As the TARDIS hurled through time and space the inside of the TARDIS was unusually quiet. THE Dragon was sitting in his room reading through his brand new Superheroing through Correspondence mail order manual. (comes with funky costume… which we will get to later) C-9 was offline recharging his battery pack. And his evil twin C-8 was nowhere to be found.
The Vindicator was toying with the TARDIS controls, randomly doing absolutely nothing.
After frustratingly confusing himself with the manual, THE Dragon came into the control room and sat down to keep Vindicator company. At Vindicator’s absolute annoyance of course.
Suddenly the doors to the control burst open in a futile attempt at making a grand entrance. There stood Trauma and Marshal Tito.
Trauma was dressed in his 3/4 length leather jacket and wore a pair of heavy red laced hiking boots. Strapped to his legs were two MAC 10s. Fully loaded. Tito was dressed in a black trousers with a white mambo shirt buttoned to the neck and a black vest overtop. Gold chains dangled from around his neck and across his shoulder was a satchel loaded with extra ammo for the UZI he was cradling in his arm. Crisco dripped menacingly from the barrel.
Trauma reached into his shoulder holster and pulled out his Spiderman PEZ dispenser and popped a cherry pez. Tito pulled a toothpick dispenser from his satchel and drew out a cinnamon flavored toothpick.
Trauma: Groovy.
Tito: Skiddily Wa-Wa.
With the two original Adventurers ready for action, its time the story began to progress.
[writer: TRAUMA - Oh yeah...]
Vindicator rubbed his chin. Looked at the panel again. He went back to rubbing his chin. Well wherever we are, thought Vindicator, we’re here. He wore the long brown coat and 14 foot scarf he found in one of the rooms. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out and chewed on a jelly baby.
THE Dragon came into the control room with C-9.
THE Dragon: Still no sign of C-8.
Trauma and Tito came into the room right after the waddling C-9.
Tito: Where are we?
Vindicator: The instruments aren’t sure. I guess the only way to find out is to go and see.
THE Dragon had put on his costume before leaving the TARDIS. This Super- heroing thing should be a snap. Snappy duds. Cool shades. And a Groovy cape.
Trauma: Nice costume.
Tito: Yeah. Looks cool.
Actually the costume was this; A pair of long red pj’s with the flap on the butt. A transparent plastic shirt with sewn on buttons on the chest. A hockey helmet with two bike reflector – one on the front and one on back. Two antennae made from stretched pen springs. A short red nylon cape, a pair of steel-toe construction boots and work socks. And to top it all off, a pair of multi-colored cycling shades.
Vindicator: Ahh yeah.
Stepping out of the TARDIS in single file, Trauma boldly lead the way. Tito swaggered belligerently, his steel plates clicking fiercely on the metal grates. THE Dragon strode out, chest extended and spoke in a deep, superhero type booming voice. Vindicator bravely tripped on the scarf into THE Dragon’s back. Inciting a heroic flex as THE Dragon took the credit for his first daring rescue.
All around them was space ships! They materialized inside a hanger/parking bay full of ships! Steel catwalks reached up dozens of levels. Coming to an elevator, they passed a somewhat sad looking robot, moping quietly to himself in the corner.
Vindicator: Excuse me? Is there something wrong?
[writer: TRAUMA - Groovy.]
Some insignificant time later, after the incident with the totally unimportant yet appropriate visual support – Marvin. The Adventurers entered the elevator and went into the Famous Milliways: The Restaurant at the End of the Universe!
Head Waiter: Table for four?
THE Dragon: Five.
Head Waiter: Five?
THE Dragon: Yes. My faithful sidekick C-9.
Head Waiter: Oh.
Nodding grimly he lead the Adventurers to their table. As they followed the head waiter, they passed a table with four people at it. Not that these people stood out any more than dozens of other bizarre creatures in the Restaurant, its just that these four happened to be part of the appropriate visual support category.
Sitting down they looked over the menu. Deciding what they wanted they ordered.
Vindicator: I’ll have the 4 pound steak and a glass of orange pop.
Suffice it to say, this attracted Trauma’s and Tito’s attention.
Trauma: Orange pop?
Tito: Would you like a chocolate eclair with that, ponce?
It also happened to attract the attention of several others around them, and filled the air with quiet snickering. But not so quiet that their intended target couldn’t tell they were laughing at him.
