TROLL WARS EPISODE IV A JEW ( DY) HOPE?

Distributors note: Please be advised Vary Good Films Ltd ( Kyrgyzstan South Ossetia Central African Republic) have withdrawn " Dickie and Bri Bri's Credible Adventures in the Wonderful World of fOO " because the writer was too fucking lazy to finish it 

IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY 



                       TROLL WARS - EPISODE IV  
       
                                                              A JEW(DY) HOPE?


            
         IT IS A PERIOD OF CIVIL WAR 


       THE FEW REMAINING MEMBERS OF THE CREDIBLE ALLIANCE HAVE BEEN DRIVEN TO OUTPOSTS 
       IN THE DEEPEST FRINGES OF THE GALAXY BY THE MERCILESS TROLLATIC EMPIRE 


       LED BY GRAND MUFF MERKIN GORDON,  VICEROY OF THE TROLLATIC EMPEROR,  AND HIS 
       FEARSOME LIEUTENANT,  DARTH STRAYA,  A RENEGADE REDI KNIGHT AND MASTER OF THE 
       " SOURCE "( A MYSTICAL POWER THAT BINDS ALL CONSPIRACIES TOGETHER) THEY ARE IN
       THE PROCESS OF HUNTING DOWN THE LAST REMAINING CREDIBLE ALLIANCE BASES


        LITTLE DO THE REBELLIOUS CREDIBLES KNOW THE TROLLATIC EMPIRE HAS ALMOST
        COMPLETED THE CONSTRUCTION OF " THE FETZERS BREATH STAR" AN AWESOME SUPER
        WEAPON WITH THE POWER TO DESTROY A WHOLE PLANET WITH A SINGLE BURST OF 
        NUCLEAR SPACE FLATULENCE 


         ONE HOPE REMAINS 


         IN THE DISTANT HASLAM SYSTEM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN HAS APPEARED,  CLAIMING TO 
         BE PRINCESS LIAR, DAUGHTER OF GRAND MUFF JIZZIM, WHO DISAPPEARED WHEN THE 
         OLD GALATIC RESEARCH REPUBLIC COLLAPSED. 


          A LEMKINITE FREIGHTER CARRYING PRINCESS LIAR AND THE " SECRET 
           PLANS " SHE CLAIMS TO POSSESS IS APPROACHING A DESERT 
           MOON IN THE DRAGO'S GUT SYSTEM.


           UNAWARE THEY ARE BEING TRACKED BY A SUPER DUPER MEGA
           DOPPELDESTOYER. 


          WITH A LEGION OF CRACK STORMTROLLERS LED BY DARTH 
          STRAYA IN PERSON ON BOARD.


   Opening Shot: A snub nosed freighter ( Trejo's Balls, call sign RED SHIRT 69) wobbles unsteadily through the vastness of space. Like a pearl necklace splattered upon the throat of eternity the bloated gas giants of the Drago's Gut system shimmer pretentiously .

With an embassy from the Credible Alliance,  led by DingDong Cole, a hermaphroditic hexapod,  half humanoid , half deep sea bloater,  noted for its curious collection of dangling appendages,  most bizarrely the pendulous ink sacs, sent to escort Princess Liar to the credible outpost on the 6th moon of Dragoo's Bongo,  a small detachment of credible researchers and 2 droids: CMePP,  an effeminate conspiradroid,  fluent in over 6 billion conspiracy theories and RRs4( pronounced Arse4) an astrodroid/ sensobot - used primarily by limpid Lemkinites of Libido 1 to mechanically stimulate their permanently flaccid erogenous zones- they are posing as a trade delegation from TrineDay Minor,  looking to import conspiracy fiction to help ease their chronic toilet paper shortage,  after a recent outbreak of space diahorrea...

Having just made the jump out of hyperspace a Super Duper Mega Doppeldestroyer, appears, a vampiric shape ;a gigantic triangular shaped craft,  it's sleek aerodynamic profile has something of the space wolf about it,  all along the vast exterior an ocean of lights glitter, reflecting back eternity's glare, as it tracks it's hapless prey...

Cut to A corridor inside Trejo's Balls; drab, grey,  functional. Lined with cabins and storage facilities. 
Red signs,  flashing " DANGER" are reflected from the dull monochrome walls while the air is  thick with pandemonium. Wailing sirens, hoarse voices barking orders, the clatter of booted feet , as the few credible researchers -in their space turtleneck and cardigan uniform, with their regulation grey ponytails dangling nervously,  like a parade of unsheathed paedos on Sanibel Minor,  carrying their Mannlicher Carcano space blasters- heading towards the main entranceway,  trying to ignore the ominous creaking ,grinding,  and the sinister glug glugging of the doopeldestroyers main propulsion system...

