Star Fukk: The Swingin' Sixties' Generation

13/08/2013 22:53

  Star Fukk: The Swingin' Sixties' Generation


Jim Jerk bends forward, beads of sweat flowing copiously from the furrows in his brow as, concentrating furiously, he endeavours to complete what - to millions of fans (Fukkies) and ordinary viewers (Fuckers) all over the world - is affectionately known as the Captain's slog.


'Pardon me sir, but do you think the bridge is the appropriate place for such a gratuitous display of human emotion?'


'When I want your opinion Mister, I'll ask for it!'


'It's most illogical Captain.'


'Damn you Mister Spunk! Coming from a pointy-eared green-blooded alien with a three-inch penis -'


'A regrettable display of animosity Captain - and also grossly inaccurate. Current status is approximately 3.19231456 -'


'Yes, yes Mister Spunk! That will be all!'


'And anyway, with the greatest respect, a quizzically raised eyebrow, a barely-concealed snort of exasperation, and a large proportion of slimy toadying, in comparison with most male members of the Vulgar race, I'm considerably over-endowed.'


'What's this Spunk? A human emotion?'


'To answer your question Doctor Mucky, I believe that the creamy glutinous substance spraying forth in a somewhat haphazard and random fashion from the Captain's now-deflating erection is that concoction to which the people of Earth have given the curiously similar appelation - spunk!'


'Cut the Vulgar analysis Spunk! And get to the point!'


'As you wish Dr Mucky. It is my own personal and considered opinion, a hypothesis if you will,   or perhaps a rough estimate, by my calculations -'


'God damn you Spunk!'


'It has been proven beyond dispute that the existence or non-existence of a supreme being - or God as you insist upon referring to it -   is disprovable. I would therefore suggest - with the utmost respect and creepy grovelling - that -'


'For God's sake Spunk!'


'Doctor Mucky, as I've just explained to Captain Jerk -'


'Please. Please. Mister Spunk! Answer the question!'


'Which question would that be Captain? Within the parameters of the subject currently under discussion, Doctor Mucky's latest irrational outburst sounded, judging from its context, rather like a demand - or perhaps a command (which is wholly inappropriate insifar as I outrank him) - at the very least his

'statement' seemed to contain a categorical imperative -'


Turning to the token black female at the communications console, Jerk wnks - conspiratorially?


'Hey, sweet thang! You didn't think I could wank off onto your tits from here did you Lieutenant Uuunnnh? Ha ha.'


'Looks like a direkt hit to me Kaptin.'


'Shoot to thrill - that's my motto! Now report to the brig and place yourself under arrest Mr Jakoff.'


'May I be   permitted to ask the reason why Kaptin?'


'You may not.'


'Yes sir.'


'But I'll tell you anyway - impertinence Mister! Together with the undeniable fact that you're obviously Russian and this is the U.S.S.Tombolaprize.'


'I'm afraid I don't follow you Kaptin.'


'Do I have to spell it out for you Mister? Propoganda! This, despite the hi-tec (and, indeed, high camp) setting, is a late Twentieth-Century television series in which the great starships that maintain the security of the galaxy are future extrapolations of those ships of the United States which endeavoured to free the oceans of Earth from the threat of Russian communism. If the red menace had succeeded in its quest for global domination, this would be the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics' Spaceship Potato - and you would be giving the orders. As it is, I'm the one who gets to look up Uuunnnh's skirt and you get to be servile and do all the menial tasks. Am - I - making - myself - clear - to - you - Mister - Jakoff?'


'Yessir Kaptin?'


'You - have - a - question - Mister?'


'Why are you speaking in such a - forgive me sir - silly staccato way.'


'I don't - know. It must be - some kind of - Alien vi - rus to - which there is - no known anti - dote. Buns?'


'We haven't got any, but there're some of those chocolate-coated Rice Krispie crunchy things that look like lumps of shit sir.'


'No thank you Ye -oman.They give me con - sti - pation. And I think we've all suffered e - nough from the - Kling -on menace. You're not a Russian - I mean Klingon - spy - are you Jak - off?'


'Niet Kapting.'


'Oh, well that's - all - right then. Buns?'


'How about a banana surprise sir?'


'Not at the mo -ment thank you Ja -nice - I mean Ye -oman. I'll sur - prise you la - ter.'


'In my quarters?'


'If that's - where - you want it.'