THE Dragon: I would like a Bologna and Mustard sandwich. With a tall refreshing glass of iced tea.
Tito: Oh brother.
Tito flicked his toothpick at THE Dragon in disgust. And then ordered himself.
Tito: I’ll have the 12 pound CHICKEN WING platter. And a chocolate milk.
He looked at C-9 and smiled and nodded sadistically. C-9 lowered himself further into the baby-stool that was placed their special for him.
Trauma: I’ll have the Surprise special… and a glass of water.
Trauma decided to play it safe with the beverage.
Waiter: How would you like your water done?
Trauma: What?
Waiter: Your Water.
Trauma: Not what as in ‘what would I like done.’ I mean what as in ’what the hell are you talking about.’
Waiter: How would you like your water prepared?
Trauma: Is there a difference?
Waiter: Yes.
Trauma: Well?
Waiter: Well what?
Trauma: The water…
Waiter: Oh… You can have it plain out of the tap. Ice cold. Warm. We also have it in several shades of yellow. Also we have it blended, pureed, grated, stirred and liquified.
Trauma: Ahhh… I think I will go with the liquified.
Waiter: Transparent or yellow.
Trauma: I would much prefer the transparent.
Waiter: Very good. I’ll be back shortly with your orders.
The Adventurers sat and watched the large window. Outside was nothing but endless infinite space. There was hundreds of people in the Restaurant, all chatting and drinking and eating. On the far wall was a stage and on the opposite side of the restaurant was a long oak bar with brass ornamentation.
They didn’t have to wait long before the waiter brought in four trays of food heaped on so heavy that it took two young semi-optimistic children to carry them.
Tito: Hey waiter! This is a hell of alot of food. What… its like you guys think the universe is gonna end soon or something.
Trauma: Hey! Taste this.
Trauma handed the glass to Tito.
Tito: Tastes like water. Why?
Trauma: Didn’t I specifically ask for it liquified? It tasted pureed to me. I gonna talk to the bartender.
Saying so he got up and made his way to the bar. Without warning somebody knocked his arm and spilt the contents all over his shirt.
Somebody: I’m terribly sorry.
Trauma: Nice going bub. Whats your name?
Somebody: Arthur. Arthur Dent.
Trauma: Arthur Dent? Your a jerk Arthur Dent. A complete asshole.
Leaving the man standing there, Trauma proceeded to the bar.
Trauma: Hey barkeep! My water wasn’t the way I ordered it.
Barkeep: Well where is your drink?
Trauma: I’m wearing it.
Looking down, the Barkeep noticed the twin MAC-10s strapped to his legs.
Barkeep: Didn’t you read the sign at the door?
Trauma: No.
Barkeep: Well it says “Check your Firearms at the Door.”
Trauma: And if I didn’t?
Barkeep: Well… are they loaded?
Trauma: Yup.
Barkeep: Drinks on the house, mack. (smiling)
Trauma: Thanks.
Testing to make sure the drink was liquified before returning to the table, he was not disappointed.
[writer: TRAUMA - Groovy.]
As Trauma walked back to the table, he passed, once more, the shell of a man that had once been Arthur Dent. Arthur was still standing where Trauma had left him. He was completely stunned. Apparently this was not one of Arthur’s better days… Trauma just grinned and continued his trek to the table, content in the knowledge that he’d totally fucked-up someone’s day.
Tito was ripping and tearing the meat off of his extra-large plate of chicken wings, while C-9 looked on in horror. Oh, the humanity.
The Vindicator, daring to tempt fate, downed his orange pop and smiled an orange little smile at Trauma as he returned.
Trauma: “Stop smilin’ at me, people will start to think you’re odd.”
The Vindicator stopped smiling and started pouring mustard in Dragon’s pockets. Unbeknownst to Dragon.
Arthur still stood in the middle of the room, thinking that whatever the universe thought it was doing he wished it would please stop.
Nobody noticed when the great Prophet Zarquon entered the room…
[writer: The Vindicator - Mostly Harmless...]
Still sporting the orange mustache Vindicator spotted a lovely three- breasted lady. She smiled back. Actually, she sort of giggled. Actually she out and out laughed. Vindicator turned back to Tito.
Vindicator: I think she likes me.
