinned evilly and uttered a bone-chilling peal of laughter from his station on the bridge, where he controlled the "Asskicker's" weapons. "Starfleet has already announced a replacement for the late Captain Sisko, newly-promoted Captain Thomas Paris, son of Admiral Paris, and one of the famous Voyager crew, who recently returned from the Delta Quadrant just last year." The newscast slowly trailed off into irrelevance about the latest stock market news, until Falkenhorst had them turn the damn thing off. Sitting back in his chair, he thought about this latest Gnomish terrorist act. The Gnomes were powerful porno producers, and also produced the most powerful hallucinogenic mushrooms in the Federation. And they were going to meet these stunted little perverts at a secret meeting point they had given them in less than 48 hours. Falkenhorst's stomach began to churn at the prospect of meeting the most infamous pervert of them all, the one called Darth Garden Gnome. It was Darth Garden Gnome who had written, directed, and produced a snuff porno entirely along the lines of the old rhyme "RayCav's coming for you". [Deep Space Nine] Captain Paris stepped off the space liner and onto the promenade of Deep Space Nine, and tried to ignore the repeated phaser burns all over the promenade, as well as the still-carbonized remains of dozens of people still burned into the walls. Apparently the clean-up crew hadn't gotten around to fixing the mess Sisko had caused when he snapped a few days before.. Behind him, following him closely, was his personal assistant, Ensign Thomas Stravo, a complete utter loon who actually thought he was Captain James T. Kirk, and emulated Kirk in every aspect, even right down to the personal mannerisms and womanizing. His only saving grace was that he was one of the best men Paris had ever seen when it came to arranging Porno deals. Too bad he always carried a briefcase full of Janeway pornography around with him, thinking that people would actually buy it. Parris tried to stifle an involuntary shudder. He had served for seven years under that bitch - who the fuck could see her as a sex object? Ensign Stravo, on the other hand, was already thinking of how to ship his personal collection of dozens of Holotapes featuring him doing the nasty with Admiral Janeway to his new duty post. [END CH 9] [UPF Chapter 9] By MK Sheppard, Col. Falkenhorst, with Help from Illuminatus Primus for this chapter. Senator Timothy Jones smiled as he whipped his Jet-Ski around the pristine beach off the penal colony of New Zealand. Ever since the Federation had evicted all the New Zealanders to Australia in the 2350s, New Zealand's beaches had become one of the hottest vacation spots since you didn't have to worry about offending the natives, since there were none. Unfortunately, he didn't know that he had been targeted for liquidation by powerful enemies. Unbeknownst to him, deep inside his GNOMEicon Jet-Ski, a radio signal was received from a hidden transmitter on the shore, and the Plasma flow of the Jet-Ski's engine was redirected into a specially designed buffer where it built up... Several minutes later, the Jet-Ski blew up with a thunderous explosion that reverberated all over the beach, and parts of it were found by Security Personnel up to half a kilometer away from the explosion site; of the late Senator Jones, nothing was ever found, as it was found that the plasma explosion had been directly underneath the Jet-Ski's seat. [Somewhere in Deep Space] The modified Klingon Battle cruiser "Kloth's Pride", the Klingon script having been crudely crossed out and replaced with "Asskicker" cruised at half-impulse power, having been converted to a pleasure yacht, albeit one with enough firepower to cripple most starships. "Hey boss," mumbled Frankie. "Some shit's gone down on Earth." Falkenhorst whirled around in his command chair, Sheppard being away in his quarters, sleeping. The two of them divided command of the battle cruiser into 12-hour periods, to make sure nothing was missed. "Yes?" "This is coming in over the subspace news networks; I thought you'd be interested." With that, Frankie switched the main view screen over to the ship's subspace receiver array, and the face of the Federation's most famous news anchor, Kelly Antilles, appeared on the screen. "Today, in an apparent terrorist bombing, the Federation's most respected legislator, was killed." On the view screen appeared a picture of the late Timothy Jones. "Authorities believe that the assassination is linked to Gnomish terrorist groups upset over his authorship of the Gnome Resettlement Bill of 2367 and the Gnome Pornography Laws of 2368 that cut off the newly resettled Gnomes from their primary income, Gnomish Pornography." "Interesting," muttered Falk. Another player in the great game of interspecies porno, they would have to be eliminated...eventually. Turning his attention back to the news, Falkenhorst listened in to the rest of the newscast. "As well, the Gnome Porn King, who goes by the handle of "Darth Garden Gnome" was indicted by the Federation Court on 2,451 counts of Gnomish Pornography. He is unavailable for comment." "Typical." muttered Falk. "In other news, tragedy today on Deep Space Nine, where former commander Captain Sisko, went on a murderous rampage with his Starfleet Issued phaser, killing well over fifty civilians and numerous security personnel on the rampage before he was killed by security forces." Everyone blinked at that, except for Nog, who grinned evilly and uttered a bone-chilling peal of laughter from his station on the bridge, where he controlled the "Asskicker's" weapons. "Starfleet has already announced a replacement for the late Captain Sisko, newly-promoted Captain Thomas Paris, son of Admiral Paris, and one of the famous Voyager crew, who recently returned from the Delta Quadrant just last year." The newscast slowly trailed off into irrelevance about the latest stock market news, until Falkenhorst had them turn the damn thing off. Sitting back in his chair, he thought about this latest Gnomish terrorist act. The Gnomes were powerful porno producers, and also produced the most powerful hallucinogenic mushrooms in the Federation. And they were going to meet these stunted little perverts at a secret meeting point they had given them in less than 48 hours. Falkenhorst's stomach began to churn at the prospect of meeting the most infamous pervert of them all, the one called Darth Garden Gnome. It was Darth Garden Gnome who had written, directed, and produced a snuff porno entirely along the lines of the old rhyme "RayCav's coming for you". [Deep Space Nine] Captain Paris stepped off the space liner and onto the promenade of Deep Space Nine, and tried to ignore the repeated phaser burns all over the promenade, as well as the still-carbonized remains of dozens of people still burned into the walls. Apparently the clean-up crew hadn't gotten around to fixing the mess Sisko had caused when he snapped a few days before.. Behind him, following him closely, was his personal assistant, Ensign Thomas Stravo, a complete utter loon who actually thought he was Captain James T. Kirk, and emulated Kirk in every aspect, even right down to the personal mannerisms and womanizing. His only saving grace was that he was one of the best men Paris had ever seen when it came to arranging Porno deals. Too bad he always carried a briefcase full of Janeway pornography around with him, thinking that people would actually buy it. Parris tried to stifle an involuntary shudder. He had served for seven years under that bitch - who the fuck could see her as a sex object? Ensign Stravo, on the other hand, was already thinking of how to ship his personal collection of dozens of Holotapes featuring him doing the nasty with Admiral Janeway to his new duty post. [END CH 9] U * * N * * N * * A * * M * * E * * D P * * O * * R * * N * * O F * * A * * N * * F * * I * * C U * N * N * A * M * E * D P * O * R * N * O F * A * N * F * I * C UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC UPF [A cookie goes to whoever can recognize this intro - HINT, Only ASVSers will get the intro] Chapter 10: Shit begins to happen [USS Enterprise-E] Deanna Troi sat down in her husband's quarters, and screamed in pain at the pain radiating from her ruined ass. God-damn Riker and then Worf for having ass sex with her repeatedly, and Worf for using that damned Klingon Pain stick where the sun didn't shine... But...there was a way to get back at them, and maybe make all this fuckery stop, so they'd at least go back to fucking her up the right hole. Hobbling over to her personal computer access system, she sat down on the seat, biting her lip in pain, and began entering in Riker's personal access code into the computer. "Computer, Access the personal replicator controls for Riker, William T and Rozhenko, Worf." "Working..." "What do you want to do today?" chimed the computer in an irritating voice. Troi could never understand why the damned computer always said that. Some of the engineers she talked with said it was because the LCARS system was based off an old archaic earth computing system made by an obscure company in Redmond, Washington. "Computer, access the medical database, in particular the one for infectious diseases." The computer beeped, then replied; "Password of the Chief Medical Officer, please." Troi smiled and entered in turn Crusher's password. All those days of hot lesbian sex with Beverly were paying off; in fact, she had fucked virtually everyone on the Enterprise for the last eleven years, obtaining their passwords while they slept, even Picard's. It was the sole reason she remained on the Enterprise, even after eleven years of doing nothing at all except masturbating all the time in her office when she was supposed to be seeing the ship's crew and faking her logs for the investigators who kept wondering why the Enterprise had the highest suicide rate in the fleet. "Password Accepted." "Computer, insert ten milligrams of the following..." Troi then thought for a moment, and then decided what to give to Riker and Worf. "_Bacillius darkstar_ into every food and liquid item dispensed from the replicators for the aforementioned personnel." The computer then beeped for a few moments and then said "Done." At that, Troi began to cackle insanely. Oh, they would get theirs soon. [Bridge of the Enterprise] Newly-Promoted Captain William T Riker swirled his tongue around and decided that his mouth was getting too dry. Pushing a button on the captain's chair, he rang up the galley a deck below. "Galley, this is the Captain, I'm getting thirsty. Send up a bottle of Jack Daniels and some ice." "Captain, you're on duty...." "I know what the fuck I can or can't do, just send the goddamned shit up before I have you fucking demoted to scraping off our impulse waste vents!" Several minutes later, a waiter, dressed in the gold uniform of engineering and ship's services walked in holding a tray with a bottle of Jack Daniels on it along with a tumbler filled with ice. He set it across the captain's arms, locking the tray into the supports on the sides of the captain's chair designed for that purpose. "Excellent, be gone." replied Riker with a wave of his hand. Pouring himself a bottle, he gulped down the entire tumbler in a single swig. Ahhhhh...that felt good, even if there was a strange taste to it...nothing probably, really. Several minutes later it happened. Captain William T Riker, holder of the Federation's highest honors, the Golden Sun, Hero of the Federation, 1st Class, and too many other awards to list, promptly shit his pants. A disgusting stench quickly filled the Main Bridge as the smell of last night's meal of chili tamale and liquor wafted from the Captain's pants. "FUCK! FUCK! GODDAMNIT!" shouted Riker as he realized what had happened. Standing up, he felt his shit shift around in his pants, some of it falling through his pants legs to splatter on the deck below. "Data, you have the fucking bridge!" roared Riker as he hobbled away to the main head on the main bridge. [2 hours later] The main head had quickly filled up with the combined shit of the bridge crew and was now a disgusting burbling mess of brown mass that pulsed like it was alive. All over the mighty ship, hundreds of crewmembers quickly fell victim to the mysterious disease that had infected their ship through the replicators, and soon the corridors were slick with brown, red, green and yellow shit (depending on the race of the shittee in question). In the main conference room, everyone was gathered around the table, waiting for suggestions as to how solve this messy problem. "What the fuck happened?" grunted Riker as he filled another pantsload. "Unknown," replied Data. "It appears someone has tampered with the replicators." "Wow, that's a fucking lot of..." Geordi paused in the middle of his sentence as he too filled his pants with shit. Moments later, the urge to shit having passed away for a short while, he finished the sentence. "...help you fucker!" "Please, Geordi, do not be emotional and excitable. I'm sure a solution to our problem can be worked out in due time." Data said, switching off his olfactory sensors. "That's easy for you to say, fuckhead! You're a goddamned robot...unnngh" snapped Worf as he let loose a thunderous Klingon fart that washed all over the room like the slow rumble of thunder on a summer day. "Unng...Uh, sir, I believe I have a solution to our problem sir." replied the Chief Non-Commissioned Officer of the Enterprise, who had replaced O'Brien as transporter chief several years ago. "Well, fucking spill it then!" snapped Riker, and then he realized he shouldn't have said that as a fresh wave of shit splashed down onto the floor all around the conference table. "Our ship doesn't have the sewage capacity to...unng...deal with this mass outbreak of Diarrhea...unng...however, there is something I read in a technical manual a long time ago, about the...umf...possibilities of using transporters to remove waste from... argh..bodies, eliminating the need to shit, sir." "Well, then fucking do it then!" roared Riker as he let loose a short rapid series of shits that shot down his pants like cannon shells. [15 minutes later - Transporter Room One] The transporter chief stood at his station, trying to fight off the urge to shit long enough to get it all set up. "Locking onto the test subject's com-badge...isolating the shit...nnngh... oooh...beginning beaming procedure." In the middle of the transporter pad, the first amounts of shit began to shimmer in and then plopped down onto the pad. "The test run on Commander Barclay seems to have worked perfectly." replied Data, who was standing next to the Chief. "Any ill effects, such as his intestines getting beamed out too?" came the question from the bridge. Data raised his tricorder and scanned the pile of shit. "No intestines detected sir, just pure shit." "Excellent. Begin the mass beamings." "Yes, sir, we're commencing at once." [1 hour later - Main Shuttle Bay One] The brown gooey mass filled the shuttle bay almost to the top, the result of beaming the shit out of almost fifteen thousand intestines and directly to the largest space on the ship that could easily be opened. "Begin decompression." ordered the shuttle bay chief officer. "Aye, Aye, sir, Beginning decompression." As the Shuttle Bay doors opened, the shit was slowly sucked out of the ship and into deep space, but at the same time, more shit arrived from the transporter pattern buffers, so the Enterprise-E began to trail a brown contrail of shit. [Bridge] "Captain...Message from Starfleet Command coming in, sir." "Fuck," grumbled Riker. "Put it fucking on." Admiral Janeway's face filled the screen, and her eyes flicked back and forth across the bridge, noticing the brown stains all over everything, and the piles of shit that were being beamed out as fast as they could be made. "Having a outbreak of mega-diarrhea, Captain?" asked Janeway, and as Riker began to protest in reply, she raised her hand to stall his protests. "Don't worry, Captain, your secret is safe with me. Why, this reminds me of the Diarrhea outbreak we had on Voyager. We had to deal with it for twenty consecutive days...Of course, I immediately deleted it from our ships' logs out of embarrassment once the outbreak had burned itself out. I suggest you do so too." "Fuck, Admiral, What the fuck do you want with us?" growled Riker as he felt the tingling of the transporter removing another ton of shit from his body. Janeway glared at him for several seconds, then replied. "Captain, your ship has been ordered to sector 202AB to this particular asteroid belt-" A diagram of a solar system with a particular asteroid belt highlighted flashed on screen in a picture underneath Janeway's visage. "- to look for the leader of the Gnomes, Darth Garden Gnome, and to locate his secret porno factory, as well as wherever he makes his psychoactive drugs. If you find him, apprehend him so he can stand trial for his crimes against the Federation." "Fuck, can we kill him? I'm in a bad mood from all this shitting I've done this morning." snapped Riker. Janeway considered this for a moment. "That would violate the Prime Direc--aw fuck, I'll let you do it, seeing as I've violated that piece of shit hundreds of times in the Delta quadrant." Everyone stared openmouthed at Janeway openly admitting to breaking the prime directive. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine." replied Janeway. "Sir, I believe she has us 'by the balls', as the human colloquialism goes, Captain." replied Data. "Fuck it, lets just go and kill something." replied Riker. "Enterprise out." As Janeway's face blinked from the view screen, Data looked up from his control panel. "Sir, our stealth characteristics are being retarded by the trail of...shit that we are emitting from Shuttle Bay One." "Who gives a damn? We're going up against Gnomes, not the fucking Dominion. Lay in a course, maximum warp for Sector 202AB and engage." ordered Riker. [END CH10] Chapter 11; The Gnomes Don't Show up (Yet), but lots of others do! *********************** Captain Hyperion of the Federation Very Large Cargo Carrier SS Valdez sat in his Captain's chair, and tried to make his idea for a penlight phaser work, using a modified Type I phaser 's internals shoehorned into a penlight cylinder when all of a sudden, a misfire happened and a red beam shot forth from the phaser lense, narrowly missing his head by mere centimeters, and instead hitting the main computer, which was the only other thing on the bridge besides his chair. "Oh shit, shit shit, fuck damnit!" shouted Hyperion, who was unsure as to what string of curse words to use as the main computer shorted out, causing a kaleidoscope of voices to leap forth from the speakers around the small bridge as random memory locations were accessed and played forth by the computer as it emitted an electronic scream and babbled around like a lobotomized man (which it was now essentially) "I like you, you like me...SEIG HEIL...One small step for man...one giant leap for... UHHH UHHH" In disgust, Hyperion re-aimed the penlight, noting the angle of the lenses and shot the speaker nearest him out. Shit, this was not going to look good on his next performance review by Starfleet. The backup computer finally kicked in, and although it was slower than the main computer, it was adequate for it's purposes. "This ship's course has been altered by the main computer." announced the backup computer. "Shit, can you change it back to what it was before?" asked Hyperion. "Negative, Captain." "Fuck. Where are we headed?" "Our course will intersect with the planet Oberon VI in three point two minutes." "That's not good." muttered Hyperion. "It is suggested that all personnel evacuate the ship now, before the warp field reaches the planetary gravity well of Oberon VI and is explosively stressed." "Well shit." With that, Hyperion got out of his chair, and stopped in his small quarters which were just off the ships' bridge to grab some of his phaser components, a few books, and of course, a rod that he had found in the waste disposal compartment a few years ago at Spacedock while his ship was being filled up with liquid deuterium for a trip to Fenrock XI. Jumping into the small escape pod which was at the very end of the small corridor that allowed him to move between the bridge, his quarters, and the small engine room, Hyperion strapped himself in and activated the pod ejection mechanism, grunting as he was exposed to seven gees as the pod shot forth from the pilotless SS Valdez, it's warp field sustainer keeping him from being reduced to pancakes as it breached the Valdez's warp field and dropped back into normal space. He watched as the Valdez broke up in orbit around Oberon VI, spilling its cargo into the atmosphere of the planet. Shit, there went his paycheck for the next few years. [Six hours later] "WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR SHIP?" screamed the Duchess of the Principality of Zeon, Marina O'Leary, as she heard what had happened to the ship that was bringing the much-needed load of sperm to Zeon II, for you see, the Principality of Zeon was an all-female society that had evolved from a sleeper-ship full of Feminists who had left earth on an ancient DY-100 sleeper ship centuries ago and settled on a new planet. "Duchess, I'm sorry, but apparently the Captain decided that playing with phasers was fun and shot out the ship's computer, causing it to crash on the planet Oberon VI." said an apologetic Admiral Janeway. "What? Can the cargo be recovered?" asked O'Leary. Janeway raised her hands to forestall any protest, causing O'Leary to think 'God how I hate that bitch and her stupid gestures'. "I'm afraid Oberon VI is a pre-warp planet off-limits by the prime directive. Apparently the natives are in the Stone Age, so it's likely the cargo will be destroyed on site rather than mounting an expensive and long recovery operation which probably will be spotted by the natives, leading to cultural contamination." "Will we be compensated for the loss of the cargo?" Janeway again raised her hands, causing Marina to grind her teeth together in frustration. "I'm afraid not. It seems our Captain Hyperion was an unlicensed Ship's Master, and as such, the Federation Insurance Agency has declined to cover your cargo." Now the grinding began in earnest. "I've heard enough," muttered Marina, and with that, she shut off Janeway in mid-sentence. This was nothing but a total catastrophe. They had spent their last cash reserves in buying this load of sperm from the Federation, and now with it gone, their society would not be able to viably reproduce itself in about five standard years. This called for extreme measures. Pushing a button on her desk, she summoned her chief problem-solver. Several minutes later, Master Operative Zaia of the Principality's secret intelligence agency, the SOS, in particular, the ultra-secret NBA section arrived and stood at attention before her boss. "Zaia, I'm afraid we have a problem. We've lost our cargo of Sperm, and the god-damn Federation won't compensate us. I'm authorizing you to do the following..." And with that, Marina wrote down several objectives on a sheet of paper and slid them over to Zaia, who picked it up and read it. "OBJECTIVES IN ORDER OF PREFERENCE (EXPLAINED IN ADDENUM) 1.) RECOVER OUR CASH BY STRIKING THE GNOMES AND SEIZING THEIR OPERATING FUNDS; DENIABLE 2.) KILL ADMIRAL KATHRYN JANEWAY; DENIABLE. 3.) KILL CAPTAIN HYPERION; OPEN ADDENUM: THE GNOMES ARE HOLDING A MEETING WITH SEVERAL OTHER PORN CARTELS IN SECTOR 202AB; YOU ARE TO ARRIVE THERE AND SEIZE THEIR ASSETS AND POSSIBLY KILL THE OTHER CARTEL HEADS FOR CRIMES AGAINST WOMANKIND." Zaia simply nodded and left the room for SOS's headquarters, about half a klick away on the main boulevard of the Capital City of Sontag, towards NBA's armory, and from there, to the shuttle port where she'd pick up her cutter that would take her to her jobs to be completed for the Glory of the Principate. [Enterprise E Engine Room - A Jeffries tube just off it] "Ooh baby..." gasped Geordi as he plunged his cock into the artificial cunt he had designed himself and installed in a little out-of-the way Jeffries tube that overlapped the main EPS Conduit from the Warp core to the starboard nacelle. The heat generated by the ship, as well as a little lubricant, made it feel like the real thing...Of course, Geordi wouldn't have known what the real thing felt like if it hadn't been for that fat girl he dated in high school. His sex life had been to say the least, shitty, what with that god damned VISOR that he used to have - now there was a pair of "No Fuck" glasses. His new bionic eyes weren't much better, since word had gotten around about the secret X-Ray vision built into them, and women kept slapping him, thinking that he had been peeping on them through their clothes (which of course he had been doing). So out of frustration, he had built this artificial vagina to help relieve his sexual tension, and it had worked great so far, and he could indulge in one of his secret fetishes; fucking the Ship herself. [MAIN SICKBAY] "Captain, I'm afraid you have Risan Hookworm." said Doctor Crusher with some regret as she put down the tricorder after scanning Riker, who had come in complaining of pain around his penis. "What the fuck is that?" growled Riker as he felt the transporter beam away another load of shit from his intestines; most of the ship was now over the outbreak of Mega-Diarrhea, except for a quarter of the crew. Unfortunately, one of that quarter was him. Crusher ignored Riker's profanity, and brought up a 100,000 x magnified image of the Risan Hookworm onto a display next to the biobed. "These creatures evolved to follow the sexual practices on Risa, and they are spread primarily through two methods, through walking over infected soil, or having sexual contact with an infected being. Sexual contact is the most common method of transmission; the eggs enter the body thru the Penis or vagina and then lie dormant for a period of as long as twenty years, and then they begin to hatch." "I don't want to fucking know everything, just tell me how to get rid of them!" "You can't." replied Crusher. "What the fuck?" "We've tried everything; the only known cure is for them to exit the body through sexual fluids; I suggest you begin masturbating heavily, Will." With that, Beverly handed Riker a bottle of Astroglide XXIV, the sexual lubricant of the 24th century. "Can't I just fuck Deanna instead?" asked Riker, causing Beverly to look at him like he had grown a second head. "It's sexually communicable, Will." "So?" Beverly looked at him even more strangely for a moment of uneasy silence before replying. "You can't risk exchanging infected fluids with another person. If your wrist hurts, I can prescribe some painkillers." "Again, So? She's probably got the damn thing along with a fuckload of other diseases." Beverly scowled as she punched up Deanna's private medical record, and then straightened in shock. "I'll be fucked, you're right, she does have it...and what the fuck is Q'onos Tapeworms?" "WHAT THE FUCK?" shouted Riker as he grabbed the PADD from Crusher and looked at it. "...communicable only from Klingons...why that lying fucking SKANK!" Suddenly, the main medical viewer beeped, and the image of Risan hookworms was replaced with an image of Admiral Janeway, who saw Riker with his pants down and a scanner over his dick. "I can see why Picard always called you Number One" muttered Janeway before resuming what she was going to say. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to delay your trip to the Gnomish base, apparently there's a cleanup that needs your attention on Oberon VI." Riker resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled his pants back up. "So? Get someone else to do it." "You're the closest ship, Captain Riker, and besides, cleaning up a few million tons of sperm shouldn't be that hard with your ship's phasers." "Primitive planet full of screwoffs then?" "Yep, Kill anyone who stumbles upon the cleanup effort. Thank god Picard is gone now, we can go back to normal Starfleet standards when dealing with Enterprise, rather than having to keep a special set around to avoid pissing Baldy off." Riker turned to Beverly, who was ashen at this flagrant violation of sentient rights and slapped her, leaving a red welt on her right cheek. "You didn't fuckin' hear a damn thing now, Bev." Janeway smiled at that. "Ahh, the times that brings back with me and Ensign Kim; he loved to be slapped in our secret sexual trysts....oh wait, I shouldn't have said that. Janeway Out!" and with that, Janeways' face disappeared, to be replaced with the UPF logo. Riker slapped his commbadge and raised the bridge. "Bridge, this is Captain Riker, reset our course for the planet Oberon VI, and engage, maximum warp." "Sir? I thought we were going to bust up the Gnomes?" "We're still doing that, Ensign. We're just making a stopover on the way." As the Enterprise swung around at high warp, the sudden changes in the EPS flow to the starboard warp nacelle as a result of the high-warp turn had some rather interesting effects. [JEFFRIES TUBE - OFF MAIN ENGINEERING] "What the fuck?" muttered Geordi as the artificial cunt sped up and began to smoke as the irregularities in the EPS power flow reached the motors driving it. Unfortunately for Geordi, he like most Starfleet engineers since Montgomery Scott's disappearance, had forgotten (or neglected) to install surge protectors on equipment they installed or maintained. The cunt began to buzz loudly and with a scream from Geordi, it blew up in his groin, spraying him with scalding hot plasma at thousands of degrees. Screaming in pain, he slapped his commbadge and imitated an emergency site-to-site transport directly to main sickbay before the Plasma filled the little jeffries tube completely. [One Hour Later] Doctor Crusher sighed and put down her medical tools. It had taken all her skill to save Geordi's life, but alas, she hadn't been able to save his cock. Well, that's what happened when a EPS conduit blew up right on top of your groin; the only thing left was a charred stump a few millimeters in length and one badly scorched ball. END CH 11 UPF CH 12: The Clean-Up. Captain Will Riker stood on top of the mountain and looked down onto a lake full of pure spooge and thanked God that he had his hazardous environment suit on, otherwise the smell of millions of gallons of man chowder would have knocked him unconscious right away. This lake was the largest of the thousands of lakes created when the SS Valdez had spilled it's load of man chowder a day or so ago. Behind him was Data, who was scanning the lake with his tricorder. "Captain, I detect large amounts of Sexually Transmitted Diseases in the sperm below; among them are Gonorrhea, Herpes, Klingon Clap, Rigellian Syphilis, The Rot, Vulcan AIDS, and Volcano Herpes." Upon hearing about the presence of the ROT, everyone shuddered and checked their suits for leaks. "Well shit, whose shipment was this?" asked Riker, making a mental note never to get sperm for his games with Troi from these guys. One of Betazoid's bizarre rituals involved bathing ritually in a bathtub full of sperm. God, it was fucking expensive getting that shit, especially since Betazed religion dictated that it had to be humanoid sperm, not animal. "The World Church of the Creator, sir. Run by one Matthew Hale." replied Data without missing a beat. "They're a semi popular group for mass sperm withdrawals." "Weren't they a neo-nazi group a while back?" asked Riker. "Yes, but that was hundreds of years ago, apparently they decided that selling sperm was more profitable than selling hate tracts." Riker thought this over for a moment, and then decided not to think any more about it. Tapping the communicator on the front of his suit, he raised the Enterprise. "Enterprise, this is Captain Riker, lock phasers onto the lake of sperm in front of us, and fire." Several seconds passed, and then a visibly irritated Riker tapped the badge again. "Riker here, what the fuck is going on up there? Fire god damn it, you fuckers!" "I'm sorry Captain, but the planet's magnetic field is interfering with our phasers, we can't get a clear lock on." "Then use a god damn torpedo, you fucking moron!" shouted Riker, getting annoyed. "Unfortunately, our main torpedo bay is undergoing maintenance, because Ensign Azeron somehow managed to get himself jammed in between a torpedo and the torpedo launcher hatch. It isn't pretty, from what I've heard." Riker sighed. "Use the tractor beams, then." Moments later, he suddenly replied, "No wait!" "Yes, Captain?" "Use the tractor beams to get rid of the other cum on the planet, but leave this lake here." "Sir?" "Do it, unless you want to be down here on cleanup detail!" From their vantage point on the mountain lake's overlook, everyone saw millions of gallons of sperm slowly float into the air all by itself all over the horizon. This caused Riker to frown. This was a clear case of cultural contamination. Tapping his commbadge again, he raised the ship. "Enterprise, once you get that torpedo launcher repaired and working again, I want you to level everything in a hundred mile radius around this lake, Starfleet Authorization Kappa Iota Lambda Lambda." "And assemble the Hazard Team, section M, and get them down here ASAP. I've got a mission for them." Several minutes later, the Enterprise's Hazard Team, Section M; appeared before Riker and Data. It consisted mostly of the retards and screwups of the Enterprise's crew; to be used as cannon fodder in any battle with the Borg, etc. Leading it was none other than Ensign Andrew Joshua Talon, the head of Section M. The stupid fucker actually thought this was a desirable posting. Riker resisted the urge to giggle as he told Ensign Talon what Section M was going to be doing. "Ensign Talon, I have a very important job for you and Section M." "Yessir! We shall try to do it to the best of our ability SIR!" shouted Talon, and he saluted with what appeared to be a cheap plastic wand from the replicator. "See that lake of Sperm?" Talon nodded. "It's your job to clean it up; as we can't stick around, because we have to go to the Gnome meeting in Sector 202AB." "We Shall fulfill it to the best of our ability! SIR!" shouted Talon in a voice that made Riker wince, even through the suit. "Good. Riker to Enterprise, Five to beam up." As Riker and the other