'They certainly knew what they were doing when they made you a Rear Admiral sir.'




'I thought you said   later? How about if I suck you off instead?'


'Not now - Janice.You can lick - this - mess off - my chair and Lieu - tenant Uuunnnh's uni - form though. Is everyone here a -sleep?Where's 'Buns' - Muck -y - Buns?'


'It's not my fault Jim. I tuck my pants into my shoes as per Star Fart regulations but that only stops me crapping all over the floor. I know the smell's bad. Perhaps I could wipe my arse more than once a week?'


'Good think -ing Buns! What's your diag - nosis?'


'It's too early to say Captain. We'll have to get you down to the lab and run a few tests.'


'If you - think - that would be appro -priate Doc - tor.Let's watch the nine - teen sixty-four series - in -which - 'Flatulent' Fred - rips -through the Aussie bat - ting like a whirl-wind, blow - ing and toss - ing their stumps - '


'Medical tests Jim.'


'Oh. Ah.'


Jerk flips the switch on his intercom panel.


'Get - me - Engin -eering.'


'Indian earing sore?'






'I - can't - under - stand - what - you're - say - ing - Scrotie - speak - up!'


'Eyesore.The Indians arguin' terrible-oh!'


'Indians? What - are you talk - ing a - bout man? Uuunnnh! Can't you - make - this sig - al an - y clearer?'


'Sorry sir. I'm trying, but the problem seems to be a combination of semen in the mechanism and Chief Engineer Scrotie's peculiar dialect.'


'Eye eye sore. Chief Indian Ear 'ere sore!'


'That you Scro -tie? For God's - sake speak Eng -lish man! You're need - ded up - here on - the bridge. On - the - double. Move!'


'Eye eye sore. Indian earing oot!'


'Make - a note Mis - ter Spunk. Transvest - i - sm is - rife a -mongst the crew - which is all - fine and dan-dy - just so - long as - it does - n't - inter - fere with - the - job of run - ning this - ship! Scro - tie and Ran-di may - stric - tly spea -king be 'cross - dressers' but - when his or ra - ther her - ear - rings pre - vent her from carry - ing out his - that - is her du - ties sat - is - fac - tor - i - ly then some - thing must - be - done to rec - ti - fy the sit - u - a - tion.'


'If I might say so in a crawly-bum-lick-sort-of-way - your condition is deteriorating rapidly sir, and is causing panic amongst the crew. Unless measures are speedily taken to reverse the process, you will cease to exist.'


'Your con - cern is much ap -pre - cia - ted Mis - ter Spunk. But - we have a much more press - ing problem to - deal with - that de - mands our - full attention. A -hem! Supp - le - ment - ary to stand - ing orders. All per - son - nel are hence - forth re - quired to - wear - clip-on jewellery. Buns?'


'Well, that might keep men like Scrotie from rupturing their eardrums with the sharp bits, but it won't stop the drunken wanker from going blind. Isn't this new   regulation going to be a bit difficult to enforce Jim? The idea of Spunk in earings is a little hard to swallow. Spunk's pearl   necklace still sticks  in everybody's throat - '


'He - says it's a Vul - gar tradition.'


'It might taste like it's been in the family for generations, but I blame T ' Cow - his mother was a Yorkshire lass originally wasn't she?'


'No, but be - fore she - married that Vul - gar diplo - mat Embarass - ing Sad - fucker she - did - star in a hor - ror-and-sex-skin-flick as The Cock - suck - er from - Hull.'


'Well, while we're on the subject of excessive drinking, and maybe it's not my place to - fawn, cringe - say so Jim, but isn't it possible that Chief Engineer Scrot might simply be suffering from a bout of influenza?'


'You - mean - he's - pissed?'


'Eyesore. I mean, aye sir.'


'Ex - cell - ent - Buns!'


'Well, I do work out.'


'No, I mean - you've sol - v - ed the rid - dle.' Jerk once more turns to the intercom.


'Scro - tie be - lay that - order!'




'Would - you re -peat that - last - please Mis - ter Scrot.'




'And - fuck - you too - you ig - no - rant Scot - tish bas - tard!'


'Och.Ya dinna unnerstan'. Cunt! C - A - N - apostrophe - T. I'm comin' sore.'


'Well - if - you must - Scrotie. Jerk - off and - out.'




'I heard - that!'


'I think it's a variant. He means 'aye sir' sir.'


