Apolyton Wars - A new story adventure

[Stefu]

Meanwhile, yet again, despite being both a prolific well-known and well-loved(!?!) poster, Stefu doesn't get used in a story.

[Ben Kenobi]

Stefu the protocol droid lies upside-down in the sand...

Happy?

[Az]

I have a piece of the story ready.

[Az]

( You asked for it, Stefu. )

Grand Admiral Boris returned to his quarters. His main room was an astonishingly designed, and well decorated. The leather covered sofa, The elegant carpet, and the penis-shaped videophone stand in the corner, they all came together to form a masterpiece of enterior design.

In a couple of hours, they'll arrive to the target planet, Boris thought, testing their newest weaponary in the goal of spreading joy and pride throughout the universe. Another planet converted to follow the design and the aesthetics of Starchild. Another great victory, he mused. Is there anything yet to do, any challenge left?

The sound of the intercom ring, no matter how sweet and soothing, interfered with his thoughts. A very rare occurance, since the Admiral's mandatory beauty sleep was a steel-strong ritual, and anyone disturbing him, had better have a pretty marvellous reason to do it, .. or else. "Who is it?" Boris, irritated, asked.

"It's me, sir, Stefu, I am sorry to interrupt your sleep, your gayness, But this is very important", a high-pitched voice, answered on the other side.

"Come in, Stefu" Boris said, somewhat surprised. Stefu had his weird moments, but he would never be stupid enough to interrupt the sleep of the grand admiral. He must have brought some truly disturbing news.

"I am so sorry, master, to interrupt your beauty sleep" , said Stefu. Boris, looked at him and smiled. Stefu, a four-feet tall transsexual, was a long time operative for the empire. Enlisted back in the Liberation wars, he's been a loyal servant to Starchild and the Pantheon much before the empire came into being, providing top-notch human intelligence resources, from behind enemy lines.

"so what is it, Stefu", asked Boris.

"sweet sir, I think me may have a problem".

[Datajack Franit]

This avatar looks somehow easy to get banned with

[Boris Godunov]

Mwahahaha, I weaseled out of rehearsal tonight...woohoo!

Stefu: We were on PAGE ONE for pete's sake. Well, Az gave ya what ya asked for

-------------------------------------------

Mere minutes before Albert Speerwalker had seen the pod fall to his planet, the following occured in space high above:

Turbolaser blasts rocked the tiny, squat and squarish (and hideous) cruiser as it desperately made a hopeless bid to outrun the massive, phallic Gaylactic Imperial Battleship that pursued it.

Inside, the prissy golden robot, Asher-P0, trundled down the smoke-filled, undulating corridors of the ship, accompanied by his diminutive sidekick, UR-D2.

"Oh! This is awful! The Empire will capture Princess BlackWidow for certain this time, UR!"

"BEEP-boop-BRRRR-BEEP-boop"

"What was that? I didn't follow."

"BEEP-BEEP-boop-boop-BLIP-brrrr"

"Eh? Sorry, that just seemed to be a bunch of senseless beeping. I told them they shouldn't have programmed you using Linu--"

Abruptly, Asher-P0 stopped in his tracks, his limbs sagged and his eyes flashed blue. After a few seconds, UR emitted an electronic sigh, rolled over to him, and pressed the three buttons on Asher-P0's back simultaneously.

"--nux. Oh dear. What, another reboot? Well, must be the software."

Another explosion rocked the vessel. Then, a loud hum washed over the ship as it was sucked into the Imperial Battleship's cavernous docking bay...

[DAVOUT]

In the outskirts of the galaxy, on a lost planet, at 1200 OT (Outskirts Time), the Commodore Ming, agitated by dark thoughts, was parading before the 12 men. He suddenly stopped and said :

You have demonstrated for years that you were unable to achieve anything even remotely useful. Any attempt to give you a mission resulted in disorganization, troubles, failure. The time has come where your special skills will find a way to serve our cause. Marshal DAVOUT, head of the General Head Quarter, has decided to set up a Trouble-Makers Corps, and this new corps will include a Dialectical Division. Considering your reputation and past accomplishments, it has been decided to adopt completely new rankings; so, the Dialectical Division will be organized as follows :

Vice-Sergeant : Monkspider
1st Quartet
Under-Corporal : Beserker
Almost-Private : Azazel
Almost-Private : Dino D
Almost-Private : Imran
2nd Quartet
Under-Corporal : Frogger
Almost-Private : Sloww
Almost-Private : Sava
Almost-Private : Chris62
Reserve
Under-Corporal : MTG
Almost-Private : Che
Almost-Private : Fez I

Your orders are to destroy the Pride Star.
Operational plan :

The first quartet attacks with the Dogpile Doctrine in order to test their dialectical defences. At the same time, the second Quartet starts the Shlieffen plan.