Out of an adjoining corridor 2 droids appear; RRs4, a squat pepper pot phallus on 2 stumpy legs, covered in banks of bleeping lights, input and output terminals and a menacing assortment of smoothly bulbous phallusoid attachments,  perfectly shaped for insertion into any number of the 1235 unnaturally moist semi sentient anal ducts that scar the average Lemkinites scrawny unprepossessing torso like a poorly dug warren of erotic rabbit holes.

CMiPP( pronounced See me peepee ), is taller, a slim humanoid plated in an un sightly faecal brown space alloy....Completely smooth and asexual,  save for the mushroom shaped phallic input terminal beside a cylindrical rear exhaust duct...

CMiPP ( in a high pitched eunuchs twitter) " We're doomed RR, we'll be sent to the semen mines on Sanibel 6,  used as killer squirrel bait on Kentucky 14, or melted down,  maybe if we surrender "

RR( communicates in beeps , clucks and whistles) " tweet beep burp u fukin cowardly troll"

He lurches off down a passageway..

CMiPP  " Come back this minute RRs4! " Looks along the corridor, at the credible researchers gathered round the main entrance hatch, now glowing red hot, like a trotterbot after a manual probing,  and belching thick black smoke...

The Stormtrollers must be using a thermal lance!! Like back on Payette Minor...

Watching RRs4 puttering clumsily down the passageway,  whirring and belching , his rear  end lights glowing like the time they almost fell into Sanlaccs Scrotal pit, I guess droids aren't supposed to wear shades or space cowboy boots..

" ive got a bad feeling about this,  almost as bad as the time I caught space rust from that dirty Bantha Koch on the forest moon of Bendor " 

His ZX Spectrum of a space computer brain,  registering the ominous pounding and the way the freighter is starting to sway ( quickly self deleting his time as a pleasurebot on the space Titanic) going against all his programming,  he finally decides to follow RRs4,  lurching creakily down the passageway 

Cut to the entrance hatch 

After turning redder than Paul Trejo's shirt when he found a globule of " ex General Walker " floating on the surface of Jason Ward's jacuzzi the door hatch finally disintegrates...

Plumes of dense noxious smoke come pouring out...

But nothing else...

The credible researchers,  are lined up along the corridor,  hunched in alcoves, portals and behind deactivated portable photo alteration droids,  sweat dripping from their ponytails and down their foreheads,  half shaded by the wide brims of their 13 space inches credible cowboy hats, the nozzles of their Carcanos pointed at the doorway 

" As empty as Sarah Stanton's stomach at 12 31 on 22nd November " one mumbles , licking his cracked lips with a moist Baggins ' like forked tongue 

" More like the 6th floor window at 12 30! " another mutters, wiping the sweat from his freshly plucked eyebrows ( indicating he is a recent deserter from the Stormtrollers,  or one of the Grand Muff Merkin's inner retinue)

" it's as quiet as Lancer 4, after a space plague of Jabba Jim locustbots have done their thing "

Another credible researcher,  a small portly half amphibian from boggy swamps of Butler's Space Gulch, gives a wheezy belchoid,  before flicking his elongated lizard tongue and devouring a  scumdum space parasite that was fluttering by..
.

Right on cue theres an eruption of noise; the unmistakable shriek of cosmic Mauser blasters and Remington hand held knoll cannon..

An entire legion of Stormtrollers burst through the doorway in full battle formation...wearing their standard issue battle fatigues. White laminated body armour covered by snug golf jumpers ( pink - sergeants,  peach- corporals and yellow for your average troller) Their blank white helmets are half concealed by facemasks ( Billy Lovelady for sergeants and HARVEY Oswald for corporals and trollers)

Following them are a buzzing phalanx of mobile battle droids,  3 legged dwarves and 8 foot tall suburban housewifes , shooting laser bolts out their semi detachable space nipples..

It's an absolute rout 

Worse than the Massacre of the Fake Marguerites Mole, worse even than the disaster at Beckett's Mound,  when the last detachment of Redi Warriors ( so called because of the fierce ( and feisty) devotion to the Mystical Flying Bong of Sanibel,  allegedly the true source of the " Source 's" power)were annihilated by renegades , led by Darth Straya...