Turning back he looked for the lady. She was sitting at a table with a large man with three-arms. (convenient, eh?) She again looked at Vindicator and this time smiled sincerely. His face beginning to blush, it clashed horribly with the orange mustache. Suddenly…. sitting there perfectly still and embarrassed… he tripped on his scarf and landed on the floor.
At the same moment the Prophet Zarquon walked past that exact same spot and himself tripped over the body of the Vindicator. Head first into the next table was a terrible way to start your day. Especially when the table was occupied by two Vorgons!
Grabbing the Prophet they began thrashing him fiercely. Food and chairs flew everywhere. Vindicator was still on the floor, oblivious to all except his extreme embarrassment.
Trauma was getting fidgety as he watched the fight. Tito also watched contentedly. THE Dragon, however, was not going to stand for this. His chest expanded he strode to the side of one of the Vorgons and tapped him on the shoulder.
THE Dragon: Excuse me…..AAaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuhhhhhhh.
THE Dragon landed on another table across the room. As can be obviously foreseen, due to the chain of events established to bring to you this bit of violence, and with further encouraging from Trauma and Tito, this is destined to become the most widely talked about bar brawl in the history of the galaxy.
[writer: TRAUMA - Take it away.... YES! Vorgons! V-O-R-G-O-N-S! We couldn't do a complete rip off now could we? - hehehehehe pass the Sasparella.]
Swelling with anger and that air of heroic perfume, THE Dragon concentrated hard on the Vorgon that bashed half across the Bar. There was a sudden blast and the Vorgon was left standing with this huge gaping hole in his torso. THE Dragon was aghast at his display of heroism. He never meant to actually kill him….he sat down on the spot to contemplate his action…
Tito to C-9: Nice shot.
C-9: Thanks. These hidden blasters can be a nice touch at times.
Tito: Why did ya let THE Dragon think it was him?
C-9: We couldn’t have our most favoured comic-relief of the greatest story ever told get killed by a dumb Vorgon eh?
Tito: True. Any ways….got me some carnage to spread…excuse me
Tito said as he casually let loose a barrage of damage at the nearest ugly alien….
[writer: DRAGON!!!]
The coloured lights of Milliways glinted off the recently polished brass knuckles that Tito brandished as he laid a flurry of haymakers on the nearest ugly alien. Trauma looked up when he heard the glinting light and turned around to see the new fight that was developing.
The alien that Tito was thrashing was about man-size but a little thin, (Tito looked for ugly aliens who were weak-looking). Despite putting up a most spirited lack of defence and exhibiting signs of total capitulation he was still getting blows rained upon him from the giddy Tito. In half a minute, the alien lay unconscious on the floor with several plastic shards embedded in him (glass was hard to come by these days). Tito was praising himself on a job well-done when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he saw three more aliens of the type he had just beaten, but each three times as large. “you play with our little brother, now we play with you…”
Tito knew he had to think fast, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a walnut he was carrying and while twitching with false spasms said,”…if I give you a walnut, will you slap me?”
This caught the aliens off-guard, just as Tito thought. “that’s the same reaction I got when I used that line at the women’s shelter,” thought Tito to himself. The delay wasn’t much, but it was enough to delay the separation of Tito’s head from his body long enough for Trauma to fly in the fracas screaming,”lousy fucking Arab bastards.”
THE Dragon was now trying to duplicate his apparent deathray power on the other Vorgons who were slowly closing in on him. Vindicator tripped on his scarf again.
[writer: -Tito]
Soon the entire bar was involved the fight. Chairs, tables, utensils and other patrons were being used in THE GREATEST BAR FIGHT EVER HAD!
THE Dragon was concentrating once again. But to no avail. Suddenly he was knocked over by several overweight women. To say the least, THE Dragon would be occupied for several moments.
Setting up on the stage near the beginning of this fiasco was a small band. Chicken wire was strung up in front and the banner read “Whiskey Jack”. However this was not the main feature.
Tito and Trauma were in trouble. The three large muscular aliens were joined by two more. And It was a sure bet the walnut trick had played out its usefulness. They got some breathing room for about a second, and then as Tito was trying to formulate a plan Trauma jumped back in swinging. After being pummeled sufficiently they tossed Trauma back and called Tito to come back and play. They were doomed.
C-9 was backed into a corner by a group of Jawas. The lousy little scavengers began dismantling his parts. C-9 couldn’t blast fast enough.
Voice over the speakers: “Hey Tom, ever been to Tilsonberg?”
