Jemima Suckworthy Has the Filament of Tommorrow

moment frozen in his own thoughts. His body had become what it was when he entered the scene. A small Zimbabwean man, whom J recognised as Ensign Tamagotchi, spun around in his spinning chair.

“Captain!” Tamagotchi exclaimed, “there’s a Grongorgan ship about thirteen pentilics from the Claymore. What course of action shall we take?”

J watched what looked like an egg carton painted blue with orange pipe cleaners hanging shakily on the monitor. J plopped down on the Captain’s chair, brought the knuckle of his forefinger to his chin and pretended to think deeply.

“Captain?” asked Jemima.

J stood up and raised his arms in the air. The seams burst at his biceps and veins raised in his neck.

“DESTROY THEM!” he commanded dramatically.

“But sir,” said Tamagotchi, “section eighty-two of the Pagan Star Fleet Convention clearly states that the rules of engagement are dictated by the oncoming fire of the enemy and…”

“DESTROY ENSIGN TAMAGOTCHI!” yelled J.

“Ooh!” yelled Tamagotchi as he spun back to his control panel, “I think those bastards just tried to broadside us!”

“DESTROY THEM!” repeated J.

“Too late, Captain!” exerted Navigator Bitchfuckinghead, “collision will occur in six seconds!”

The two ships bumped together, swung back a little, and bumped again before dropping out of shot.

There was pandemonium in the bridge as everything shook. The ship was plummeting. The crew clung to anything available. The pigs were slightly upset. J fell on his arse and laughed inappropriately. The two ships crash landed – only metres apart – on a small pink planet.

J rose to

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