away team members beamed up, several heavy crates appeared in their place, and Talon opened them; finding the clean up kit proscribed by Starfleet for such cleanups. Inside, he found several hand phasers, hoses, buckets, and lots of antibiotics. There were several dozen MREs and field shelters in one of the crates, along with a few wet/dry vacs with built-in disintegrators along with stand-alone heater units. Obviously, the phasers were to heat the rocks, the hoses were to suck the cum up and deposit them into the buckets, and the antibiotics were to clean your mouth out afterwards, and the wet/dry vac with the disinteator was to deal with your bodily wastes. As he handed out the phasers to his team members, one of them, Ensign John Clark, accidentially fired the phaser and disintegrated himself. Damn it, why did this always happen on average of once a mission? Several hours later, as the Enterprise-E sped away from Oberon VI, leaving behind a continent steaming hot, with no living life on it to protect the Oberons from cultural contamination, the sperm that they had tractored from the planet's surface slowly solidified into an icy ball of cum, and slowly began to drift away into deep space. [Two Thousand Years later, the year 4325] The massive engine of destruction churned through space. It had finally reached it's destination after thousands of years in cold transit between galaxies. This new leviathan had devastated it's home galaxy, being a thousand times more powerful than it's predecessor, which had been stopped so easily by a man called James T Kirk. This new galaxy, which it's inhabitants called the Milky Way, would stand no chance against it... The frozen cum ball, battered and pitted after two millennia in deep space, sailed down the maw of the Super-Doomsday Machine. Moments later, the massive machine, which had devastated countless worlds, withstood untold gigatons of firepower, and traveled across deep space for millennia, choked to death on the cumball and died. [End CH 12] Chapter 13 Tom Riker stepped out of his modified Delta Flyer class shuttle and pressed the red ARM button on his key chain remote. His bosses Sheppard and Falkenhorst had contracted a black market arms dealer to soup up the ship once they had jacked it from the Starfleet Factory where the Delta Flyers had gone into production after the return of the USS Voyager. The vessel hummed and there was a crackling in the air as the special anti-theft devices engaged, electrifying the hull like a giant bug zapper that could burn a man to ashes in a fraction of a second. Riker walked across the massive landing bay, carrying his travel case. His intel report had told him all about this place, known as Babylon 5. A giant space station shaped like a Klingon dildo, it was home to roughly a quarter million people, a large percentage of whom were the dregs of society, along with every variety of criminal, arms dealers, drug peddlers and other scum. Security Chief Michael Garibaldi stood watching the customs area for the man he was supposed to meet. His comlink beeped. "Yeah?" "Boss, it's me. The Narns say they have the goods. The deal is going down." "Good. And remember, Larson, if anything happens to that buy money, I'll put your head up your ass faster than Rabbits fuck." "Yeah boss." and the flunky closed the channel. Coming down the ramp, he spotted a man who fit the description of the guy he was looking for. Turning so nobody could see him, Garibaldi snorted a quick hit of coke and wiping his nose, walked towards the gate. Riker was mildly annoyed as the guard ran a scanner baton over his suitcase, and it started beeping. "Sir, I'll have to ask to see your baggage." "Why?" "Just open the case." said the guard. "What, you looking for guns, little man? Here's some guns." Riker swept open his trench coat, revealing dozens of automatic weapons and throwing knives and other destructive toys. "HOLY SHIT!" choked out the guard. Just as he was about to sound the security alarm, Garibaldi came up. "Relax, Freddy. This guy's OK. Orders from Captain Sheridan." which of course was pure bullshit, but the guard didn't need to know that. "Come with me, Mr. Riker. I'll show you to your guest suite." said Garibaldi, ushering the new arrival towards the elevator. "URRRRRNNNNNGHHHHH YES YES YES HARDER HARDER!!!!" Commander Ivanova's quarters rang with grunts and cries and the squeaking of much abused bed springs. Commander Susan Ivanova was in a very compromising position, but she was still exercising her customary iron authority over the muscular Narn who was fucking her doggy style. His chain necklace, the Narn equivalent of a crucifix, jangled and swung back and forth as he pounded into her with his monstrous ridged cock. Ivanova hadn't really liked aliens at first, but as she had become more and more jaded and experienced, fucking her usual squad of human studs every night had grown boring. Another reason, and one she didn't like to dwell on, was that all her constant fucking had really stretched out her cunt. Her voracious sexual desires had actually grown stronger, however, and so she found herself gripping the headboard as the huge Narn squished her tits in his powerful hands and stiffened, pumping several pints of fluorescent red Narn jizz into her. Seeing as she had already fucked 3 of the Narn's friends that night, her bed and some of the furniture looked like the a scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. In the next room, Ambassador G'Kar and some other Narns were sitting around a table, playing cards and smoking expensive cigars. These were a handful of the most powerful figures in the Narn criminal underworld. Ambassador G'Kar had invited them to see the sights and taste the drugs and women of B5, and so far they were enjoying their stay. They were interrupted by Ivanova yelling from the bedroom. "Hey, one of you fucks get in here! I'm high and dry!" The Narns laughed among themselves and G'Kar stood up. "Well fellows, you'll be meeting with those humans in a few minutes here, so I think I'll take my turn." With that he excused himself and hurried towards the bedroom. The other Narns at the table laughed among themselves. G'Kar was known to like banging human girls, maybe even more than Narn females. Soon, there was a knock at the door, and two shady looking human thugs were let in. The Narn crime bosses quickly cut to the chase. "Have you got the money?" asked one. "Have you got the goods? Replied one of the humans. A Narn patted a thick travel case sitting on a bureau nearby. "Okay, so give us the goods and you get the money." "Let's see the money first, said one of the Narns. "Open that case." None of the Narns moved. "Come on you polka dot headed fucks, either produce some fucking goods or we walk out of here right now!" The Narns smiled and glanced at each other and reached as one into their expensive suit coats and pulled out a variety of energy pistols and other lethal weapons like disruptors and burners and even a plasma cannon. The two human flunkies froze, knowing they were now definitely fucked. They had heard of these Narn mobsters, stone killers and expert gunslingers all of them, and it was no surprise that they had got the drop on them. "Here's how this works, joo-mon, you give us that cash and we give you a little lesson in fucking manners!" said the oldest of the criminals, motioning 2 of the others to drag one of the men into Ivanova's bathroom. They quickly relieved the men of their guns and complied as the Narn crime lord opened the traveling case and pulled out a chainsaw. The first human watched in growing terror as his companion was chained up to the shower bar. The Narns held him against the wall and forced him to watch. The big Narn flipped a switch on the chainsaw and pulled the cord, adjusted the choke and pulled again. The saw roared to life, filling the small cubicle with metallic roaring and oily smoke, drowning out Ivanova's cries of orgasmic release. NO NO NO!! babbled the first human as the Narn smiled and revved the saw, slowly slicing into one of the second guy's legs. Screams filled the small room, mixing with the roar of the chainsaw to create a hellish crescendo of sound. Blood splattered everywhere, drenching Ivanova's box of sex toys in the corner, the cowering human who was pissing his pants, and ruining the Narn gangsters' designer suits. G'Kar poked his head in to see what the noise was, and got an eyeful of gore. He muttered a curse and grabbed a clean roll of toilet paper and got back out before he got sprayed with more blood, and wiped his face and then started cleaning up his nether regions. When he walked back into the bedroom, Ivanova looked at him over her glass crack pipe as she took a deep drag, held and then exhaled. "What the fuck's going on in my bathroom, are they raping that guy?" "No you dumb human cunt, they just sliced his ass off with a chainsaw." muttered G'Kar in genuine exasperation. "Cool, slurred Ivanova as she smoked herself into a drugged stupor. Zack Allan leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the surveillance console and smiled. Ever since Garibaldi had gone back to his former routine of cheap sluts, booze, drugs and petty crime, he had been running security on B5. Not officially of course, but in practice. Captain Sheridan had turned out to be an all purpose fuckoff, but he was charismatic and somewhat competent when he wasn't too busy skimming off the top and chasing that hot Minbari piece of ass around the station. At least Sheridan wasn't a Catholic like the previous CO of B5, Commander Sinclair. He had been raised by Jesuits. Garibaldi had once told Zack (in a moment of drunken honesty) about how Sinclair had been a Priest for awhile, but he was defrocked because he was busted in a prostitution sting for running a gay brothel in his rectory. Zack smiled evilly as one of the young Earth Alliance crew-women on his surveillance monitors stepped out of her shower and began toweling herself off. That was one of the perks of running security here. He had paid big money out of his gambling percentages to have a respected Security Corporation from the Centauri Republic come and install these surveillance cameras all throughout the station. Zack had a lot of former intelligence agents and a few dozen skilled technicians on his clandestine staff, and they were always at work sifting out the good footage from the security tapes and splicing it into numerous porno movies that were then exported through the black market and human and alien Mafias for sale throughout known space. Along with his burgeoning porno business, Zack was also collecting protection money from virtually all the unorganized freelance criminals on the station, and he had worked out agreements with the major organized crime syndicates whereby he received a percentage of the profit from their criminal activities on his station. Just then, the buzzer on the door went off. "Enter!" said Zach, moving some papers on his desk to cover the Drazi needle gun he always kept nearby. The door opened, and Garibaldi came in. "What is it?" asked Zach, noticing the heavy stench of whiskey wafting off the balding security chief. "He's here. Just so you know." Said Garibaldi. "Good. I'll page him to come see me tomorrow morning." Said Zach. "Now go take a fucking shower, for Christ's sake." Tom Riker was walking through the gardens, admiring the massive structure of the interior of Babylon 5. He turned a corner and nearly bumped into a well-dressed man of dark hair and medium stature. Riker reflexively reached for his massive .50 caliber-hunting revolver in his jacket, but he backed down when he saw that this man was non threatening, maybe a businessman. "Hi, I'm Tom Riker. Visiting the station." He said. The man regarded him for a moment, and then smiled slyly. Riker knew his type, definitely a businessman. He could almost see the gears going round and round in his head. The man extended a hand. "My name is Mr. Morden." Riker shook Morden's hand. "What do you want, Mr. Riker?" Asked Morden. [End CH 13] *Unnamed Porno Fanfic Prequel to Chapter 14: "You Must Be This Tall To Survive" by Darth Fanboy + "Oh God No! It's Back! by MKSheppard* The Ferengi Marauder lay dead in space, its cargo of rare Romulan Fetish Magazines preserved in the dead of space. Romulans were an abnormally prude bunch, and although they liked to think of themselves as formidable, they were nothing more than arrogant snobs. Their tastes in pornography though, were more specific than their counterparts around the rest of the galaxy. While Romulan porn resembled the Vulcan preference in its seeming blandness, there were many subtleties that had to be filmed and photographed precisely. The Romulan preference was so specific, that an errant nipple or ass rimming would mess up the choreography so badly that a Romulan could lose his entire libido for a planetary cycle. The sheer difficulty in creating authentic Romulan porn (Only three or four films could be filmed each day per studio rather than the typical sixteen or seventeen) meant that its value per item was great. The Gnome cruiser "Ankle Biter" moved in on its target, while its length was a mere 500 meters it had a crew complement of nearly 1000. Thanks to the gnome's diminutive size, they didn't require immense ships holding five foot tall giants. An assault shuttle detached from the "Ankle Biter", a sixteen gnome retrieval squad. They boarded the derelict ship and immediately began scouring the ship in four groups of four. Teams Alpha, Beta, Gamma,and Delta. Team Alpha was led by the Mission Commander, Colonel Lilliput. Ferengi ships often had undocumented and custom designed cargo holds that evaded standard inspections, so it was important that they cover as much ground as possible before anyone else caught wind of this precious find. Lilliput's men separated, with orders to report back to the bridge in one standard hour. Lilliput's team began rummaging through the aft cargo bay, there was absolutely nothing of erotic value in the hold. Not even any corpses to sell on the Breen market. Things were starting to bother him, and for an experienced commander only fifty years removed from his father's asshole that was not a good sign. It was only a few minutes later before the first casualty reports came in. "This is Gamma Three to Alpha One, we're under att....." Gamma Three's signal barely got off before the large hammer came down on his head and shattered his skull with such fury, that shards of his skull sprayed outwards like fragments of a grenade. Gamma Two was caught standing too close and his eyes were sprayed with sharp pieces of bone. His vision damaged and face bleeding profusely, he raised a disruptor pistol in the direct the attacker had come from only to feel it smacked from his hand violently. Two clutched at his eyes and wasn't able to witness his own demise as he was lifted off the ground and smashed into a bulkhead until he was reduced into a limp mass of pulp and fluid. Gamma four, trained in the Gnomish Martial Arts since age two, used the ancient tactic of diving at his enemies boot in an attempt to chew off the appendage. The masked attack lifted his foot deftly and brought it down on the gnomes spinal column, paralyzing him instantly. His life as an invalid wouldn't last long, the attacker hefted a flamethrower and before long the gnome was little more than the putrid stench of burning hair and flesh, as well as smoldering debris. Gamma One's attempt to flee was halted as a metal spike entered the back of his skull, tearing through gray matter and cartilage until it protruded through his face. The impact was enough to impale him into a wall. "Alpha One to Gamma team, come in! Respond immediately" The attacker grabbed Gamma One's comlink, if he remembered Gnomish procedure properly there were three other teams of these bastards scrounging the ship. The plan was working perfectly. He had planted the rumor of the abandoned Ferengi Ship carrying Romulan porn in order to lure out a Gnomish ship. Now that he had got the Gnome's attention he could use that to his advantage, and get what he wanted out of this excursion. Colonel Lilliput was struggling to deal with the loss of Gamma Team. "This is Alpha One to all squads, Gamma team has been neutralized. Cease all operations and return to the shuttle immediately!" The pitter patter of Alpha team's feet echoed through the corridors as they hustled to their craft, but Alpha Two slipped and nearly broke his leg. "Two, what the fuck is wrong with you." "Sir, the floor is wet...I slipped." "Well no shit, I oughta....what in the twelve Gnomish Hells?" Alpha Two had slipped in a trail of blood, too red to be Ferengi, and emanating with so much evil that it HAD to be Gnome in nature. Lilliput tried to find the source of the blood and looked upwards, looking for a vent, but what he saw was the desiccated body of Beta 2 smashed through the ceiling above him, short little legs dangling lifelessly. Alpha team moved down the hallway and found the rest of Beta team, piled on top of each other in front of a message scrawled in blood. "YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO SURVIVE" A line was marked in disruptor fire at about 5 feet high, which was