'I - don't think so - Muck - y.'


'Yes you do. Remember what you suggested to those blue-skinned babes on Betelgeuse Prime? The poor darlin's we're so flustered they blushed purple. I don't know what you said to 'em Jim, but it must've been pretty strong stuff considering we'd already used up a giant-economy-size-tub of vaseline and a box of surgical rubber gloves (a good thing you're a left-hander or it would've been two boxes).


'Yes - I mean no - that - is I - think Scrot's real - ly - sore - this time. But then - he - should take bett - er care - of - those at - om - ic - piles he's - got - down there - '


'Down where?'


'Please - don't in - ter - rupt Doctor.'


'Well, if it's a medical condition Jim -'


'Yes you - could   - be right. Per - haps an - infection?'


'That would explain why he's 'comin' sore'.'


'Yes, it's lone - ly out here be - tween the - stars. Not much - to do ex - cept pull - your - pud. No won - der we've - all - now got a -sore - Scrot to - deal with.'


'Scrot ear sore.'


'Ah - Mis - ter Scrot. So - you're here - are you? That was spee - dily done.'


'Eye sore! It's all in the wrist action.'


'Sore - wrist too - eh? But - what's all - this - about 'Indians - arguin' terrible o' - or - ha! ha! - have you been hal - luc - in - a -ting due to - your - penchant for - 'wankin' - like billy -o' - eh?'


'Ya dinna unnerstan' Cap'n. I didna sae th' Indian's arguin' terrible.To   tell ye the truth, Second Technician Poontang's as fine a young scalawag with as amiable a disposition as ye'd ever wish ter come across anywheres. The laddie'll do anything ter oblige Cap'n. Anything at all. Aye, he'll bend o'er

back'ards for ye sir - or anyone else fer the matter o' that. Very flexible. A virtual contorshunisht - but with preshus littel virchew. Ya unnerstan'?'


'You've - been drin - king a - gain Scro -tie.'


'Onny a wee dram.'


'Stinks more like a bucket's worth to me sir.'


'An' youse c'n shut yer gob Mucky Buns! Youse reeks wuss thun a bulimic coprophiliac on a binge in a shite hoose.'


'Gen - tle - men. Gen - tle - men. Please. No un - pleasantness. Now, you have - n't ans - wered my ques- tion yet Mis - ter Scrot.'


'Aye sur. Wull, th' enjuns 're guin ter bellow.'


'Still - not - wholl - y with - you there - Scrotie. What - are the 'In - juns 'bellow - ing a - bout?'


'Och, can ye no unnerstan'? The enjun's gunner bloh.'


'Who's this Gun - ner Blöh? Is he a Nor - we - gian? Or - is the in - di - an per - haps forcing a chapp - y from the - weapons' section - to com - mit an - un - natural sex act? Would you be - good e - nough to - apply - your Vul - gar skills and inter - pret for - us - Mis - ter Spunk?'


'I can try the Vulgar headfuck sir?'


'Ye - oman Randi has - n't quite re - covered from that 'demon - stration' you gave - her - Spunk.I - think we were - all - a bit mys - ti - fied at the - um - physi - cality of the - meth - od you used - to e - effect a - close men - tal rapport.'


'Actually sir, I was giving her an ancient and extremely-difficult-for-those-who-do-not-have-a-double-jointed-penis Vulgar greeting. It was taught to my people many bleems ago by Dork from York. Pornu! Pornu! And anyway she hardly felt a thing.'


'She'd be hard pressed to feel your thing Spunk. Ouch!'


'I was merely demonstrating the Vulgar nose pinch Doctor.'


'Unlike certain Vulgar and Disgusting persons I could mention, we-of-Earth don't keep our proboscis between our legs - well, not between our own.'


'What ever it was, you were sticking it out too far.'


'An involuntary reflex. Caused, no doubt, by the memory of how Yeoman Randi, unimpressed with the 'rapport' you achieved with her, 'broke contact' in order to work herself into a frenzy with the Captain's log.'


'I remember it well.You forget that my mother was human. Before Yeoman Randi 'broke it off between us' I had an enormous whang. Fortunately, employing certain Vulgar techniques, I've already managed to restore 1.34562 - '


'Yes Mis - ter Spunk. I'm - sure - that's all ve - ry inter -esting but - can - you trans - late for me - what Scro - tie is try - ing to - tell us?'