Then both Quartets alternate the Modern War doctrine with the Relentlessly Ignore Destruction Doctrine. Any weakening of the enemy offers the opportunity to launch a BAM.

Would the opposition become stronger, switch to Guerilla Warfare and Skirmish Doctrine, then resume Relentless Offensive.

Meantime, the reserve secures applications forms for the Gaylactic Storm Cadets next target of the Dialectical Division.

Do not forget that you are likely our last chance to avoid the horrifying prospect of a festive, cosmo-drinking land of hedonism and immaculate front lawns.

[Az]

Asher is a Robot, DAVOUT you're not keeping up with the script.

[Tuberski]

Well, if I get in this story it better be as Tube-acca.

ACK!

[DAVOUT]

Azazel,

Edited. (He became a robot so suddenly )

[Az]

( just notice as I slip into the story, only to be instantly killed in the upcoming battle. At least Stefu survives. )

[Lawrence of Arabia]

Does anyone else think this is funny? My side is hurting from all the laughing.

[Az]

I think that "endlessly cute" and "fun" are the words that discribe this to me.

[Jules]

*Characters provided courtesy of the creators of Dallas the Humorous Generation and the Trade Wars Saga. All rights reserved.*

Meanwhile, in a more upscale region of fubutooine, a sandstorm has overtaken the usually bustling metropolis of New Dallas. Overlooking the business center of the settlement is a massive futuristic skyscraper. The camera moves toward it at ground level until we are right next to it, then angles upward, following the towering behemoth up and up and up, dust clouds swirl around, until...

...We are inside an office. A plaque on the wall reads: "Dallas Water Company (a Dallas Oil subsidiary). Ol' D.R. says, 'Hey, how ya doin'?!" Shipping workers hustle about, clad in dark blue jumpsuits, moving around packing crates. Office workers are busy too, unpacking everything, trying to get things up and running...

...Cut to the inside of the CEO's office, fubutooine's moisture-farmer industrialist and up until recently the chief financial backer of the LaDouche Network, ol' D.R. himself (played by yours-truly ). D.R. is seated behind his desk, donning his trademark stetsen, with a glass of Wild Turkey on the rocks in his hand. One of his many yes-men, ol' J.P. Morgan, walks in covered head-to-toe with sand:

DR: (not looking up, but continues staring at his drink) JP, has that shipment of high-capacity moisture vaporators arrived yet?

JP: (tries dusting himself off to no avail) Uhh, haven't checked on that yet, DR. I just got here myself.

DR: (looks up, pounding fist) Goddammit, why can't anybody give me a straight answer around this--! JP, what the hell happened?!

JP: (points toward the window)

DR: (turns around and sees the sandstorm rampaging through New Dallas, sighs heavily, and goes back to his drink)

JP: DR, how did we end up on this godforesaken rock anyway? Things were going so well on Earth.

DR: I'll tell ya what happened: Lyndon LaDouche got elected president of the Galactic Republic, that's what happened! Right before one of them Gay Pride folks hit him with their Fabulous Ray. Brought the whole Galactic government down pretty quick after that. I had no idea Lyndon was a closet homosexual! (pauses) Hmm...might explain a few things, though. (gulps down the last shot of whiskey in his glass)

JP: (nods) And then when the Gaylactic Empire was declared, we were labeled "obsolete industrial fuddy-duddies" by President Starchild and banished here.

DR: (walking over the bar to pour himself another Wild Turkey) Well I'll tell ya one thing, ol' DR is not finished yet...not by a longshot! Like I always tell Paul, ya ain't never gonna get ol' DR! (does his trademark malicious grin for the camera, then downs another shot of whiskey) Now all I need is a plan.

JP: Well I hope you come up with one quick, 'cause I really hate it here. I hate the sand. It's rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere. (scratches his head roughly with both hands, more sand falls out)

DR: (looks at JP with an odd expression on his face) Don't worry. I'll get maintenance to check out the ventilation system in your office. Who's my first appointment today, by the way?

JP: (pulls out his PDA) Uhh...a Gorillean smuggler by the name of Gian Carlo. Rumored to be quite gay. Has a sidekick I believe, one Tube-acca if I'm reading this right. Very strange fellow. Wears a furry tube-top and matching tube socks.

DR: (rolling his eyes) Sounds like fun. Let's go...

*transition music*

[Felch]

I'm definitely liking it so far. And I'm very glad I don't have any Imperial weapons named after me.