well above the maximum threshold for the standard Gnome. "Shit! Delta Team respond! Delta team have you encountered the enemy!" There was no response from Delta team, and how could there be? They were floating dead in space after being ejected through a garbage compact. Alpha team pressed forward, ready to engage any enemy. There was an airlock in view and beyond that was their shuttle, and the safety of their ship. Alpha Four became careless and made a mad dash for the airlock. "FREE! FREE FROM THIS HELLHOLE WE ARE FINALLY FR....urk" A nearly invisible wire strung from wall to wall, sharper than any razor, lopped off the head of the poor stupid Gnome, and it bounced to the floor like a basketball. The expression of surprise on his disembodied head was comical, except for the fact that it was accompanied by Alpha Four's bowels unloading into his pants. Alpha Three was just about to attempt to cut the wire when the masked attacker came in from behind and grabbed his head and lifted him high in the air. Alpha Three tried to fight back but was helpless. Col. Lilliput and Alpha Two reached for their disruptors but we're unable to do so in time to save Alpha 3. The attacker squeezed in with his fingers and collapsed his prey's head like an eggshell, the contents spilling to the floor eerily like a yolk. The attacked drew a weapon from his back, looking oddly like a boat oar. He swung it and deflected fire from the disruptors , sending it harmlessly into the walls. As Lilliput ducked for cover Alpha Two charged forward, the attacker stuck the oar forwards and impaled him. The front flat end of the oar crushing Two's sternum, separating the bronchial tubes where they joined, and piercing the backbone as it emerged through his back. The attacked lifted the oar high in the air as the gnome gasped for breath, and then flung the soon to be dead Alpha Two towards where Lilliput had ducked into hiding. "Come out come out little gnome, don't worry, you won't die. I need you alive." "Fuck you! I'm going to kill you so many times you'll wish you'd never had a growth spurt!" "Is this that Gnome inferiority complex coming to light? Well it seems you're a textbook case. At any rate, if you won't come out, I'll have to just force you out." Lilliput remained just around the corner of the hallway. The corridor was a T intersection with the airlock entrance where the two hallways joined. The attacker would not be able to get to Lilliput without coming into his point of view and being hit by disruptor fire, all he had to do was aim carefully so he couldn't deflect the beam. There were two choices, wait out this encounter and go for the kill, or take off running and find a place to hide until his ship sent in rescuers. But then in the back of his mind he heard it, the calling. All gnomes responded to it, it was the call made by the leader when it was time to gather, the sound all gnomes knew by heart from birth. And it was coming from where his attacker had been! His master had come to save him! He stepped around the bend. The attacker grinned, he had paid a small fortune for the Gnome Syren. A small mechanical device that replicated the call of Darth Garden Gnome and could lure gnomes out of hiding, but only at short distances. The dreamy eyed Col. Lilliput emerged from hiding and was knocked unconscious by a well timed roundhouse kick. The attacker pulled a roll of duct tape from his belt and opened the airlock, where he had placed a large coffin sized device. [Sickbay, USS Enterprise-E] Slowly, Geordi LaForge woke up to pain, more pain; he slowly lifted the thin hospital sheets to reveal....a shriveled burnt mass where his penis used to be, and let out a guttural wail. "OH GOD NO GOD NO!" His shouting attracted the attention of Doctor Crusher, who quickly ran over to his bedside. "Geordi, are you in pain?" "WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOU FUCKIN BITCH?" "I guess so," replied Crusher. "Isn't there anything you can do, Doc? The Man needs his dick, baby." "No, we don't have the technology to grow you a new cock and balls here, we kept asking for it, but Starfleet HQ kept turning us down, the bastards," muttered Crusher, who felt more anger at being denied an unlimited source of life-like dildos than being able to treat crippling groin injuries like Geordi's. "What about Cybernetics?" asked Geordi. "Can't do that; I don't have any of the necessary supplies here to build you a functioning penis and balls," replied Crusher. Geordi licked his lips, trying to figure out a way out of this vexing bind. He had to have his mighty staff back. He had plenty of bitches that needed deep dicking. Then it came to him, in a clear epiphany of insight. Data. [Somewhere in Deep Space] The independent cruiser "Turd Burglar" cruised through the warp lanes towards it's rendezvous with the Gnomes, to discuss the prospects of splitting up the gay gnome porno scene to their mutual profit In the main conference room of the "Turd Burglar", the top senior executives of GALE Productions, Ltd were meeting, to decide what kind of deal they should offer the Gnomes. "...do we really want to corner the Gnome/Gerbil Market?" asked Straha The pounding of a fist was heard as the chief executive of GALE, Ltd, Frank Hipper slammed his fist onto the table repeatedly. "What have I told you idiots before?!? A credit is a credit! We don't fuck around with such abstract shit like "decency" and "animal abuse"!" "So I guess I better renew our order for a thousand gerbils?" replied Straha. "Make it ten thousand, we're going to drive the gnomes out of that market completely," Hipper thought for a moment before adding; "These actors need to learn to stop crushing them with their sphincters, however. It's driving costs up, and we can't have that!" "And it's kind of a turn-off," chimed Kojikun. "Is there anything else?" added Hipper. When no one replied; "Very well, Meeting adjourned." Everyone rose and said the customary "HAIL GALE!" except for Kojikun who said "Hail the Gnomes!" instead, bringing suspicious looks. "What the fuck?!?! Who the fuck said that? Who's the son of a bitch who said that with a visible erection?" shouted Hipper. All faces turned to Kojikun, and without any further word, Hipper pulled out a heavily weathered Mauser pistol and shot him in the head; spraying Kojikun's brains all over the rear wall of the conference room. Holstering his pistol, Hipper motioned for his guards to take away the body. "Dispose of it, we'll recycle it into our Hipper-Brand Pet Food Syndicate. [Somewhere in the Ass-end of Space near Sector 202AB] "Where is the meeting?" asked Zaia in a deadpan tone of voice, as she let the laser pointer of her disruptor pistol wander over her informant's crotch. "I swear to God! I don't know a damn thing about any meeting!" "Wrong answer," replied Zaia, as she pulled the trigger. The man began to feel a sensation of heat on his groin, which quickly grew in intensity and pain until he cried out, "On Asteroid 44112!" "Thank you for your humble help, Citizen of the Spaceways," replied Zaia, before she shot him through the head. Wouldn't do good to have him warn his fellows that he'd squealed the secret to her. [USS Enterprise - Entering Sector 202AB] Captain William T. Riker groaned as he jacked off using the bottle of Astroglide XXIV that Crusher had given him. Finally, he came, spraying greenish cum with stringy clots of blood in it all over the toilet seat. Looking his cum, and it's strange color for several moments, he finally shook his head. "Fucking Betazoid skank...goes and gives me this and god knows what else too." Suddenly, the commpanel on the wall beeped. Fucking hell, why did it always happen at times like this. Slowly pulling his pants up, he wiped the odd dribbles of cum off his dress pants with a tissue. Finally, when he was properly freshened up, he opened up the channel. "Riker here." "This is Lieutenant Commander Gray." "What is it?" "Sir, you wished to be notified when we entered Sector 202AB." Fuck, that's right, thought Riker. A niggling thought wormed at the back of his mind. "Gray, where the fuck is Commander Data? I thought he was supposed to be on duty at this hour." "Sir, we haven't been able to locate him." "Have you checked the computer core? He loves to go in there and do... unnatural things with the Main Computer." "Yes, sir we checked that already." "Damn." Just like Data to leave me in the lurch like this. "Prepare the away team. We're going over to the asteroid once we're in shuttle range," ordered Riker. "Sir, Why? We can just phaser it into non-existence, Sir." "Yes, yes, we could do that, but then the Federation council would be all over our asses, demanding proof that this WAS an illegal pornography trading post, and why did we vaporize a hundred plus sentients for no damn reason at all, Gray." "I suppose so, sir" replied Gray, not entirely sure of the logic behind this, if they were just going to kill them all anyway. "Besides, we gotta follow regulations at some fuckin' point, Gray." "I guess so, sir." [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base] Slowly, Falkenhorst and Sheppard moved through the dank tunnels of SEGNOR's secret asteroid base, ducking from time to time to avoid a low hanging conduit, escorted by several mean-looking gnomes who would have looked funny anywhere if they weren't toting disruptor rifles. "They're here, Mighty Leader," muttered one of the Gnomes in front of them upon rounding a corner. Shep and Falk rounded the corner too, to be greeted by the most disgusting sight either of them had seen in their lives, and they'd seen a lot. Falkenhorst looked at the disgusting mass of flesh that was Darth Garden Gnome and tried to suppress his gag reflex. Suddenly, from Darth's rear end came a disgusting gurgling noise, and from a opening at the tip of Garden Gnome's tail, a freshly born gnome, still covered in mucus, slid forth. It opened it's doe-like eyes and upon looking at Falkenhorst, said "Daddy". Before either of the two could reply to this sudden change of events, Darth snapped up the freshly born gnome and ate it in two massive gulps. A loud belch rumbled forth, and Darth brought his hand up to his mouth. "Excuse me, If I had known you were coming in so early, I wouldn't have spawned, Shall we do business?" "Indeed," replied Sheppard. "We want to get the best possible deal from you Gnomes before those other freeloading scum of the Business arrive." "Ah yes," chortled Darth. "I do believe the issue of Lord Wong of Ephesius IX, is coming up at some point during our meeting. Particularly on who will become his sole source supplier of high quality anal porn. I understand you have some of that involving Archer and Hoshi in your files?" "We're not interested in that contract," replied Falkenhorst flatly. "Ah well, then I assume you won't be in the running?" "No." "Good. More chances for me to make money," added Darth in a wicked chortle that set his entire body shaking. "Since you're bowing out of that contract opportunity, I can offer you a early bid for the Lesbian porn contract for the Principality of Zeon." "We'll take that!" shouted Shep and Falk in unison. "Good, Good, Good. Consider the deal closed. It shall never come up for debate during the meeting. I of course, expect a small cut of the profit for this...service to you, my friends." "Of course," replied Sheppard and Falkenhorst, while gritting their teeth. [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Just Before the Meeting's Start] Sheppard and Falkenhorst watched as each heavy hitter in the Pornography business came through the security screen; most of them were the usual well known people in the business, like the Klingon Targ Syndicate, which concentrated on Klingon Bestiality porn. Falkenhorst's ears perked up when he heard one of the newcomers state that he was from the Angelixxx Syndicate. "I've never heard of those fuckers before," he muttered. Neither had the gnomes who were running the security screen, so they gave the newcomers a more throrough security screen than the others. "Sir, if you would put your thumb against this pad, we can confirm your identity." said one of the Security Gnomes in his sing-song voice. "Fine, Fine," growled the Nausician who was in charge of this Angelixxx Syndicate. The Gnomes eyes didn't narrow a whit as the DNA scan came through and showed a picture of a clean shaven William T. Riker on the screen, which only he could see. "Ah, Mister Ploteek, good to see you, sir. If you'll follow my associate, we'll have you set up in the conference room in no time." Riker and his away team, who were disguised as Nausicans through the magic of Federation cosmetic surgery followed the Security Gnome into a windowless room, where behind them, a heavy door slammed down, and the Security Gnome ran into a little gnomish sized opening in the wall, which promptly was closed off by a thick door. From hidden speakers in the room, Darth Garden Gnome's voice boomed forth. "Greetings, Captain Riker! Surely you did not think that we would fall for your pathetic disguise! Enjoy your hospitality at our hands, for you shall not enjoy it for long! BWHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAH!" "Shit," muttered Riker, as one of his away team members pulled out a tricorder and analyzed the room they were in. "This room contains high concentrations of Beryllium Ore, which blocks transporters and communications exceedingly well." Riker kicked a Klingon skeleton which was lying in the corner of the room, causing it to collapse in a pile of dust. "Well, fuck." [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber] "I demand a cut of the Japanese Bestiality Bondage Midget Porn!" shouted Damien Soresso, who worked for the Sicilian Mafia in North America. Suddenly, a pasty-faced man began jumping up and down, shouting obscenities. "No, this is UNCONSCIABLE! My family has controlled that market ever since the 2000s, and I'm not going to let it be stolen by a filthy Eyetalian!" Sheppard and Falkenhorst, who were seated together at one end of the great roundtable, sighed. Why was it that the weirdoes, like Spanky the VIIth always fought so hard over the fringe shit?" It was then that All Hell Broke Loose (TM) The Skylight over the table shattered in a spray of glass, and a rappelling line dropped down, followed by a black-clad figure which was dressed in black tactical gear, holding a pair of submachine guns, who proceeded to hose down everyone around the table. By some freak chance of fate, Falkenhorst and Sheppard weren't in the new arrival's immediate line of fire, and survived the initial barrage of gunfire unscathed. It was then that Sheppard saw that the commando was a woman, from her auburn-colored hair swinging freely in the in the air as she filled the underworld leaders of pornography with lead. "I...I think I'm in love, Falk." muttered Sheppard as he ducked under the table, along with Falkenhorst. "She handles those guns exactly the way I do, hell, she has the same type of guns that I do, even the same caliber." From above the table, a voice pierced the gunfire. "Damn it, you fuckers, when I shoot you, you stay dead." "She even talks like me." "Yeah, yeah, your dream date is TRYING TO FUCKING KILL US RIGHT THIS MOMENT, SHEP!" shouted Falkenhorst over the gunfire as he slowly drew a .45 from his coat. [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor] The corridor was full of Security Gnomes rushing towards the meeting room, toting all kinds of weapons, from ball-breakers, to vibroblades, and even in one case, a shotgun, which looked absurdly out of context on a 4 foot tall gnome. "Dink, Dink, Dink, Security Alert in the Meeting Room! Protect the Master! Dink, Dink, Dink!" Suddenly, a door on one side of the corridor exploded outwards, and from the smoking hole, stepped a man bedecked in weaponry. For many of the gnomes, it was the last thing they saw, as the man unslung a flamethrower from his back and unleashed liquid flame from it. Within seconds, the corridor was filled with napalm and the gnomes trapped in it were crying out in agony as every last bit of flesh was melted from their bones by the flamethrower. The new intruder turned off his flamethrower and watched with a sadistic smile as the black charred bones of the gnomes collapsed to the ground. He then spotted a Gnome which had somehow survived the flamethrower by hiding under the bodies of it's comrades and was now trying to run away. Big Mistake. The man in one smooth motion, drew a large knife from his belt and threw it with such force that it burst through the Gnome's front, after severing it's spinal cord and tearing the heart in half during it's passage through gnomish flesh. The Gnome fell backwards, it's ribcage spread wide open from the knife, and with it's last dying breaths, it looked up into the face of it's killer, who proceeded to tear the Gnome's liver from it's belly and smashed it into the gnome's face, the liver bursting with a wet squishing sound. The stranger watched with amusement as the gnome shit itself before dying. He'd always wondered what the large intestines looked like during a bowel movement, and now he knew. [The "Asskicker" - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost] Nog watched as