Stompin’ Tom: “Tilsonberg? My back still aches when I hear that word.”
Tito and Trauma miraculously renewed in strength, marched back towards the aliens with a inspiring vigor.
THE Dragon as can be seen by the immense pile of large, fat women…was quite busy. It seems that one of the sewn on buttons on his plastic shirt was a Fat Women Magnet. To this, Vindicator was relieved, for he was no longer the designated “fat magnet.”
All together 24 fat women had piled on top of THE Dragon. Two more were being pulled into the room at that moment.
[writer: TRAUMA - Total Carnage! I love it!]
Trauma popped a cherry pez from his Hugh Hefner pez dispenser and Tito squirted a little Binaca onto his tonsils… They grinned at one another and jumped into the fray…
All that could be seen of Dragon was a couple of large antennae which protruded from between a rather large woman’s legs.
C-9 managed to escape the Jawa’s (minus his left wing) and was now tangled up in the chicken wire…
The Vindicator (standing once again) reached into his pocket and pulled out his keychain (which was feared throughout the land) and assisted Trauma & Tito in pummelling the large beasties. The beasties saw his orange moustache and fell down laughing (which left them wide open to attack). Trauma & Tito (being the dastardly types that they are) jumped at the opportunity. Trauma kicked one of them in the ribs until it started coughing up blood, while Tito demonstrated Louisville-Kwon-Do to another beastie.
The Vindicator went to the washroom to clean his face.
[writer: The Vindicator - Theresa wasn't fat!]
Reaching down to the rear of his costume, THE Dragon undid the button used to washroom activities and slipped out. Unable to see what was happening to his comrades THE Dragon climbed up onto the nearest bar and grabbed a low hanging piece of wire.
‘If I can’t use the costume approach…I’ll try the Indy-style as taught to me in chapter 5 of my correspondence text book’
Unhitching the wire from the wall THE Dragon (in the dismal crusade) swung down towards the rotund group of women intent of delivering a double kick to knock them out of the room. Unfortunately there were two things THE Dragon didn’t consider….A) he was leaning forward in his swing with his legs BEHIND him…and B) the length of wire was longer then he judged and the floor met THE Dragon rather suddenly. With an incredible thud, THE Dragon was planted face first into the floor of the Bar(just newly polish last night) and remained there for a few dazed moments….
[writer: DRAGON!!!]
Fat women still were sucked in through the front door and piled increasing higher on top of the suit.
Shaking the effects of the introduction to the floor, THE Dragon stood up. Clad in nothing but his super-stretch Fruit of the Looms, he once again strode forward into the battle ground.
Trauma: Hey Tito!
Tito: What?
Trauma: This is starting to hurt.
Tito: Yeah. What do you suggest?
Trauma: We should leave.
Tito: Any suggestions on how?
Trauma: Quickly.
Of course this was impossible. The large aliens had increased their numbers and overwhelmed Trauma, Tito and Vindicator. And once again the three Adventurers got smacked.
C-9: This is really embarrassing.
C-9 was hung up on the chicken wire, while a Stompin’ Tom, kept on a stompin’! The Jawas closed in on their elusive target. However he was caught way to high for them to reach. Being the clever little bastards they are, they would eventually find away to pull him down. By that time, the semi-pessimistic and semi-naked Dragon would arrive to help his little side-kick.
[writer: TRAUMA - Pain.]
Dragon staggered to his feet only to find a stampede of female heffers flying at him at an impressive velocity… He immediately turned tail and ran to the opposite side of the bar. Dragon positioned himself perfectly so that the bar was directly between him and the shamu’s in training. They ceased their advance, but as the solid oak counter top which ran all round the bar began to splinter, he realized that something had to be done, PDQ!
Dragon threw his Super-Stretch Fruit-of-the-looms at a piddly little coward who was leaving the bar and the bovine babes bounced blearily out of the bar. As they left, the ensuing vacuum which was created by their speedy departure caused the heads of the beastie aliens to explode, thus terminating yet another dilemma.
How did our hero’s survive? Well, Dragon’s helmet was created to operate in a vacuum, so he was spared (joy). Tito had noticed what was happening just in time to smear crisco in his ears, thus creating an inverse vacuum within his skull. Trauma slipped on his peril-sensitive glasses and was oblivious to the whole thing. The Vindicator had his ego to protect him.
[writer: The Vindicator - The centre of your universe...]