As the triumphant Stormtrollers surge through the doorway , their zen jackbooted feet stamping on the newly slaughtered credible researchers, the few remaining rebels begin streaming back in a haphazard disorganized retreat...

Suddenly,  through the choking veil of smoke,  hanging over the corridor like David Lifton's ghostly unmentioneables,  a menacing figure emerges,  even taller than Tommy Graves on stilts, the time he auditioned for the role of " Bottom Sasquatch #2" in Bill Miller's cryptozoophilia porno spectacular " How 30 very horny big hairy men ended up shitting in the woods together ", even more menacing than the time Brian Doyle turned up as Kluxie Klaus,  Santa's long lost cousin,  at what turned out to be the Sanibel Jewish Hospice Hanukkah Massacre 

Wearing a shiny black armoured life support system,  a pair of laser guided cricket pads,  an Australian cricket shirt,  a Shane Warne facemask pulled low over the crown of his sleek black death's head helmet,  carrying a Kookaburra Steve Smith signature cricket bat/ troll punk sabre..

It can only be the dreaded DARTH STRAYA 

Darth ( rasping percussive basso profundo rumble,  filtered through hoarse metallic sounding breathing apparatus,  creating a sinister heavy breathing effect,  like the time Don Jeffries was caught in the ventilation system of the local hostel for unwed teenage African American mothers)
" G'day my trollish minions,  a keg of beer from the brewery planet,  Kangaroo's Piss, for the drooping drongo who brings me this mad sheila Princess Liar alive" spots a wounded credible researcher crawling away..

Raising a black gloved hand the helpless researcher is slowly levitated,  rising into the murky smoke filled air, he spins round,  floating smoothly,  with his limbs twitching and convulsing like the tentacles of the hysterically paranoid octopeds from the back end of the Lemkin System ( voted the most paranoid system in Space Psychiatrists Today)

He drifts his way into Darth Straya's vice like grip

Darth " Listen mate, what are you Commy bastards up to?"

Credible researcher ( gasping for breath,  like the time Stevie Gaal tried smoking Sanibel Gold in a gasmask,  while frolicking in the engine room of his scale model of U 125) " We're part of a trade delegation,  sent to Trineday ( begins choking and hyperventilating,  like the time Dickie and Bri Bri tried auto erotic asphyxiating each other on the meathooks and the piano wire they'd found in Albert Doyle's mock up of Plotzensee prison) " we needed paaappper " slumps unconscious 

Darth ( irritated) " you're a credible researcher,  a traitor and a spy ( flings the corpse away with a  disgusted wheeze) " you are trying to smuggle this scam artist so called princess to your credible rebel friends...Stormtrollers "

The legion immediately snaps to attention,  staring down at the polished toes of their zen jackboots,  too afraid to look directly at the terrifying visage of Darth Straya..

" I want this pile of junk torn apart,  find this seedy unscrupulous bitch , any other renegades you find cowering in the stinking holds of this piece of shit, and find out what it was they were really trying to smuggle " 

Looks pensive,  as if mesmerised by unseen images,  the curse of the Source,  it mingles memories both born and unborn, 

" I sense something,  something I have not felt in....a disturbance,  an upset in the Source, and I'm not talking about the time that bloated gastropod , Jabba the Fetzer served us undercooked space oysters at our Dark Side reunion on Simkin minor..." suddenly realising he's talking out loud..

" Tear this ship apart...I want her alive"

With one last,  searching look, he about turns, swooping majestically down the corridor,  his black cloak fluttering behind him, like the time Brian,  the purple veined jellyfish was sent to surrender to the victorious crustaceans of Fezzo 5, " you uncredible space boobies,  this IS a white flag"

Vanishing back through the doorway..

MEANWHILE in another part of the stricken freighter..

CMIPP " RRs4 where are you? You heap of stinking Bantha droppings , if you don't come back this instance I'll take you down to the Ringless Moon of Donnie,  and tell them you're a Jewa spy, you know what the opaque rectapods do to any Jewa spies...." Hears a low burbling chime..

" RRs4,  you're not letting a strange man play with your pre lubricated space thrusters again are you? Remember what happened when you got involved with that mob of Jookies,  uurgh,  I wasn't programmed to be anti semitic,  but after digesting the input from the Jonesoids from the Prison Planet, did you know the Jewas and Usurians from Goldberg 6 faked the space holocaust? Just to get credits from the Intergalactic Central Bank,  and we all know who owns that... RRs4 what in the fiery rings of Armstrong are you doing,  and more to the point who are you doing it with?"