all signs of communication ceased from the base. He tried raising his bosses over the communications system, but no reply came forth. Obviously, something had gone wrong. Well, he could help his bosses by making sure no one else escaped this alive. With that, he locked the "Asskicker"'s torpedo tubes onto the "Turd Burglar", which was docked at one of the asteroid's docking ports and fired. [The "Turd Burglar" - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost] Straha screamed in agony as a shower of sparks erupted from his consoles, and wiring bundles fell down from the bridge's ceiling. As he sat up and began to raise the ship's shields, a flashing red light on his panel grabbed his attention. The power had gone out for a moment in the Special Projects Section of the "Turd Burglar". Dear God, Not that. Terror gripped his heart as he began shouting over the commlink to Hipper that The Einhander had escaped. [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - A Random Corridor] Frank Hipper crouched behind a trash bin as he listened to the faint transmission coming in from the "Turd Burglar". Most of it he couldn't make out, but one word stood out clearly enough - Einhander. Dear God! "Go! We're fuckin' leaving now!" shouted Hipper to his comrades, who were laying down a suppressive fire down the corridor. "What about the deal and the latinium we left behind, boss?" "It won't do us a damn thing if we're all anally violated to death!" This put the fear of God into them, and they began to fall back. Hipper turned around, only to slam into a heavily armed man, who was holding a severed Gnome head in his right hand. "Uh, do I know you? asked Hipper nervously. "Call me Fanboy, Darth Fanboy. And I FUCKING HATE GNOMES!" "Really." replied Hipper, trying to get away from this lunatic as fast as possible. "The head gnome, a disgusting fucker, is just down that corridor," added Hipper. "Hey, thanks, man! I'll remember this!" replied Fanboy as he dropped the gnome head onto the floor, and jogged down the corridor, his booted right foot crushing the gnome's head like an overripe watermelon, and causing a bloody eyeball to fly out and hit Hipper in the head. Wiping the bloody eyeball and it's goo off his face, Hipper slowly turned around and ran like hell for the "Turd Burglar". This meeting was rapidly descending into total fuckin' chaos. [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - The Meeting Chamber] Having dispatched most of the Cartel leaders and their hired goons in the first few seconds of gunfire, Zaia was now slowly walking around the room, and putting a bullet into everyone's head, breathing or not. Ducking under the table to check out two pairs of feet she saw, she came face to face with a cocked .45 automatic, in Falkenhorst's hands. "Hello, babe. Fancy meetin' you like this," muttered Falkenhorst. "Who the fuck are you?" muttered Zaia. "Who the fuck are you?" muttered Sheppard. "Hey, I told you she was the right kind of woman for me, Falk, we even say the same things!" added Sheppard, causing Zaia to give him a withering glare. "And why shouldn't I kill both of you boys right now?" replied Zaia. "We just hit it big, with that porn deal with the Principality, and we don't fuckin' deserve to die like this!" shouted Falkenhorst. "The Principality of Zeon?" asked Zaia in shock. "Yep. Who else would want that much lesbian porn?" added Sheppard. "I'll let you two boys live...this time." replied Zaia. With that, she slowly drew up from the floor and emptied her SMG into the still-twitching corpse of Darth Garden Gnome, causing Fanboy to cry in despair from the doorway. "No fucking way, that bastard was mine!" yelled Fanboy upon seeing the bullets thud into Darth's body. "What the fuck is this, Armed Asshole night?" shouted Zaia in exasperation. Before anyone could crack another witty one-liner in response, the head of a Gnome sailed into the room at a high velocity, propelled by a white mass of goo. Everyone turned to see a naked red-haired man with an insane look on his face standing in the doorway, and the headless body of a gnome impaled on his massive cock. "What the FUCK is THAT?" shouted Zaia as she backed away in total revulsion, along with everyone in the room. EINHANDER LIKE GNOMES, THEY FEEL GOOD AROUND HIS COCK shouted the man, to another spurt of cum from his massive boner. Everyone slowly began to back away from the insane lunatic, before turning and running away, screaming at the top of their lungs like little girls. [The "Turd Burglar" - Docked at the Gnomish Outpost] Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink, Dink went the unholy melody of Gnome voices before they were drowned out by the sound of a light machine gun firing at full auto, as Alryium Denryle cut through them with his M-60, gnomish blood splattering all over the corridor walls as he tried to keep the gnomes away from the airlock of the Turd Burglar as the remnants of Captain Hipper's entouage ran into the airlock, collapsing inside in the safety of their ship. Finally, the last man was inside, and Alryum slowly retreated into the airlock, and sealed the outer door. "We're clear! GET US OUT OF HERE!" he shouted into the intercom. Around him, the "Turd Burglar" shuddered as it disconnected from the asteroid base, and slowly began to back away preparing for a high speed run through the asteroid field, and safety, well away from the lunatic in that old D7 who was shooting at them. [The Secret Gnomish Asteroid Base - Another Random Corridor] "Who the fuck are you?" shouted Falk as he, Shep, and this loon called Fanboy ran through the corridors. "Someone who hates gnomes!" came the reply. "Fuck that shit! Do you have a ship nearby? We came in by shuttle, and the shuttle bay corridor was blocked by that....thing!" yelled Sheppard. "Yeah, I got a ship. She's small, but she's got it where it counts!" "Good! We'll pay you a fuckload in latinium if you'll take us with you!" "How can I turn down free money?" [The "Asskicker" - Orbiting the Gnomish Outpost] Nog watched with annoyance as the other D7 disappeared into the asteroid field, damnit, he wanted to blow that piece of shit to hell. His commpanel suddenly began beeping. Looking at it, he saw that a signal was emanating from a small ship that was leaving the outpost at high speed and heading towards the "Asskicker". Flipping on the comm switch, he heard his bosses' voices. "Hey, good to hear from you, bosses. I've kept the ship shipshape while you were gone." "Good good, get the landing bay ready, we've got a new crew member joining us." [Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E] "Ohhh yeah, Stick that big black cock up my ass, baby!" shouted Guinian as Geordi boned her with his new cybernetic cock. "Oooh, I heard that you got in an...uuuhnmm...accident...oooh" "Yeah bitch, I did, I'm all better now." replied Geordi, as he slapped Gunian's meaty ass. [[Main Shuttle Bay One, USS Enterprise-E] Slowly, Data came back to life. His external sensors were recording the presence of a large amount of semi-solid liquids around his skin. Opening his optical sensors, he recorded the fact that he was swimming in a ocean of shit. Closing his eyes, he began running internal diagnostics, to try and explain his loss of several hours, as his internal chronometer and his memory banks did not match up by several hours. It was then that his diagnostics detected a part of him missing. Running a deeper level diagnostic, he discovered that his cock and balls were missing. If an android could feel rage, it was what Data was feeling now, and the feelings of anger built up in his cold, efficient positronic brain, until it fused the emotion-inhibition circuit in his head shut. Sheer blind rage filled Data's mind as he swam towards the entrance to the shuttle bay and began to manipulate the door panel. But it refused to open. The computer's nauseating bitch voice came through the shit, slightly muffled. "All Internal entry doors to Main Shuttle Bay One sealed on orders of Engineering officer Geordi LaForge." No. This would not stop him. He would not be stopped. [Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-E, 1 hour later] Geordi wiped the sweat off his brow as he porked Guinian doggy style, having changed positions twice in the last hour or so. Damn, Data's cock was a dream come true; he could keep fucking women indefinitely without having to come. No wonder Data was always so hot on fucking women. Suddenly, a banging noise reverberated through Ten-Forward. "What's that noise, baby?" muttered Guinian in between gasps. "Nothing, Nothing, just shut up, bitch." replied Geordi as he looked around for the source of the noise. Out of random curiosity, he looked out the windows of Ten-Forward and saw it. Data, completely covered in encrusted flash-frozen shit was banging away furiously on the windows of Ten-Forward. Before his disbelieving eyes, cracks began to appear on the windows. "Computer, activate hull breach containment fields in Ten forward!" shouted Geordi. "Denied. That command has been disabled under Commander Data's authority," replied the cheery voice of the computer. "The fuck... I didn't mean it Data!" shouted Geordi in the split second before the window Data was pounding on imploded. Guinian was torn away from his cock by the hurricane force of the explosive decompression, shrieking as she hit the frame of the window with a dull crack before being sucked out the window, Data making no movement to save her. As Geordi braced himself against one of the hull support struts in Ten Forward, he watched Data climb through the shattered window, a look of sheer malevolence on his robotic face. "I...Believe...you...have...something...of...mine...Geordi." [Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 15 minutes later] "Data, I didn't mean it! It was just a practical joke! Honest!" shouted Geordi as Data held him before the open maw of the matter/antimatter mixture chamber. "I believe you, Geordi." replied Data just before he rammed him through the tiny opening, in a spray of blood and splintering bone. Whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, Data quickly reattached his cybernetic cock and balls, and told the ship's computer to begin core start up sequence in 15 minutes, quickly bypassing all of the safety interlocks that prevented this due to the open door and foreign matter being in the mixture chamber in seconds. As he put the final sequence into the computer, a squad of Security guards burst into the Engine room. "Give up, Data! It's all over!" Data merely continued to whistle Pop Goes the Weasel as he walked towards the guards. [Shuttle Bay Two, USS Enterprise-E, 10 minutes later] Data, by now thoroughly covered in blood, splinters of bone, brain matter, and still whistling Pop Goes the Weasel, grinned as he entered the warp-capable shuttle. It had been...refreshing taking out those years of pent up frustrations out on the puny humans who had held him back for so long. [Captain's Quarters, USS Enterprise-E, 3 minutes later] Deanna Troi slowly stood up from the glass table in the center of Will's quarters, the smudge of cocaine still on her nose. What was that about a warp core incident being imminent? Smashed as she was, she still recognized that a core incident Was A Very Bad Thing, and so she made her way quite unsteadily, to the Captain's Top Secret Personal Escape Pod, and strapped into it. Once the door closed, the pod automatically jettisoned itself from the doomed ship. [Engine Room, USS Enterprise-E, 2 minutes later] Geordi LaForge was incredibly, still alive at this point, despite having his skull fractured quite savagely and having half the bones in his body broken. And so he was aware of the matter/antimatter injectors warming up directly above and below his head, and had just enough time to scream before his body was reduced to it's component atoms. Unnamed Porno Fanfic Chapter 15: The Violation of Miles O'Brien By Darth Fanboy and MKSheppard, with input from Duchess of Zeon Deep Space Nine "Fuck, what a day...another 12 hour shift finished and another 40 ounces drained." Chief Miles O'Brien tossed the empty bottle over the railing, hitting a pedestrian in the back of the head in the process. He then rounded the corner to his own domicile. Back when Miles O'Brien served on the front lines of the Federation-Cardassian "conflict" he had seen everything he thought he could possibly see. Friends hideously disfigured by Cardassian energy fire, comrades flung into space during hull breaches, enemy and allied corpses rotting beneath the sun covered in festering maggots. (Of course this was all classified to help keep up the Starfleet image of "sterile warfare"). Like his father and his father before him and his father before him...etc...etc, there was nothing that could faze the Chief so long as he had a bottle of scotch and a good woman to let out the excess anger on. He told Keiko all about the horrible atrocities he committed, including the time he and his squad found a lone Cardie scout on a routine patrol and exacted a little revenge for a few buddies that died the previous day. In fact, Miles skill kept his "trophy rib" in a small chest under his bed. The reason he had for telling her? So that she could look in the mirror after being disciplined just to realize how good she had it. Black eyes, bruises, even the occasional busted lip, those were nothing compared to the horrors of war. And as he began opening the door to his quarters he figured that he would remind her again of how good she had it. Maybe it was his drunken stupor, or maybe it was the fatigue after a long day of work. But as soon as Miles walked through the door, he felt a dull pain in the top of his head, and then suddenly the world was black. Keiko stood over her tormentor, for their entire marriage she had been bullied, victimized, and treated like dirt. Miles always spoke about how his daddy kept "his old buzzard" in line. Well it was finally time to break the cycle. It was in her garden that she had begun growing the oddly shaped plants. At first she just wanted to see how selecting traits could give her various shapes, and then as her research progressed she had discovered how to make the plants mold as she saw fit. In time she had perfected a perfect replica of the Human penis in cucumber, carrot, and potato variations. She knew the idea would make her impossibly rich, and she was even able to use the cucumber to compensate for Miles' pathetic manhood. Keiko had long been unhappy with her sex life, on the Enterprise she had managed to get enhancing supplements and instruments from that pervert Dr. Crusher but on Deep Space Nine, she had no such luck. When she confronted Miles about her idea for a biological sex toy business with no need for mechanical industry and no waste, she was met with yet another beating. "No wife is going to use such things," he roared, "and if I catch you working on them, I'll crack some bloody sense into your skull! You stay out of that lab, woman." That had been the last straw for Keiko. Working in the lab, with all of its various plants and phallic potential was her entire life. She knew Miles had access to the replicators and he would know if she touched them to make something to defend herself. But she wouldn't need them, because she had the perfect plan. She snuck off to the lab while Miles was on shift and perfected the ultimate weapon. A meter long cucumber dildo which she crafted specifically to take out her husband, and he'd have no way of tracking it. Miles had said that he had to "realign the quantum regulator in the coaxial shutter tubes" today. Which was his way of saying that once he got all of the work orders out of the way, he was going to sit in an access hatch, shut off his communicator and get hammered until his shift ended or someone came to find him. This gave her the opportunity she needed to take him out. As soon as she brained him, she dragged his body into the center of the room. She quickly covered his body in a special pheromone, and sprayed a second pheromone on herself before unsealing a small case in her closet. The vines sprang out of the case and immediately wrapped all of the way around Miles' body, entering his orifices and binding him completely. Keiko had discovered this vine while working on one of her various sex related projects and was nearly killed until she finally managed to neutralize it with a special serum (which is a naturally occuring serum in the human female's "special place"). Since the vine had targeted her scent, she managed to synthesize two types of pheromones. The first was that of a Japanese females', while the second was something that masked her own scent. Keiko was now protected while Miles was a ripe target. With that part of her master plan complete, Keiko now moved on to the next part of her plan, escape. The Principality of Zeon would pay her millions for her vegetable-based sex toys. The non-polluting, all-natural instrument for manless gratification fit in perfect with the ultra-feminist utopia. But that was not the only reason she wanted to go there. According to Zeon law, any woman abused by a man could seek legal aid in having him executed. This applied largely to the many refugees of domestic abuse