Screw the Universe Read Online Free PDF Page A

though.”
     
    “The janitor-robot?”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “What’s he doing on Facebook?! Shouldn’t he be cleaning something?”
     
    Another Proton Disaster Beam pummeled into the Zdravo, taking with it the bridge’s side window and most of Private Reginald Titmouse’s skull.
     
    “Anyone else notice that the pirates keep getting headshots? From outside the space ship?” asked Private Eustace W. Fluffernutter. “How is that even possible?”
     
    Private Fluffernutter’s face then exploded.
     
    “That’s an excellent question,” said Private Marvin Pantyliner.
     
    His face exploded too.
     
    “Okay,” said Captain Tyler, “this is getting gross. Computer?”
     
    “Yes, Captain.”
     
    “Run a scan of the Zdravo. See if anyone is sending the pirates e-mails or text messages or something.”
     
    “Running scan…”
     
    The captain scratched his balls again. Deeply. Thoroughly.
     
    “A transmitter is being broadcast from the sub-basement,” continued the computer. “It does not appear to be Federation issue.”
     
    “We’re on it,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.
     
    “We have a basement?” said Captain Tyler.
     

     
    Private Redshirt stood in front of the sub-basement door and waited for the go ahead from Captain Tyler. Tyler, for his part, was cowering behind First Lieutenant Duknerts.
     
    The captain, pulling Duknerts close, took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
     
    Private Yvette Redshirt slowly turned the knob.
     
    Then she opened the door.
     
    The private, the first lieutenant, and the captain all gasped.
     
    Then they realized they were staring into a pitch black stairwell and couldn’t see anything. Private Redshirt felt around for a light switch and flipped it. Then they all gasped again.
     
    They were now looking at a well lit stairwell.
     
    “We should probably hold our gasping for an appropriate moment,” said Private Redshirt.
     
    “Probably, yeah,” said the captain.
     
    “Or do away with it all together,” replied Lieutenant Duknerts.
     
    “What?! Are you mad, man?!”
     
    “Hey,” said a deep, gravelly voice, “who’s up there?”
     
    “We are,” replied First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Who are you?”
     
    “I’m me.”
     
    The trio couldn’t see anyone. Whoever was speaking was not standing directly at the bottom of the stairs. He was off to the side somewhere, just out of sight. That bastard.
     
    “Are you a pirate?” asked Private Redshirt.
     
    “Yes,” said the voice. “I mean, no. No, I’m not a pirate.”
     
    “I don’t believe you.”
     
    “Maybe I don’t believe you!”
     
    “This is dumb,” said Captain Tyler. “Violence!”
     
    He pulled his laser pistol and ran down the stairs. First Lieutenant Duknerts followed after him. It was in his contract to make sure Tyler remained among the living. Granted, if he let Tyler die, it would only be a slight fine, but Commodore Feces was second-in-command and, aside from being completely insane and chained to a bed in the psych ward of the ship, he was kind of a dick.
     
    Private Redshirt sighed. Her contract didn’t specify that anyone had to survive, so she simply plopped her butt down and waited for her witless commanding officers to return. That is, until she heard Captain Tyler’s horrified little girly-scream from deep within the parts of the basement she couldn’t see.
     
    That’s when she decided she wanted ice cream.
     

     
    “Large cone please. Chocolate and vanilla swirl.”
     
    “Sure thing,” said the lunchlady-bot.
     
    Private Percival Q. Purplepants got in line behind Private Redshirt and said hello.
     
    “Hello.”
     
    “Hi,” replied Private Redshirt.
     
    “So, how about that continuing pirate assault, huh?”
     
    “Tell me about it.”
     
    “Sucks to be us.”
     
    “Only if you’re one of the ones to get your head exploded.”
     
    “That’s why I wear this helmet.”
     
    “No, it’s