'Well, Captain. Unless I'm grievously mistaken, I believe that Chief Engineer Scrot is worried that the 'engine's are going to blow'. Is that not correct?'




'You can say that again. Those ears of yours need pruning Spunk. Ouch! Cut it out! Ouch! I said out not off you Vulgar half-breed. Ow!'


'Don't worry Doctor, I'll teach you a few simple Vulgar hand-grips and you'll be as good as new in no time - well, as Vulgar's measure time. A few thousand years maybe.'


'Damn you Spunk!'


'Gentle - men. Gentle - men. We - have a - serious diff - i - cult - y to - surmount.'


'Why do you carry that log around with you Captain?'


'Sec - urity.'


'But a piece of wood's so - impersonal. Don't you get splinters? Why don't you share my blanky instead? Nice soft warm cuddly - '


'Uuunnnh! Get me - Sec - uri - ty!''


'They're on their way Captain.'






Is Jerk worried about the possibility of his ship having been sabotaged by a person or persons unknown?






'Funny business Jim?'


'The scriptwri - ter seems - to - think so Muck - y.'


'Yes he does doesn't he? The pervert!'


'You sent for me sir?'


'Sec - urity? Yes, strap - me into - this - chair so I - can't move. Believe me - it's nec - ess - ary for the safe - ty of - this - ship!'


'Say please.'


'Please - Mistress..?'


'Sadie.You're such a naughty boy. Always forgetting! Now, lick my boots, beg for forgiveness, and perhaps I won't have to punish you too much.'




'Yes Captain. Ohhhh, yeeaaahhh!'








'What do you suggest we do now - Spunk?'


'That would seem to be the next logical step and, indeed, it is probably the only reasonable alternative left open to us Doctor Mucky.




'Coming sir!'


'You soon will be. Yoohoo Scroohoo!'


'Screw who sir?'




'Yes sir. I'm coming sir.'


'Now, I know you're a raw and untried little wanker Lieutenant Scroohoo, but first try and stick it in her - Buns?'


'I thought you were supposed to stick it in her twat?'




'Coming Spunk!'


'Yes, I can see that they are Doctor. Who's arse is that?'


'Nurse whatever-the-hell-her-name-is's'






Soon the bridge of the Puderation Starship Tombolaprize is a heaving mass of naked limbs and sweaty torsos. Having told Nurse Whatchumacallit that she appears to be running a high fever and that it is therefore necessary for him to insert his 'thermometer', 'Buns' is now mercifully plugging a gash which he has discovered in the nick of time. Spunk, under the pretense of reading a technical manual in a last ditch attempt to prevent the engines from blowing and demonstrate his skills  as an Ac - tor, is  himself being blown by Lieutenant Uuunnnh. She, hampered in this task by Scroohoo - the new and of course bi-sexual toy-boy (at 2' 6" he's reputed to have made-in-Japan-by-Hitachi stamped on a disproportionately large portion of his lower body), is occasionally finding it expedient to hold onto Mister Spunk with her teeth. Jerk's face, alternately screaming obscenities and endearments, is being ridden to ruin by the prickly wire-brush-bush of his tormenting temptress. Scrotie, pissed-as-a-fart-but-not-quite-as-useless, is explaining to Yeoman Randi (without the aid of diagrams) the meaning and purpose of his warped drive. And Mister Jakoff? Yes, you've guessed it! He's down in the brig - jacking off!'






The gleaming silver shape of the mighty starship hangs in the void. Long, tubular, its smooth perfection strangely offset (but nevertheless completed) by the twin bulbs at the rear where the warped energy is stored. Self-sufficient it floats in the vacuum, surrounded by little pricks that wink as if to signal the presence of totally alien but horny-as-hell-and-dying-for-a-shag-like-the-rest-of-us life-forms. Suddenly, without warning, the great hulk, as if experiencing some great but invisible blow, convulses spasmodically. Warped energy, a sheet of pure whiteness bursts from the front of the vessel, the essence of its crew spurting forth to impregnate the warmly fecund (definitely not a Miss) Universe.


'It's life Jim but not as we know it.'


'But - as we - have - to get use - d to - it?'


'Kaptin, I have Paris Hilton onskreen!'


'It's worse than that - we're dead Jim. Dead Jim. Dead!'


'Och, ya cannae change the laws o' physics.'


'Most logical Captain.'