which flooded in from the galaxy each year, as an added incentive to increase the population of the Principality. Miles had grown fat in his years on Deep Space Nine, and Keiko attributed that to the rest of his body catching up with his big fat Irish head. Fortunately, the O'Briens had invested in some large luggage before their move to Bajor, unfortunately it was never used again despite promises of a "quick stay in the asshole of the alpha quadrant." Keiko managed to summon the strength of eight generations of ancestors and when that wasn't enough, she sprayed some more of the Japanese girl pheromone in the largest trunk and the vine monster encasing her husband quickly crawled in carrying its prize with it. She had secretly arranged for some assistance from a pair of Miles' assistants who were tired of covering for their supervisor's drinking habits. And it wasn't hard for her to figure out that Paddy Orange and Billy Ulster weren't entirely fond of Miles' adherency to the Pope. Paddy and Billy helped haul the luggage to a waiting Runabout while Keiko made the final preparations for the escape. Twenty minutes later, she came out of the restroom and discarded the box of the Zeonic brand pregnancy test. Of course it wasn't an actual pregnancy test, but a communications device that could only be decoded by estrogen. Keiko activated the test and produced a small transmitter from within the wand. All she would have to do was turn on the transmitter when she got close to Zeonic space so that they would come to her aid instead of destroying her. About One Day Later Commander Thomas Paris woke up in his quarters, yawned, and walked over to his replicator and entered in the codes for his forged medical clearance. God, the only way he'd managed to handle seven years' of insanity from Janeway was through the lovely cocktail of pills he was replicating now for a breakfast picker-upper. He'd need another cocktail by lunchtime, and finally one at dinner, such was the state of his mind after seven years on Voyager. Before even the first 50mg of Valium had been replicated, the infernal machine began to smoke and sizzle, finally shutting down in a cloud of sparks. Cursing, Paris slapped the commpanel on the wall. "Commander Paris to O'Brien, I've got a replicator that needs fixing, could you send someone up?" No response. "O'Brien, if you're going to sleep off another bender, then do it after you fix my fucking replicator." Even an Irishman could be lured out of an alcoholic coma if you threatened his job...at least that's what his daddy had told him. Still no response. "The fuck is this? Computer, locate Chief Miles O'Brien." shouted Paris in frustration, already feeling the shakes taking a hold, and his gut beginning to gurgle. Goddamn Neelix and his food. The little bastard's food had given him Parmellian dysentery four years ago, and every day since that fateful day his gut always began to act up, requiring 400 mg of antibiotics to keep it down for the day, so he wouldn't embarrass himself while on duty. "Chief Miles O'Brien is not on this station," came the cheery reply of the computer several seconds later, causing Paris to curse in disbelief. "Oh come on now, the fat bastard couldn't have disappeared entirely. Scan engineering for traces of rotgut and fresh vomit. Widen the search to fit the rest of the station if engineering comes up negative." Several more agonizing seconds passed, Paris could feel the gurgle in his gut becoming louder, and he glanced towards the bathroom anxiously, and then the computer finally replied. "There are no traces of illegal liquor or human regurgitant anywhere on this station." "Well, fuck me dead," replied Paris as he came to realize that O'Brien really was gone. "Computer, state the last known location of Miles O'Brien, and tell me what the fuck is up his ass while you're at it." Mercifully, this did not take the computer that long. "Miles O'Brien exited the station from Docking Bay Six in an unconscious state with a significant amount of plant matter wedged tightly in his bowels." Paris had intended the remark as a joke, but now the mystery had deepened. Even an alcoholic wife beating scumbag like Miles O'Brien wasn't prone to shoving things up his ass. Hmm, Wife beating, wasn't his wife a botanist? And didn't she also have access to plant materials that could conceivably be used for rectal violations? "This is Commander Paris to Lieutenant Grissom, you're needed at Chief O'Brien's quarters immediately." He'd be getting to the bottom of this, but first, he needed a quick trip to the refresher first... 2 Days Later - On the Edge of Zeonic Space "This is Principate Border Patrol Squadron 48 to unidentified Federation vessel...respond immediately or prepare for boarding." The officer in charge of Patrol Squadron 48, who was known only by the pseudonym "Innerbrat", sat in the immaculately decorated lounge chair that was her command seat. What her D7 lacked in modern exterior charm was offset by the elegant interior she had been able to design, taking cues from Victorian era detailing. After all, how could a woman lead without applying her own special touch? Of course, that had led to her customizing a new set of uniforms for the women under her command, skin tight leather outfits which looked as sexy as they did dangerous. The official motive was for all of the women to train hard and stay strong so that they could fit into their special suits, but the reality of it was that even Senior Officers needed something pleasing to look at now and then, and the Border Patrol was considered the most gorgeous division of the fleet and received extra commendations from the Duchess herself. "Principate Border patrol, this is Keiko O'Brien on Runabout Red River, activating transmitter now." Keiko's transmitter began broadcasting the refugee signal to the bridge of the D7, dubbed Emasculator, where Innerbrat's bridge crew immediately picked up on the special frequency. "Ma'am, refugee signal confirmed, It seems that the lady wishes to defect." "O'Brien, I am the woman in charge of this sector of the Principate's borders. On behalf of all your sisters, I welcome you to the Principality of Zeon. Do you require any assistance?" "I am in good health right now, but I do have a male in custody who I am prepared to press charges against. However, he is a Federation Officer, in charge of operations on Deep Space Nine. So it's likely they already notice he's missing. I'm also carrying valuable biological cargo that could end the Principate's dependence on Federation sex toys for good." Innerbrat suppressed a whistle. The trade deficit caused by high end Federation clit ticklers alone was enough to make Zeonic economists cringe. To finish the dependence entirely would be a big economic boost and leave more funds available for war materials and infrastructure improvement. But if the Federation was onto her already... "All ships in this squadron are to go on Red Alert immediately. Prepare for the arrival of Federation ships!" Almost immediately after she'd given the order, Innerbrat's fear came true as a flotilla of Federation ships led by the infamous Defiant emerged behind the runabout ready to overtake it. "Principate ships, this is Commander Tom Paris of Starfleet. We are retaking our runabout into Starfleet custody along with its cargo. You have fifteen minutes to comply." Innerbrat scowled at this, and carefully composed a reply as diplomatically as possible. "Negative, the runabout is within the area of space delineated as under Principality control by the Treaty of Westphalia. All violations of this space will be construed as a violation of the Treaty, and subject to severe reprisals." "And we all know how the Principate stands with regards to 'violations' right?" snarled Paris as he shifted in his seat. Damn impudent bitch... "For your sake Commander, I will overlook that comment so this can end without diplomatic nightmares on both sides." Paris was in a bad mood, and wasn't in the mood for anymore diplomatic crap, and let loose with all the fury he had pent up against women ever since serving under Kathryn Janeway. "Oh come on you fuckin' bitch, lighten up! Do you think I really give a shit? You're in a fuckin' D7, for chrissake. Now run along back to NOW planet or wherever the fuck it is you're from, and go buy some nice shoes, okay? This is man business." Innerbrat's eyes burned with fury as she gave the orders to attack. The Battle Innerbrat scanned over her opponents. All she had was three D7 cruisers that the Principality had brought from third-hand scrap dealers and carefully, lovingly reworked into modern patrol vessels, with the latest engines and sensors, not to mention the latest weapons, although their firepower was limited by the fact that only one torpedo bay could actually be fitted to something of the D7's size. Hmm. The Defiant, an Intrepid, and a modernized Excelsior of a Mark she didn't recognize. Tricky, but doable. "Target the Defiant, and fire all weapons on it, Attack Pattern Omega," ordered Innerbrat as she tightened her seatbelt. The trio of D7s ripped through the Federation formation in a tight, precise formation that allowed them to protect each other with their shields and allow their secondary weapons free fire arcs. From their bow torpedo tubes, dozens of torpedoes spewed forth; since only one torpedo tube could be installed, the Principality had opted for smaller, but much faster firing tubes. All in all, over a hundred torpedoes detonated around the Defiant, hammering it's shields down in an instant, and burning off the ablative armor in a paroxysm of atomic initiations. On the bridge of the Defiant, things weren't much better, as consoles exploded, decapitating unlucky ensigns who seemed placed there for the very purpose of stopping said consoles before they reached the real stars of the show, the high-grade officers. "DAMAGE REPORT!" screamed Paris as he pushed the headless body of an ensign off his chest. "Main Engineering reports that the reactor is offline, and all weapons are destroyed! We're a fucking sitting duck!" came the scream from the damage control officer before he was burned to death by a ruptured plasma conduit in an instant. From the intercom panel on Paris' command chair, a high-pitched voice broke through the din of battle. "Sir, the liquor cabinet has completely spilled out, six bottles of bourbon, two of scotch, and one of Tequila are broken!" Fuck. On Emasculator's bridge, Innerbrat watched the Defiant spin lazily in space, as her lights went off one by one. They wouldn't be a threat for quite some time, now on to the next target. The two remaining Starfleet ships attempted to fire on the three D7s, but the cruiser's angular velocity was simply too high, they had executed that run at maximum impulse with a minimum of corrections, and had simply blew through too fast for Starfleet weapons to track accurately. Slowly, the trio of D7s began looping around in a shallow bank, which would require a much longer turn radii to bring them to bear on the Starfleet ships, but didn't bleed off as much energy as a short, sharp turn did. Within moments, it was the Intrepid's turn to die, exploiting the unique vulnerability of her variable angle warp nacelles to completely shatter her engine drive train. Moments after the first attack, precious plasma was roaring out of the shattered ship's drive train, and the lights on the ship began to dim as less and less energized plasma reached the ship's subsystems. Seeing it's two much more advanced compatriots utterly destroyed by obsolete D7s, the Excelsior class ship turned around and fled into warp before Innerbrat could bring her squadron around for the final strafing run. "Secure from battle stations. Remain on Yellow Alert until we have retrieved the runabout and left this sector." ordered Innerbrat as she told her assistant to get her a cup of tea. 2 hours later After the runabout had been brought aboard Emasculator, Keiko had been debriefed, and it had been decided to grant her provisional citizenship. As a citizen of Zeon, she was completely within her rights now to extract justice from the man who had tormented her for so long. Four of Innerbrat's security officers hauled the trunk containing Miles O'Brien into a holding cell in the center of the ship. Dubbed, "The Place Where Screams Go to Die", it was the private chamber used by Innerbrat to extend the reach of Zeon's justice further than what the courts could do. Of course, rarely did she ever loan out its use to those less experienced in the prolonged and sustained agony of male criminals. But Keiko's application of botany had impressed her, it was proof that an educated human female was as dangerous as any other creature in the universe. So Innerbrat decided that, under proper supervision, it would be fine to allow Keiko to continue the vengeance she had started on Deep Space Nine. The security officers had removed the still unconscious O'Brien from the trunk and were about to cut him free of the vine, which was still gingerly fucking him to try and get the nourishment it wanted (but couldn't get from a male). "Don't cut him free just yet," Keiko said. "Just use a stimulant to wake him up, let's see how he reacts to having a plant monster fucking him in the ass." And so they woke him, using a hypostim on Miles' neck before leaving the room. As Miles' eyes opened, he could feel the ends of the vine inside of him, one end plunging deep into his throat, probing his stomach contents and keeping him from vomiting, and the other end slowly but surely creeping up his asshole, through his intestines. That end was having trouble navigating the lengthy tract of the human small intestine, but it was only a matter of time before the two ends met and who knows what would happen then. "Wake Up Miles..." Keiko said softly into the microphone. Innerbrat's chamber had strategically placed speakers designed to taunt victims. Miles couldn't yell back at him, but the pain of his hangover and the pain of his overly stretched asshole caused him to struggle against his restraints, which coiled around him tighter as he resisted. "Doesn't this remind you of our honeymoon Miles? How you spent most of our travel fare on booze and I had to take two cocks from a pair of hotel staff to get our room comped? Oh Miles, I can't believe you've forgotten that. Well I'll be reminding you of a great many more things in the hours to come, actually the DAYS to come if I do it right..." One Week Later - Commanding Officers Office, Deep Space Nine Paris ran his fingers over where the bloody gash in his head had been. The medics had fixed him up during the long wait for the deep-space tugs to arrive and tow them back to Deep Space Nine. The word from the Starfleet engineers who had examined the Defiant had told him that it would take almost four months to repair all the damage that had been inflicted on her with primitive atomics. But that was the least of his worries, for Federation Sexports to the Principality of Zeon had almost completely ceased mere days after the battle. The long term loss to the Federation was incalculable, trillions upon trillions of credits gone, which was kind of funny, because the Federation officially did not allow the use of money by it's citizens, but retained significant monetary reserves for it's secret trading programs that kept the economy from tanking. This of course, was kept secret from the Federation's own citizens. To make matters even worse, Paris now had to explain this complete fuck-up to none other than newly-promoted Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Kathryn Janeway, the King Bitch herself. Muttering to himself, Paris wondered who Janeway had fucked to get that promotion. Certainly wasn't a human, that's for sure. As the UPF logo appeared on his commpanel, Paris forced a fake smile onto his face. Kathryn Janeway's scowling visage appeared on the screen in moments, and before Paris could mutter false platitudes, Janeway began screaming. "Goddamnit, Paris! First Riker and the Enterprise go AWOL while looking for the Gnomes, and now you completely fuck things up beyond belief with the Principality of Zeon. Do you have a talent for fucking up, Mister? Do you realize how much this fucking mess is costing me personally?" "Yes, of course I do, sir." replied Paris. Everyone knew how Janeway had quite large shares in the stocks of sex toys, they'd heard her talk about it incessantly at staff meetings on Voyager for no fuckin' reason at all. "I didn't fucking fly across half of the fucking Galaxy for seven fucking years just to..." Paris tuned out Janeway's rantings, while looking interested in what she was saying. It was a talent he'd perfected quite well on the interminable staff meetings on Voyager. Since her return, Janeway always, ALWAYS brought up Voyager, even if it had fucking nothing to do with the task at hand. Paris knew that half of the shit that Janeway talked about was utterly full of shit, made up by her, so that she seemed like she knew what the fuck to do on the bridge of a starship, rather than a drooling incompetent. Meanwhile, in the opposite room, Ensign Stravo furiously masturbated to the image of his fantasy girl on the screen. He had hacked in to Paris' terminal, so