In the shadows,  at the end of a dingy disused ventilation shaft a small humanoid female with pendulous tits( of the visible variety,  so pendelous in fact CMIPP,  an ACME incelabot,  could see she should have been a space stripper) with a downward permagurning mouth, like the flightless frogmen from the Lafitte nebula,  infamous for their silent gas dirigibles and their feud with the outer rim Armstrongites,  and retractable bionic eyes,  she was dressed for the space tropics in a grass skirt and a skimpy t shirt,  allowing thick wedges of unprepossessing lard like flab to spill out...

She was bent over RRs4, who was emitting a series of moist sounding burbles,  like he had just been wheeled into an oil bath house by the hairless eronomenos, who  haunt the liquid moon of Kudlaty Major.

Inserting something into one of his numerous gaping input terminals,

Like trying to land a battle cruiser in the catacombs of a Larrytrotter spaceport..

Looking up with a startled doe eyed expression,  CMIPP was instantly reminded of the mud creatures from the bowels of Patspeer,  the enigmatic figure gave RRs4s dome a hurried pat, before slipping deeper into the shadows,  the DANGER sign ,  still flashing noiselessly,  sending frantic spirals of vivid red light,  shone through her diaphonous chiffon robes,  revealing a misshapen reptilian body,  covered in a thick mangy coat of coarse fur..

RRs4 swung round, his front bottom lights blinking furiously,  and with some urgency he began stomping towards CMIPP,  who remained motionless. Apart from his neck, which he proceeded to uncoil,  like a rope piniata at one of those notorious " Swing what you Bring " parties in the hakenkreuz shaped nebula of Raffsink,  with his neck undulating like a untrousered space Sanibelite on the cosmic winds of fOOfOO,  he watched as the figure stumped along in the shadows,  heading for the exit at the end of the corridor..

Then, just as RRs4 came burbling and chirping past, CMIPP watched horrorstruck as a squad of Stormtrollers appeared as if from nowhere,.

The lead troller, a storm leader , by the 3 collar pips on his mauve pastel sweater barked out an order, " weapons on stun, fire at will"

CMIPP was dazzled by the lurid flashes, quickly recoiling his neck before his disembodied head was spotted,  floating like the time the DoDos on Sanibel 6 nearly got their entire planet vaporized,  by performing an all naked version of Macbeth for the notoriously prudish Grand Muff Merkin, the two disembodied heads of Banquo's ghost,  being,  quite literally,  the last straw..

CMIPP  " RRs4 where in the fiery rings of Armstrong minor do you think you are going?"

RRs4 " bleep bleep chirp I'm getting the bleeping fucking bleep outa here you bleeping fucking stuck up conspiraroid ponce,  bleep, that ugly wretch stuffed some unmentionables up my bleeping unmentionables hatch, im heading bleep for a bleeping fucking escape pod, got to get these unmentionables to bleep a redi knight,  bleep,  some hermit crab sniffing hermit called Nobby Wank Kenjobi,  bleep were the poor bastards parents on bleep space acid or bleeping what?"

CMIPP  " Now, listen up RRs4,  you know droids and space nig..space ethnics aren't allowed in escape pods, I'm sure if we go back and surrender,  explain it was all just a really big misunderstanding,  like the time space colonist Ezekiel Larsen tried setting up a colony on the forest moon of Bendor,  using only inflatable sex dolls, I'm sure they'll only make us scrub the space latrines "

A huge blast rocks the entire ship

RRs4 " Chirp bleep you can hang around cleaning up Stormtroller shit if you want,  bleep,  I'm getting the bleeping fuck out of here space pronto"

Suddenly a harsh metal voice crackles into life over the tannoy

" By the express orders of Darth Straya,  all remaining credible researchers to be shot, any droids sodobots,  or pleasure droids,  excepting ACME Rammer 6000s are to be melted on sight"

This announcement is followed by the menacing sound of marching zen jackboots 

RRS4 " bleep me, here's an escape pod "

CMIPP " but you need humanoid fingerprint and iris activation codes"

RRs4 " bleeping bleeping fucking bleep I wasn't a fakerbot for the Fezzian brotherhood back on Dealey Plaza 5 for nothing " with a soft metallic hum a thin antenna emerges from an output terminal 
" bleep it's my magic faking finger..just wait till I bleep the cryogenically preserved remains of Nancy bleeping Reagan, I'll fake the bleep outa her bleeping fucking bleepers till my bleeping finger goes as soft as the belly of a Jabba Jim Fetzer " after tapping the keypad the door of the escape pod slides open 
" well you bleeping  hunk of jewa shit are you coming or what?,  or are you bleeping bleeping going to stay here? Saying " are you coming yet or what?" to a bleeping never ending bleeping fucking bleep procession of horny stormtrollers after they turn you into a disposable sodobot bllep"

Trundles into the escape pod..

