Stefan Gagne - Space Patrol

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S P A C E P A T R O L

A collection of warped parodies

in a future we'd like to see

By Stefan Gagne / Twoflower

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

Dedications

To Jerry Hinn, who helped me develop the characters and spackle up some

plot holes, and provided many Pizza House scripts to inspire and encourage

To Mrs. Hubbard's Advanced Composition class, where I wrote chapter one and

onward

To Pearl Jam, whose album Ten I listened to over and over while writing.

Maybe I'll write a new epic when the next album's out.

To the various copyrighted things I'm parodying in good humor. Please don't

sue.

To Zeke Thunderclutch, Twerp, Jane, and Bruiser, all of whom were a great

help in writing this story for me. All I had to do was transcribe.

And MOST IMPORTANTLY, to all the readers of A Future We'd Like To See that

egged me on to release this previously unreleased epic... big kudos to all

fans! Mwah!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

(page numbers according to my WordPerfect(tm) status bar...)

Author's Introduction................................2

OpportunityDoesn't Knock, it Pounds.................3

Introductions Aside.................................10

Breaking and Decorating.............................17

The Anti-Quayle.....................................27

Bookworms...........................................36

Snitches............................................44

When I Was Your Age.................................64

Happy Birthday To You...............................74

Intermission........................................86

Death by Boredom....................................88

Information.........................................98

The Lost Episodes..................................119

VOS................................................146

Ann P'rran Yttia...................................192

Number One with a Bullet...........................217

This Was Your Life.................................239

Space Patrol Part -1 -

Author's Introduction

You've just spent a lot of time FTPing this story, or downloading, or

printing, or whatever. Now you're wondering : what have I gotten myself

into?

Here's quick explanation.

The story you are about to read is the collective work of a year and a

half of writing. Some of it was done for a writing class, some just for

fun. It is the basis for my _A Future We'd Like to See_ series, introducing

many elements of the 'universe' I work and play in. In otherwords, it's a

prequel to FWLS.

It's a bit more compact than the original draft, a few stories which,

quite frankly, sucked, removed. The quality level of the writing goes from

Okay/Good to Great/Nifty!, since I started the series at the beginning of

the class and wrapped it up a year or so later. If it's looking lousy at

first, read on. You'll get to like it. It gets REALLY weird and twisted

near the end, even though it looks like basic pulp scifi in the beginning.

There are a few spelling and grammar errors, but since the works

aren't finely polished realy-for-publication material (much like any

fiction you can find in the public domain), ya can't expect perfection.

Just a fun read, something to kill time, and maybe a provoking thought or

six about what we think life and reality really are.

Now for the legalese. Skip on if uninterested...

This short story series, characters, plots, concepts, fonts, styles,

story called Space Patrol with wacky characters named Zeke, Twerp, Jane,

and Bruiser, I can sue your ass off and laugh hysterically as my ordinarily

thin pockets are amplified by legal repremands.

Any parodies of existing people, products, television shows, or other

copyrighted material are meant in humor and not as slander. I do not claim

to own copyright on the parody sources.

(This applies to FWLS as well, if you hadn't seen the notice there.)

However, feel free to distribute it U N M O D I F I E D ! to anybody

or anywhere you'd like. Modding it violates the copyright. If you split

this up into separate files, include these copyright paragraphs in each

file, and the credits. Space Patrol Part 0 - Opportunity Doesn't Knock, it

Pounds

The basement hadn't been dusted in about ten years. A layer of filth

covered most of the tables and chairs, as well as the exposed electronics

and computer parts. It has been said that geniuses are absent minded. This

is not true. They simply go about their household chores in a different

way. For instance, instead of buying a vacuum cleaner, Twerp invented a

revolutionary new kind of microprocessor that was powered by teflon and

couldn't gather dust.

The basements appearance itself rarely changed as well, aside from the

addition and subtraction of new electronics projects. The sole wall

decoration consisted of a diagrammed poster of an IBM PS/2. However, this

was a very special day indeed, for time was taken to invent a new

room-decorating robot that would hang up paper streamers and signs. All the

ribbons were mangled and the signs were backwards, which shows how much

effort was put into programming the robot. If the signs were right side up,

they'd probably read CONGRADULATIONS ON YOUR GRADUATION, TWERP AND

QWERTY.

"CANNONBALL!" shouted a high pitched but enthusiastic voice from the

top of the basement stairs. At that moment, a short purple alien in a red

graduation gown threw his hat across the air (where a revolutionary new

kind of self-moving hat rack caught it) and jumped head first down the

stairs. He hit a well- placed set of mattresses and bounced into a chair. A

second purple alien slid down the armrail and darted off to the small

climate-controlled refrigerator for some soda.

"We did it, Twerp!" Qwerty shouted, pounded a table in glee. "We

graduated! No more dull lessons and pointless Phys Ed classes! The world is

our shrimp!"