that whenever the goddess Janeway called, he could see what they were talking about. Originally, it had been so that he could kill Paris if he suspected a romantic connection with Janeway, but lately it'd become his latest vice, masturbating to archive footage of Janeway's mouth moving. It always brought him to a swift and exhilarating climax, even if the resulting cleanup was a sad and lonely affair. One day, one day, by God, he'd get the recognition he needed to get noticed by her and hopefully he'd end up on her personal staff. Oh what a dream come true that would be... Admiral Janeway's Office - Starfleet HQ Janeway looked at the split image on her screen and smiled. Ensign Stravo was a sloppy hacker at best, but his intentions were far more interesting. During all of that time on lonely Voyager, no man had once ever even tried to stalk her or steal her panties. Chakotay had been so timid, so boring, and any good that had come out of him had been erased when she found out about the Maquis' infamous $50 bet. She watched Stravo's face turn beet red on the monitor as he neared his finish, and resisted the urge to clutch at her own breast, which was sagging discreetly under the table. Finally, Stravo turned off his end of the connection, which was her cue to end this pointless chat with Paris. "Mr. Paris, Starfleet Command would appreciate it if you would return to Earth and personally brief them on the incident with the Principality. Plan on staying for a while. By the way, don't you have an assistant? A Mr. Stravo I presume?" "Yes ma'am but he's an incompetent little..." "If you want to salvage your career, you'll bring him along." Paris didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to go back to prison. He was an officer now, and he knew what happened to officers in prison. [End CH 15] UPF: Chapter 16 The Butt of the Hutt is the Passage to the Gutt by Darth Fanboy with input from Falkenhorst [God damnit it hurts! How much longer to we have to do this doc?!?!?] The gurgling Hutt words rolled from Jabba's tongue followed by a trail of obscenities that would make even the most corpulent crime boss on Nal Hutta put down their appetizers. Jabba hadn't been feeling well recently, his appetite was far lower than what it usually was and he was rather sluggish. For a bloated slug, it takes a lot to feel sluggish. A doctor specializing in Hutt Physiology had been called in from the Core Worlds and determined that the only way to determine the problem was to go inside Jabba's digestive tract and take a look. The immense size of a prestigious Hutt Clan Leader meant that anesthesia was not a safe option, as an overdose could kill, especially when coupled with Jabba's notable addictions to spice and alcohol. So the doctor was forced to proceed with the examination, which included a full colonoscopy, while Jabba was completely lucid. Jabba at first rejected the notion that anything was wrong and he was very adamant that nothing would go in his beloved asshole. That is until he went a week without taking a shit and the pressure inside of his body built up to volatile levels. Bib Fortuna had the foresight to evacuate the palace except for essential workers, droids, and slaves while calling the doctor to make the arrangements. But complications were arising for Dr. Asdo Rotcs , each time the doctor used one of his colon-scouring camera droids and sent it into the bowels, it would encounter some sort of interference and then the feed would stop. He had lost three of the meter long droids already and Jabba was beginning to grow impatient. [The next time you shove one of those things up my ass it had better work or you're done for!] Asdo complied, fortunate that the Hutt's own smell overpowered the urine-drenched hazard suit he was wearing. "Mess with a Bantha and you get the horns," someone had once told him, "Mess with a Hutt and you get the Butt." No one knows the true origins of that phrase but it likely had to do with Hutt criminals hiding corpses or disciplining underlings by inserting them into the lower tracts of their bowels, expelling them when sufficient time had passed, or along with feces when the next meal came through. He swathed the camera-carrying head of the droid, a Bu-66R Deep Rectal Assistant, in Dewback Lard, which was the only suitable lubricant available to him in the quantities he required. The droid emitted various pulses of low power electricity to numb the nerves in the intestines to prevent Jabba's own reflexes from smashing the machine. Navigating through the dark tunnel wasn't difficult, but it was tedious as Jabba's backed up digestion had flooded his insides with a disgusting viscerous fluid, indicating some failure in the stomach to properly process all of the toxic substances Hutts considered delicacies. After about a half hour of navigating the droid had reached the point where the previous one had been cut off. Along with a half eaten rack of ribs, and what appeared to be a human foot, lay the crumpled debris of the previous three droids. There was a silhouette in the depths beyond the wreckage, and without warning it dashed towards the camera droid and reached out to it, crushing it violently. Jabba roared in pain again but fortunately the searing pain in is ass kept him from crushing the doctor with his tail. [I thought I told you that if that droid didn't work I would...!] "Wait mighty Jabba! The droid might have failed but I am now able to properly diagnose your condition!" Asdo though this would be the hard part. Hutts had fewer diseases than most species but of the ones they did suffer from almost all of them were accompanied by constipation and a loss of appetite. After reviewing the footage from the fourth Bu-66R and re-evaluating the mysterious shadow within Jabba's bowels, he had his answer. "Great Jabba, the reason for your discomfort and for the destruction of the droids is now clear. You have a parasite." [But how, I haven't eaten any kind of corpse or festering moldy food for weeks!] "I am uncertain, but the only way to remove a parasite of that size given your medical condition will be to send someone in there to destroy it." [Send someone in? Are you crazy? We're talking about my beloved starfish here, even I wouldn't go in there!] "Nevertheless it is the only way, normally I or one of your Bounty Hunters could go in there and root it out but your lack of food has dilated the width of your intestines to smaller than average levels." [Then what the hell am I supposed to do, you think I'm just going to train an Ewok to crawl through my butthole, seek out the most dangerous parasite that has ever lived in my tract, and kill it?] "An Ewok would make sense, perhaps the furry hairs could trigger a bowel movement and release some of the pressure. But this creature appears to be beyond their combat capability. I could talk to some of my med techs and see if I can't design a droid that could..." [No, no more droids, I've had enough mechanical toys and tools up my ass for one lifetime.] "Then it will have to be a bounty hunter then, I know of a few who have experience in&" [Heeeeelllll no! This can't leave the palace. If word got out that the great Jabba got sick and had to have a stranger crawl up his ass to save his life I'd be the laughing stock of the underworld!] "Well I don't know what else to tell you, you need to find someone small enough to fit in there without rupturing the lining yet strong enough to combat whatever is pillaging your insides." [If you use the word pillage to describe my constipation one more time I will feed you to the rancor, and you can pillage its insides!] Dr. Asdo gulped and tried to think. Jabba's callous disregard for life was...that was it! "What about one of your underlings?" [I command great respect around here, you think that any of these lowlifes, scumbags, and filthy urchins are going to follow me if one of them as been up my ass and lived to tell about it?] "Who said they had to live to tell about it?" Jabba pondered the words for a moment and let out a hearty Hutt laugh, like a perverted Santa Claus hiding in a girl's locker room. [Ho Ho Ho, I like the way you think doc! Mention to my esteemed Majordomo outside that I require one of my more disposable assets, and make sure he fits your specifications.] Asod breathed a sigh of relief; he had saved his own life. But he had just condemned someone to die, either within the dark depths of Jabba's ass, or after miraculously surviving the procedure and defeating the horrible beast within. "You mean Jabba has personally selected ME for this assignment!" The short human mercenary/bounty hunter was stunned, ever since he had come to Tatooine in search of dangerous and exciting assignments he had been relegated to "bitch" status by the other hunters and the palace guards. If it wasn't the same old derogatory human jokes, it was the same old derogatory short jokes. Elfdart wasn't a small man by any means, he could beat any Jawa in a game of basketball, butt in a society dominated by the ever-fattening Hutts, small just didn't cut it. However, through some miracle, he was getting his chance. "Jabba has decreed that you are to be the one to assist him in this matter of... great importance." Bib Fortunate gave the typical Twi'lek toothy grin, for different reasons though than it appeared. Jabba required a sacrificial nerf to destroy the parasite roaming his intestines, and the human merc Elfdart was the only one small enough to fit inside Jabba's shrunken digestive tract. He was also a clown, during one regrettable episode he stumbled and accidentally dropped a thermal detonator into the rancor pit. The entire palace should have been obliterated, but the detonator had only been a casing. Elfdart carried it around from time to time to show it off and so he could gain leverage. The accident however cost him most of his weapon privileges within the palace, and in Jabba's establishments in Mos Espa. Elfdart was not allowed on palace grounds with anything more than a stun stick and a small holdout blaster. If Elfdart failed, which he was likely to do, the Bib Fortuna would become master of Jabba's domain. Tatooine would become his, as would vast fortunes. Elfdart was thrilled to death just to have any sort of assignment, he'd have done it pro bono in a heartbeat even if it was his only way of earning prestige, but this was too easy. Drawing upon his sublime negotiating skills, he took the first steps that would one day earn him a fortune. "I'd like to discuss my fee." Bib Fortuna sighed; this was a huge breach of etiquette for the 'bitch' hunter to initiate talks like that. But what did it matter? He was going to die the most gruesome death imaginable in the galaxy anyway. "What? Oh sure, how does say, five thousand credits sound?" Elfdart was taken aback; five thousand would buy him some great new toys to play with, or maybe a ship! Boba Fett was always getting tail because of Slave I, so why couldn't he? But no, he was in control here, Jabba had need of his talents and his talents wouldn't come cheaply. "Make it five thousand and fifty, this is the premier league you are dealing with not some rookie." Fortuna suppressed a chortle; this guy was over the top. "Five thousand and ten it is." "And I want my weapons privileges back." Fortuna nearly choked; there was still the miniscule risk Elfdart could succeed. "That I cannot do." Elfdart sneered at Fortuna, stewing like an eight year old who had his Legos taken away from him. Boba Fett always got tail, holding out his rifle, or his Madalorian repeater, or whatever new toy he had taken from some Imperial Armory. If Boba Fett could get tail from carrying around blasters, so could he. "You drive a hard bargain Fortuna, you are a credit to your Twi'lek species. Then at least rescind the ban on blaster rifles, I'll stow grenades on the new ship I'm going to buy with my five thousand and ten credits." "...Fine, whatever." Elfdart had done it! He had outwitted the infamous Bib Fortuna at the negotiating table! A Twi'lek! This made up for the 'Boba Fett' motivation tapes he bought on Ryloth, the Twi'lek had lied however, it wasn't Boba Fett's voice at all on those tapes! "Then we have a deal, I thank you for the..." "Shut up you idiot, follow me." The two descended into the lower layers of the palace and towards a private chamber Jabba's personal physcian had used until his untimely death during a physical, nobody tells Jabba to turn and cough. The room was set up as a miniature Hutt hospital. Lying on the large repulsor couch-turned-gurney in the center of the room was a near lifeless Jabba, who lay on his belly while a pulley suspended the back part of his tail in the air, allowing for access to his starfish. Jabba's eyes appeared to be completely frozen, when suddenly his head sprang to life in fear and anger. [YOU BROUGHT _HIM_ IN HERE! FORTUNA YOU IDIOT!] "He is the only one of your soldiers who fits those special requirements you and I discussed..." Jabba thought it over for a few minutes, he wanted to object, slide off the couch, and crush Fortuna into a fine paste. But time was running short, and the folds in Jabba's fat were receding, a multitude of misplaced snack foods and dead animals were now steadily falling from his shrinking girth. [Did you at least check him for explosives?] "Yes, he will only take in there what the good Dr. Asdo gives him to accomplish the task." [Then...it is time...*sob*] Elfdart was absolutely confused as Dr. Asdo approached him. "So you are the one who is going in there hmmm? Well you look about right, now hurry up and get into the hazard suit, Jabba is running out of time." "Out of time? What in the seven Sith circles of hell do you want me to do?" "Jabba is dying, an intestinal parasite has taken control of his stomach functions, you have to go in there and kill it." "You gotta be fucking kidding me." Asdo pointed to Jabba's lifted tail, and the swelling pink and red flesh hole at the base underneath. "You see that? That's the asshole of a constipated Hutt. The shit has begun to coagulate in the rectum, it is just dense enough to block flow but you can still crawl through it with a hazard suit on. We'll partially unfold the sphincter with a mild local anesthetic, enough so you can slip through to seek out and find what is killing Jabba." Elfdart vomited into his mouth, then swallowed it back down. It tasted very sour, but with a very sweet aftertaste that reminded him of mangoes. This was a ludicrous assignment, but then again five thousand and ten credits was a ludicrous amount of money. And then there was prestige; Bib Fortuna had mentioned special qualities. Elfdart was the only one who could do it, Boba Fett even couldn't. If Boba Fett could get tail serving Jabba the Hutt, so could he. Dr. Asdo began applying the local anesthetic and Jabba's ass relaxed slightly, a small slow trickle of poo not unlike jelly on a downward slope began to leak out, but not even a slight fraction of the amount required to ease Jabba's pain. Elfdart started by inserting his leg, but the Doctor admonished him. "It's going to be a tight passage until you reach the stomach, you'll have to crawl headfirst to the target." It was a tight fit at first but it was made easier by the heavily lubricated helmet provided by the doctor. A modified stormtrooper helmet with a visual feed not unlike the colonoscopy droids used earlier. He gently pried open the passage further and his entire head was in. Bib Fortuna walked out of the room to avoid Jabba's displeasure as he began cackling maniacally, the sight of Elfdart with his head up Jabba's as to hilarious to ever forget. Elfdart tired to ease his arms in, but his stun stick accidentally came loose from his belt and hit Jabba's balls, causing a reflex in the leviathan slug. The sphincter tightened around Elfdart's neck and he began to choke! Thinking on his feet, Dr. Asdo grabbed a large rib spreader and jammed it in, using it to pry open the asshole, and maintain the loosening effect of the local anesthetic. Elfdart caught his breath and began squirming through the mud filled bowels. Despite the nearly claustrophobic situation, he couldn't help the feeling that he was being watched... Chapter 16 Part III: Journey to the Center of Jabba's Bowels If taking a shit could be considered "cooking the brown carrot", then the carrots of Nal Hutta would win every gardening award in the galaxy. Elfdart had proceeded through nearly fifty meters of Jabba's ass; the logistics of the Hutt digestive system absolutely baffled him. The skeleton of a kowakian monkey lizard floated past in a slow float that seemed almost serene. Elfdart kept his hand close to the blaster at his hip. He wished he had the stun stick with him; it was too cramped for anything but close quarters combat. He also patted his hand over the side pocket, where the doctor had given him a box of special capsules. He said they were a "Fecal de-coagulating agent and pyloric muscle relaxant", whatever that meant. It didn't matter, as soon as he escaped from this nightmare he'd get his credits, buy a ship, and get as far away from Tatooine as he possibly could. Another lonely fifty meters passed, Elfdart's mind began to wander and he constantly had to refocus himself, it was too dangerous in here to lose concentration. The remains over meals, silverware and all littered the landscape in front of him. Suddenly there was a violent shaking, and Elfdart's body bounced against the intestinal walls, encrusted debris shook itself free, falling gently through the liquid shit to create an obstruction. Somewhere outside, it sounded like thunder... [HURRY UP YOU GAMMOREAN SWINE CUNT! THIS IS TAKING TOO LONG!] A frantic and exhausted Jabba repeatedly slammed his hands into his belly, in a desperate attempt to shake the contents loose and expel the invader of his treasured tract. Jabba released an anal salute through what little opening he had, spraying a fair amount of brownie batter onto Bib Fortuna, who was guarding the exit to Jabba's ass with a blaster to ensure Elfdart's demise. Fortuna cursed silently, and calmed his self by reminding himself that once it was certain Jabba would die, he would make a swift escape through a nearby trap door. He figured that there would be enough buildup inside Jabba to rival that of Mos Eisley's most infamous public toilet, the "Deep Dome". Elfdart dug his way through the debris, and pushed some of it to the side when he came across a set of wreckage that didn't look like anything Jabba would eat at all. Perhaps these were the bu-66R colonoscopy droids that the doctor had mentioned. Elfdart gulped, he must be getting close to the awful wretched source of this madness. There were legends in the universe of subhuman mutants that devolved beneath the larger cities like Coruscant, of nightmarish creatures that travel the black depths of space, and of horrible beasts conceived from the dark side of the force. No black pit of hatred the Sith had ever thought of could be so foul, he thought. Finally, after hours and hours of crawling he had crawled into a larger chamber, thousands of gallons of liquefied dung surrounded him. He stepped forward, panicked, and attempted to turn back, but he had lost his way! He was no longer able to find the tunnel what would lead him free! There was a disturbance in the feces in front of him, and then he felt a wave ripple over him. Something...something was swimming in here! But where was here? He tried to trudge forward but the feces began to further harden and gel, movement was becoming increasingly difficult. [Who dares trespass...my home...my home...] Elfdart could hear the language, flawless Huttese, it almost sounded like Jabba. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe Jabba was just screaming his head off outside. [You...not belong...] Now he knew he wasn't hearing things something was talking to him! "Who's there? I...I...I come on behalf of Jabba the Hutt!" [Jab...ba? Broth....er?] Whatever this was it must be deranged. It was speaking nonsense. Elfdart didn't have a problem with that, insane people were easily distracted by the voices in their heads and thus, easier targets. "Come out you parasite, it's time for you to go!" [Ohhhh Hooo hoooo...] That was the trademark Jabba laugh, but how could this parasite have replicated it so easily? Wait a minute, hadn't he mentioned the word 'brother'? What sort of twisted creation could this be? [I go nowhere...not yet...soon I am free...] "Free? Free of what?' [Free of...broth...er...Free of...womb] Elfdart pondered a bit, while it was true that Hutts were hermaphroditic they surely didn't give birth from the stomach. Although with Hutts you could never be sure. [I explain....] Suddenly a slug like creature began to emerge through the darkness, and suddenly what looked hike a mini-Jabba was staring right back at Elfdart! Elfdart wanted to scream but the mini-Hutt held him tightly. [The poop...explains all...] A cylinder of fecal matter pushed outward and away, created what appeared to be a bubble, but its purpose became clear when the images started appearing within the bubble. Apparently this parasite could psychically control the dung somehow. Two young embryos sat side by side within a womb. Both hungered to be born so they could seek out and dominate their surroundings. However, while one smaller brother dreamed of conquering the world outside, the other larger brother focused on eliminating his competition on the inside, the larger brother devoured his sibling within the womb and his victory was complete, or so he thought. The smaller embryo was influenced by the Reevian stem-cell process. The Stem Cells reformed within his brother and reconstituted in the form of an even smaller brother, which would remain diminutive, hiding in the digestive tract until one day he would be strong enough to take control of his brother's body and get revenge. The enlightenment was almost as bad as the mystery. Jabba had consumed his brother in the womb, but the brother survived inside Jabba, and was now seeking vengeance by holding his older brother's colon hostage. [Now...you know...too much!] "Fuck!" Jabba's brother tightened his grip on Elfdart, and several of the seals on the hazard suit began to leak. Shit began pouring into the suit and was weighing down his limbs substantially. He tried the blaster, but couldn't get to the trigger. That left him with the fecal de-coagulants...or as some people like to call them...laxatives. Dr. Asdo and Bib Fortuna were viewing through Elfdart's visual feed and were absolutely stunned. Then they noticed that Elfdart was quickly overpowered. "He only has one chance left! Use the pills damnit!" "Uhhh, what exactly was in those pills anyway doc?" "Special Laxatives, extra powerful. However they have to be introduced at the source of the blockage. Vets usually use them for sick Rontos and Gungan Fambaas." "Aren't Fambaas the size of a skiff?" "Skiff smiff! They're about the size of an Imperial walker!" "And how does this laxative work?" "Well once he cracks the pill a powerful de-coagulant is released, I used the big words like that because that bastard aint smart enough to figure it out if I use them" Fortuna scowled; he didn't know what it meant either. "You do realize what's going to happen when he uses the pill don't you?" "Ummmm I'm not sure, why don't you just tell me." "That chemical is going to react quickly with any feces it touches, the nearly solid ass karma is going to liquefy almost instantaneously, which would make it easy for Jabba's muscles to force out of his stomach." "Oh...well... I knew that." "The lower floor of the palace and possible the entire facility is going to flood." "I said I knew th....wait, say that again?" At that very moment Elfdart managed to get one of his arms free, the shit had leaked in up to his neck now, and it was getting even more solid. Somehow Jabba's brother was increasing the density of the poo at will! With the free hand he grasped his blaster. He fired a few shots into mini-Jabba's hide and he backed off, swimming into the depths where he had a huge stealth advantage. Elfdart managed to get to the pills, not hesitating for but a second, he unclasped the whole box... (Imperial Star Destroyer Ashlee Simpson Live: In orbit over Tatooine) The ensign at the sensor console couldn't believe it. "Commander, I'm getting strange readings from the dune sea." "Any signs of Rebel Activity?" "Not exactly, I'm picking up a heavy burst of methane gas, as well as a few other trace gases our computer can't identify. Standard prodcedure is to declare a bio contamination area and garrison it off." "Fuck that, this is Tatooine. The whole place is contaminated. Just keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't harm the local barracks." Inside of Jabba's Palace An incredibly relieved Jabba the Hutt lay prostrate on his repulsor couch, and smiled. For the first time in his life he knew joy. (Outside of Jabba's Palace) The entire building was flooded, or partially flooded. The force of the fecal blast expelled thousands of gallons of thin brownish green slime throughout the palace, in fact so much that it began to flow out of the palace itself and into the surrounding sand, turning it an unforgivable color. For once, there was a place on Tatooine that was even more foul to be downwind of than Mos Eisley. The B'omarr monks of the palace would be furious, and knowing Jabba's lack of janitorial services they would be forced into all the cleaning. The expulsion of slime had been so great, that it propelled Elfdart and Jabba's twin far from the palace, the two collapsed near each other. The diminutive Hutt's eyes were weak against the twin suns. He was finally free. Elfdart looked over at his former enemy. "What will you do now?" [I think, I'll find a place I can call my own now. Someplace that isn't full of intestinal fluids and organs. Someplace I can call home.] Elfdart watched as the Hutt crawled for about twenty meters, only to fall into the waiting mouth of a Sarlaac. Tragic as it may have been he was a true mercenary warrior now. He had crawled through Jabba's asshole, battled a great enemy, and lived to tell about it. He had ascended, and he would collect his five thousand and ten credits. Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. Elfdart turned and saw...BOBA FETT??? "I got a call from Bib Fortuna, I hear you're the idiot responsible for the sewer malfunction in the palace." "Sewer malfunction? Oh no way man, it's like this. Jabba was all constipated and shit right? So Bib Fortuna hires me to craw up his ass and clear out a parasite, but it wasn't just a parasite it was Jabba's twin brother that he devoured in the womb who was trying to kill Jabba so he could take over. I fought and defeated him using super powerful laxative and that's how I ended up here." "You expect me to believe that? Anyway, Fortuna said the bounty on you was five thousand credits. Easy money." Elfdart reached for his blaster, but it had washed away in the flood. He stopped to laugh at himself; he was a fool for asking for the ten credits extra. Fortuna had put a bounty on his head for a mere five thousand, when he was worth at least five thousand and ten, but it was more than that. Elfdart knew too much for once in his life, and he resigned himself to his fate. Then he realized that Boba Fett was standing in front of him with a blaster in each hand, so he did the more practical thing and attempted to flee, but the shit soaked hazard suit weighed him down and Boba Fett plugged him right through the back of the head. Upon death Elfdart's bowels emptied, adding a fitting end to an absolutely abhorrent escapade. UPF Chapter 17: (Note- There is no Chapter 17 Dumbass! Instead Enjoy some Random UPF Shit!) -Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck: (slang, vulgar) Jem'Hadar usually Clusterfuck in groups of three or four, but it can include up to one hundred different scaly spiked bodies, witht he spikes causing great injury. The slang applies to a situation that has gone from bad to worse. Example: Shit, I was already late for work but then my car broke down and suddenly I was in a Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck. -Neutral Zone (slang) To keep ones distance from others while suffering from bad breath,flatulence, B.O., or any similar foul smelling aspect of bodily function. The term is usually used in polite society where expletives are unfit for conversation and also to limit embarassment. Example: Oh dear I ate too many deviled eggs today, if you'll excuse me I need to establish a neutral zone for a while. -Genesis Device (slang, vulgar) The original Genesis Device was a good idea that went bad. This was adapted into a slang term for the action that occurs when someone farts, but accidentally shits themselves. Hence, a good idea (the fart) that went wrong (muddy undies.) May be used in conjuction with 'Neutral Zone' (see previous entry). Known as a "shart" in the 21st Century. Example: After eating deviled eggs I went to establish a Neutral Zone but accidentally created a Genesis Device. -On the Voyager (slang, vulgar) 1. One who takes too long in the bathroom. Example: Damn, you were On the Voyager for so long I nearly left without you. 2. Someone who is taking a long time to take a dump. Example: "What are you doing in there?" "I'm On the Voyager!" -Fingered by Janeway (slang, vulgar) The unpleasant feeling from the splash created in a toilet during a bowel movement, usually cold and accompanied by unwanted moisture on the butt cheeks. Example: I had been waiting all day to take a shit and when I finally did I was 'Fingered by Janeway'. Addendum: Usually used in conjunction with the term "Dropping a Depth Charge" -Dropping a Depth Charge (slang, vulgar) A massive bowel movement which creates an unpleasant splashing of water against the exposed buttocks (see "Fingered by Janeway"). Slang is in reference to 20th/21st century weaponry designed for anti submersible warfare which create huge fountains of water at sea. Example: I was on the toilet Dropping a Depth Charge and suddenly I was being "Fingered By Janeway". -Skank and Bank (slang) Term which applies to a brothel owner or pimp who is owed money by one of his employees. The prostitute (the skank) hands over her earnings (the bank). A parody of the slogan used for "Shake and Bake" seasonings in the late 20th century. Example: "Bitch where's my money?" "It's skank and bank! And I helped!" -Warp Core Breach Incident caused when one consumes excessive amounts of digestively unstable food or drink, such as Welch's Grape Juice or multiple Polish Sausages, either alone or in combination. Such an event can be identified by a foul smell, and wet brown footprints leading to the bathroom. Example: "I had just gotten up from the dinner table when I suffered a Warp Core Breach all over the dining room floor." ----------------------------------------------------------- -UPF After School Special: Stewie and Revprez Get Scammed- ----------------------------------------------------------- "Okay, so three nihlists walk into a bar, the first guy orders a beer and a cactus..." Stewart asked "Yeah i've heard this one, 'So the bartender says, what a buncha pricks!', tell me something my grandpa doesn't know." said Revprez There was an uneasy silence between the two men. the awkward silence began eating away at each other. Knowing that the time would pass much quicker if there was some kind, any kind, of discussion going on. The two men were eagerly awaiting their contact's arrival. Two of the greatest minds in galactic history, waiting for the opportunity of a lifetime and yet not one had a thing to say to the other. Stewart decided to break the tension. "Say, if someone dared you to eat either dog shit or human shit, which would you pick?" "Say what? That's fucking gross man, I wouldn't eat shit." REvprez shook his head and disgust and flashed a gang sign indicating his attendance of M.I.T (Mental Institution for Tards) "Yeah I know but what if like, someone held a gun to your head and told you that you had to pick." deadpanned Steward, head of the galaxy-renowned Strategic Defense Instatute. "Well if some nigga had a gun to my scalp and said he'd bust a cap, sheeeeeeeit, I think i'd have to go with the dog shit then." "Yeah but, why the dog shit?" "I dunno man, I guess its like we gotta deal with all kinds of shit, but we don't want to deal with our own shit. I mean we flush our crap but like dogs and cats we gotta scoop up, and that smells nasty but if you own a pet you don't really mind all that much." "I hear you." "Plus its like, I mean if you eat someones shit, they're gonna be all like. 'Bitch you just ate my shit man! You're a shit eater!' Aint no dog gonna start talking and raggin' on you for eatin' its shit." "Okay, so you'd eat dogshit instead of human shit, but if its more acceptable to eat dogshit than human shit then why is it more acceptable to fuck humans over dogs." "Man I don't like where the fuck this is goin." "Just hear me out, I mean I totally totally have a holo-girlfriend stored on a portable hard drive, but like why is it more acceptable to eat dogshit, but not acceptable to fuck it?" "Ummm like, because its a fucking dog man, that's nasty. You're nasty, and I oughta bust a cap in your ass." "Oh you think its nasty to fuck dogs, then you must have thought what I did to your mother last night was really nasty." "Why you motherfucker....." Reverprez and Stewart began sissy slapping each other repeatedly, each of them desperately trying to injure the other though never coming close as they leaned their heads away from each others' lightning fast barrage of sissy slaps, each one capable of delivering a miderate non-stinging blow to the face, potentially wreaking havoc on the frame of a pair of glasses. "Genetlemen when you are done with your 'who has the not-smallest dick' competition is over let us get down to business... The two nerds turned their attention towards the shadowy guise and upon discovering his identity, the two super geniuses nodded. "To what do we owe the pleasure? You must be the one who contacted us about getting super fantasticness." said Stewart. Revprez ran around incessantly citing various rap lyrics until he was sedated by a tranquilizer dart from the guise. "Yes we do have business regarding that individual," claimed the guise, who revelaed his hood to be.......... RON MEXICO! In the end Ron Mexico scammed them both out of seventy dollars. The End.