CMIPP stands frozen,  his prime directives are For every HARVEY there must be an equal and opposite LEE and always ALWAYS obey humanoid orders"

The erratic blasts of a space cannon and the blood curdlingly exultation of a roving band of Stormtrollers finally makes up his mind.

He disobeys his prime directives for the first time. No longer is virgin, unlike the permanently virginal donkey eared Doyleians of Sanibel minor's libidinous pleasure moon...

After tapping into the control panel with his extendable fakery sensor,  RRs4 gives a trill of satisfaction as he feels the escape pod detach itself from the doomed freighter,  jettisoning into space, heading towards a brilliantly luminescent desert planetoid..

The pair of droids stare out through the perspex shield,  as they go hurting towards the radiant sphere..

CMIPP " where are we heading to?"

RRs4 " Bleep fucking bleep whirr you're gonna bleeping well fucking love it, Kabbalah 3, the 3rd star in the Menorah system, a desert planetoid,  pretty habitable actually,  mostly farmers, Banthas,  oh yes and Musken Gaiders,  and not forgetting jewas,  jewas and more bleeping jewas! Bleep whirr more jewas this side of the Zionist sector of the Great Zapruder Film Hoax Galaxy "

CMIPP " I've got a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling about this, in fact I haven't had such a bad feeling since Briana the Space Clairvoyant demanded I put my master's last 100 space shekels on the only 1 legged camel running in the famous 15 legged Dromedary Derby back in Andromeda.."

MEANWHILE on the bridge of the Super Duper Mega Doppeldestroyer Admiral Trollzil and his deputy,  Captain  Boobytroll are watching as the escape pod heads towards the surface of Kabbalah 

Boobytroll " Should we vaporize it, Admiral?"

Admiral Trollzil  " No lifeforms on board? In fact I haven't seen anything less lifeformy since I went to that seance back on Terra,  I didn't think much of that madame Butler either,  still not completely convinced it was a madame Butler,  if you catch my drift..the escape pod? Probably just malfunctioned,  you know what those Stormtrollers are like,  as trigger happy as a band of space conquistadors faced with an army of pacifist slug creatures armed with dried grass and dried fruit, let it go"

They watch as the pod enters the atmosphere of Kabbalah...unaware they themselves are being watched..

By Darth Straya,  who has just appeared on the bridge 

TO BE CONTINUED

Part Two


Princess Liar has been captured by the Trollastic Empire,  held in custody,  awaiting the administrations of the ACME TroofBot 900 Mind Probe ( Lobotomy compliant as per Grand Muff Merkin,  Trollatic Empire et al vs Milligan,  Trineday Major Supreme Court)


While CMiPP and RRs4 have landed in the barren inhospitable dune sea of the desert planetoid,  Kabbalah 3, unaware they are already being tracked: by a posse of Jewas,  in a giant Sandtroller ( NOT related to the Mantrawlers on the homophobic moon of Gilbride 69, in the Leviticus quadrant) , a gang of Musken Gaiders,  a militant fundamentalist sect of homophobic brigands,  and the sensors of the Super Duper Mega  Doppeldestroyer,  now orbiting the planetoid,  


OPENING SCENE: A dingy but futuristic looking cell in a detention block,  buried deep in the bowels of the gigantic Doppeldestroyer. Princess Liar,  her permanently gurning lips drooping more than usual ( looking not dissimilar to the ladybits of a lactating giant space sloth on the impenetrable jungle planet,  Trejo No No) the lens of her retractable bionic eyes more steamed than they ordinarily are 

Princess Liar " This must be the tightest spot ive been in since android Kate Winslet stuffed me into the jaws of that giant mincing machine,  back on Whiskas 3, to keep me from being cast as the leading lady in the remake of " Space Titanic ""

The cell door slides open and an ominous black plated ACME InquisiBot 1492 comes whirring in, followed by three multi tentacled jailersquid from the ocean planet Incontinata,  in the rarely visited OIC nebula,  their eyestems flopping menacingly,  behind them,  in a grey golf jumper,  with the 2 oak leaf insignia of an Obertroll, is a lean cadaverous moderator, gaunt hollow features, cold fish eyes, blank and unblinking,  black kepi,  with his moderators totenkoft , pulled low, an aesthetic presence,  a theorist of pain. Behind him, zipping and burbling,  a smooth black spheroid , bristling with a vicious plumage, gleaming and glinting with savage indifference,  is the dreaded ACME Trollbot itself. 3 bright red lights,  blink sporadically as it floats impassively towards Princess Liar,  as 2 of the 3 jailersquid move in to restrain her with a mass of metallic looking tentacles. 