"Oyster," corrected Twerp, popping open the sodas with a mechanically

enhanced bottle opener.

"Whatever," Qwerty shrugged. "It's on to Murf Tech for us!"

"Err..." said Twerp, face falling. "I had meant to tell you about

that..."

"What?"

"I didn't get accepted to Murf Tech."

Pause. "WHAT?" Qwerty shouted. "But... come on Twerp, you've got the

IQ of a genius and you know more about electronics than Einstein. How come

they wouldn't accept you?"

"I... didn't have enough work experience," he sighed. "They want

people who have held part time jobs."

"But that means I'll be starting my freshman year without you!" Qwerty

exclaimed. "Come on, we had planned this whole thing. Best buds, hittin'

college, getting babes, making millions and millions of credits... and

you're telling me simply because you didn't want to flip a spatula they

won't let you in?"

"That's about the size of it. And their rosters are full for the next

four years."

"Hmm..." Qwerty said, scratching his chin. "Well, we've got a combined

IQ of about 300 in this room, surely we can find some job you can do for

the next four years."

"I have been considering Space Patrol," Twerp suggested.

"I thought they went for the sloping foreheaded jock type," Qwerty

stated.

"Well, they posted an ad a few weeks ago. They're offering college

tuition money and credit if you sign up, all applicants welcome."

"Well, then that's your ticket into Murf Tech!" Qwerty said, voice

picking back up to its usual chipper tone. "You enlist, maybe sit behind a

desk for a few years, and then you're in. It's a bright new opportunity!"

"Maybe you're right," Twerp said, spirit rising. "After all, how bad

could it be?"

Soft furry feet plodded along the linoleum halls of Houykk Ferriwa

T'lli, half a galaxy away.

Bruiser hated that sound. For most of his life, he had heard the

plodding of hundreds of Ytt rabbit sapiens along the school corridors.

Simply hearing two large bunny feet plodding seemed alien to him, as if

something in his life was empty other than the corridor.

He had been working at this school as a Phys Ed. teacher for about 13

years now, and had been training members of the Ytt army in flamethrower

usage on the side for three of those years. He enjoyed the thrill of the

fight, the ability to push someone's head through concrete, and just the

sheer exhilaration of teaching someone else how to fight and push heads

through concrete.

And the tournaments. He enjoyed them too, the football games with the

roaring crowds and the glory of the win. The hot dogs, the cheerleaders,

the painted lines on the ground, the entire sport experience.

And now he was fairly sure this would come to a close.

He stopped at the door of the principal, Dr. Oppenow Jrrgy. Pausing

for a moment to take a breath and adjust his old #34 basketball jersey, he

opened the door.

"Ah, Bruiser. So glad you could come, please have a seat," the doctor

said, motioning him to a chair with the hand that wasn't holding a golf

putter. Bruiser squeezed his 300 pound musclebound form into the seat.

"You send for me, sir?" he said in his usual broken English. It wasn't

that he wasn't intelligent, it was just that he was never very good at

speaking English.

"Yes... I think you know why," the principal said, putting a golf ball

into a paper cup and having a seat behind his mahogany desk.

"Yes sir. Me read about budget cuts in paper yesterday," Bruiser

muttered, a wave of depression kicking in.

"It's not that I don't like our physical education department,

really," the principal reassured. "It's just that we don't have the money,

and jobs are looking for Ytts who have job skills more than labor skills.

If I had my way, this school would rehire all the departments that have

been cut."

The principal stood up and began his "I really do care" pacing around

the room routine.

"It's just that we don't have the money. If you had the speech skills,

you could teach physics."

"But me have degrees in astronavigation, nuclear physics, and quantum

mechanics!" Bruiser pleaded.

"Yes, but you can't express yourself well in English," the principal

explained. "This institute is changing over to a multicultural,

multispecies school, one of the only kinds on planet Ytt. Although most

other schools use our home language, we're expected to adapt to the

galaxy's standard tounge. We both know of your incredible intellect, but if

you can't explain things to the students in a way they can understand, it's

going to simply be too hard. You know that problem we had with the spanish

speaking math teach last year, remember?"

Bruiser nodded.

"Parents called in complaining that their kids couldn't understand

what he was saying, and we had to completely restructure who was in what

math class. Listen, if you need any letters of recommendation for your next

job, I will be more than happy to help..."

"Me understand, sir," Bruiser said. He looked up, an idea hitting his

head square on. "Actually, me WAS thinking enlisting in Space Patrol...

good physical work, need Ytts like me. Probably more use than teaching.

Maybe more fun. Not sure."

"That's a pretty good idea," the principal said, leaning back in his

chair. "A good pension plan and good pay. And after all, how bad could it

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SPACEPATROL Acollectionofwarpedparodies inafuturewe'dliketosee ByStefanGagne/Twoflower ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dedications ToJerryHinn,whohelpedmedevelopthech...

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Stefan Gagne - Space Patrol

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