Just before the cell door slides back and a squad of purple jumpered Security Stormtrollers move into position,  further discouraging the gaggle of onlookers, a muffled grunt emerges,  " If you're going to stick that thing in, then stick it lower,  just like my Lee did, oh look, it IS just like my Lee, one nozzle circumcised,  while the other nozzle ain't "

MEANWHILE on the surface of Kabbalah 3

The two droids are trudging through the arid dune sea. The sand, hard , abrasive and glowing with a unsettling purple shade,  as if an entire tribe of befezzed scribblebots had just been unleashed,  seems to get everywhere. 

And I do mean EVERYWHERE 

Apart from two jagged mountains in the far distance,  there's nothing but sand, sand and more bleeping sand. The escape pod crash landed , oh several space hours ago,  and by the look of the trail of droidprints in the sand,  at least 15 spacemiles back...

They're lost, in the middle of the dune sea,  with the first of the 5 moons: as fat, luminous and pock marked as the faces of the mutated wobblebots on the gas mines of Fatzer 8, has already started to rise

Filling the dull green sky with an eerie spectral glow

RRs4 " Bleep chirp whirr you're more depraved than the pervobots who service the condemned on the prison colony of fOO fOO,  I bleep don't bleeping give two fucking bleeps how much sand is in your exhaust duct I bleeping well can't give you another bleeping lube bath, youve bleep already used all the bleeping  bleeding lubricant, what the bleeping fuck do you do with it, bleeping well eat it? You know you're a bleeping droid, right?"

CMiPP ( ignoring RR) " We're doomed, doomed I tells you,  we're going to end up rusting,  deactivated,  our mangled remains used by those wretched jewas in their unspeakable rituals. We should have stayed aboard the Trejo's Balls,  I heard Stormtrollers shit is actually quite easy to shift"

RRs4 " jewas, jewas, always bleeping fucking jewas, give it a rest, you're starting to sound like a DONNIE Idiotbot for bleeping bleeps sake, the anti semibot for low IQ conspiribots. We've got to find this Kenjobi,  ive got some bleeping chirp top secret intel spook info for him , stuffed into my top secret intel spook terminal "

CMiPP " Don't talk to me about Idiotbots,  you're worse than the insertobots on Gaalstone Major,  some strange humanoid inserts something into your terminal and you go crazy "

INTERMISSION. FILM NEEDS SUBSTANTIAL ALTERATION. WILL RESUME TOMORROW

Am I missing something? I appreciate the effort, but I honestly cannot make my way through this, though my Jewish antenna is up and not understanding what that ethnic/religious designation has to do with ROKC (though I am sure it is there).

AllenLowe wrote:Am I missing something? I appreciate the effort, but I honestly cannot make my way through this, though my Jewish antenna is up and not understanding what that ethnic/religious designation has to do with ROKC (though I am sure it is there).

Allen, One or two (or more) of our detractors come from the JK Rowlings Pure-Blood School of Holocaust Denial.

Exactly Greg. 

Leaving aside the controversy surrounding his various claims and his capitulation before the ARRB ( allegedly triggered by the materialision of the spirit of the long dead CIA spook,  Joannides) I find the persistent attempts at whitewashing Prouty's long,cosy and well documented links with Willis Carto,  undoubtedly one of the godfathers of,  and leading American propagandist for modern holocaust denial,  nothing less than repugnant 

Trying to brush it off as " McAdams/ CIA disinformation " , or downplay it, as if it is jejune trivia,  and,  worst of all,  simply ignoring it( and his links with Scientology)

To watch these characters bleating about " guilt by association " is yet another nugget of 24 carat unintentional irony. 

Guilt by association is the bread fruit, no, the life's blood of a considerable proportion of their " arguments "

How many fucking times have we seen it? " CIA affiliated journalist ", " ex military ", " links with the CIA, FBI, Pentagon etc. "

Trying to preempt,  or discredit ( in typically modest and far sighted Jim DiE speak,  demolish) the messenger,  so they don't actually have to deal with the message. 

Likewise Prouty's credentials. If he was a lone nutist,  they would have been used against him.

In this particular occasion I think Prouty's lack of discernment ( putting it INCREDIBLY politely) his mercenary tendencies,  and willingness to take money from whomever offered to pay, his grotesque lack of judgement and his penchant for yarn spinning ( to put it euphemistically) offers a telling insight into his character and his motivations. 

Along with Jack White at the HSCA,  Prouty's attempt to mimic Emperor Henry IV at Canossa,  was the most embarrassing glimpse into the unthinking depths of the non mechanics of High Conspiracy 

Mr Lowe, I didn't quite understand your reference to your " Jew antennae ", if you are describing your heightened sensibilities to anti semitism,  in all it's manifestations,  I applaud you. Even the merest,  most perfunctory glance through my posts will display my utter contempt for anti semitism,  in all it's various guises,  most especially holocaust denial. 

In my own small way I hope I have contributed to combatting the spread of this malignancy,  a tumour on the conscience of humanity. If you would be kind enough to send me a PM I'd be delighted to share the details. 

The thread was meant as satire, a parody of the " research community " along the lines of Family Guy. 

Troll Wars episode Iv  a Jew ( dy) Hope was a tongue in cheek reference to the original 1977 film, a New Hope, and  Jewdy( Judy) Baker and,  ultimately a caricature of several of our self styled detractors who have been known to consort with open anti semites and holocaust denial. 

I would humbly suggest your antennae would be better focused on characters like the repulsively idiotic Don Jeffries,  the characters behind the so called " New JFK Show " who even have a special prop,  " A Jew Bell" , rung whenever a jew, sorry a Zionist is mentioned,  subtle,  eh?,  of course Fetzer, and the OIC circus troupe and several others,  who have,  at the very least,  been willing to play footsie with the denial brigade,  simply because they share their conspiratorial outlook. 

However,  on this particular occasion the attempt at satire was,  eh,  somewhat less than successful. 

I'm waiting for a crack team of photo mechanics in their mobile photo alteration truck to finish altering 55 year old newspaper photos of James Bookhout,  and reshoot the Martin film with yet another Lovelady lookalike,  before they can begin the appropriate alterations....

Maybe,  if I'm really lucky I'll get the dude who altered Ralph Cinque...

Fro Litwin's site.

Many thanks Vinny, for having the courage and the constitution to brave the vile noxious stench. 

And for caring enough about the actual facts. 

I find the wilful blindness,  the hypocrisy and the lack of perspective utterly repulsive. 

Amongst certain hardline conspiracists Prouty has been elevated to virtual demigod status. 

Why?

Did any of his supposed leads actually pan out? Did they bring us any closer to the truth? 

Or did he simply reinforce certain individuals deeply held beliefs? 

It's the lack of nuance,  or any sort of aspiration to sophisticated thinking that really gets me.
Not to mention the sometimes staggering lack of knowledge. When confronted with the actual facts,  time and time again,  a certain breed of ultra dogmatic conspiracist reverts to pseudo psychological claptrap. 

Excoriating people for their tribalism and one dimensional thinking. The irony and lack of self awareness is beyond mind blowing. 

I don't know what Prouty's motivations were. My guess is he was a particularly hardened amoral cynic,  a mercenary in the truest sense. Who liked to keep his customers satisfied; by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. Relying upon the aura and the mystique of his Pentagon career to blind his acolytes and all too willing adepts to the glaring inconsistencies , that scar each one of his narratives,  the way the overgrown shellholes still scar the storied battlefields of Flanders. 

No wait,  what are we thinking,  Vinny.  Those " conference flyers" are obviously just more CIA McAdams disinformation. Probably dreamt up by the same rascal who penned the scurrilous Esquire hit piece. 

Prouty is absolutely symptomatic of one of the main, most debilitating symptoms of militant conspiracism. 

Believe in what echoes your deepest held beliefs,  in what enhances your own private JFK assassination conspiracy. 

Pet theories before swine

Almost every fucking time 

As far as I can tell his various yarns and tall tales have,  not only been on balance a thoroughly negative regressive influence,  but,  they haven't helped nudge the arc of the universe,  even  one paltry one millimetre closer to justice in this case. 

In fact,  due to his horrendous lack of judgement,  his dalliances with the emissaries of an unspeakable,  in it's own  particular way, spiritually, morally and sometimes even  physically,  every bit as destructive as the bottomless abyss Douglass attempts to verbalize, he has causedg revious injuries to the cause he is venerated for purportedly supporting 


Our basic humanity surely must transcend our various creeds. To feign blindness in the face of overwhelming inhumanity because you're determined to keep your gaze  focused upon another,  is, imho at least,  simply unacceptable. 

Unless you are willing to adopt Stalin's rubric: one death being a tragedy,  while a million deaths are a mere statistic,  there is no way to quantify such horror. To deny 6 million deaths,  is to deny 6 million Dallases. Just as to deny the reality of JFKs death is to deny the reality of the collateral suffering  caused by the conspirstor's subsequent actions. 

Prouty's acknowledgement of the reality of one death does not absolve him from enabling the denial of 6 million deaths. 

Anyway,  what great startling insights did Prouty really offer? When dealing with his specific area of expertise,  he certainly offered a rare and candid look inside the actual mechanics of covert operations. 

Apart from that,  and by his own tacit admission ( did he not emphasise the omni prevalence of compartmentalision?) he was indulging in speculation.  Informed speculation,  but speculation nonetheless. 

The back of someone's fucking head in a photo? Superficially plausible sounding speculations,  further bolstered by his insider past? However,  as is so often the case in conspiracy la la land, with a depressingly monotonous inevitability,  they crumble to pieces under even  the most cursory examination. His trip to Antarctica,  maybe he was part of a secret embassy to the alien presence down in Neu Schwabenland? The decrepit old Fuhrer tottering out to meet his UFO flanked by his 8 foot Nordic alien SS bodyguards 

Leaving aside any otherworldly entanglements,  his performance,  rather his non performance before the ARRB,  spoke volumes. 

" Listen,  Len, as soon as they started asking me for verification,  y'know,  actually pony up some hard evidence,  I thought,  uh oh Fletch,  they're out to L Ron your ass, did I tell you about Hubbard's top secret career in Naval Intelligence? Anyhoo,  so I just played along,  remember the line in JFK? About black being white? Well,  it might look like I have been busted as an irresponsible fabulist,  Lt Colonel Mitty,  USMC( ret), but you and I, oh yes,  and that other kid, the lanky goofball,  who kept on sniffing Clearasil and wondering if he'll get laid before his hair falls out?, yeah,  Jeff, nice guy, tell him thanks by the way,  his cheque cleared just fine,  but of course, YOU, Lenny boy,  my #1 disciple have got the real jkckstrap Churchill wore at Tehran,  what's that Lenny? You can still smell the curry? I don't think Persians eat curry,  anyway Monk, great guy by the way,  knows how to stand on his own two feet,  never afraid of voicing his own opinion,  helped me find a couple of other jockstraps,  y'know what? They ain't the same size!! Keep it under your Black OP Radio baseball cap Len, but Jack White and David Healy are working on this,  night and day,  they're up to 3 Churchills already!
Anyway,  what was I talking about? Oh yes,  the ARRB,  I just played along Len, now I know all about MK Ultra and the stuff that went on in the remote viewing labs,  the Philadelphia experiment too,  the guy who sold me the briefing papers from the Iron Mountain report,  gave me a whole load of stuff,  I mean primo grade sensitive compartmentalised for your eyes only stuff,  photos of Generals Twining and Ramey, and Colonel Corso, having a barbecue on Venice beach with Leonardo da Vinci,  Amelia Earhart, Saladin and Fatty friggin Arbuckle, straight  up Len, remember you didn't believe me when I told you abiotic oil was refined from the baby Jesus's tears?, so I don't know what the Agency might have been up to,  maybe dropped some sodium penthatol into my diet Sprite,  but I swear,  honest to God Len, I looked round to see old Georgie Joannides grinning back at me, looking as white as the Lace hood they buried J Edgar in, looking scarier than the time Ed Lansdale played Lady Macbeth back in Manila,  when the boys put on a special performance of Macbeth for Angleton,  Lenny are you ok? It sounds like you are hyperventilating? You've not been logging on to McAdams site again,  Lenny? C'mon talk to me...."

I'm particularly amused by these highly adroit self credentialed scholars repeating Prouty's " High Cabal " comment, you can almost sense them trembling with silent rapture,  dazzled by the hollow glory of the false prophet fulfilled. Apparently Harvard Medical School ( Class of 83 suckas) and whatever venerable diploma mill Dr Pigby and his erudite chums attended didn't have a copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses in their library. Imagine someone like Churchill,  a classically educated scion of the British aristocracy , using such imagery?

WAKE UP SHEEPLE!!

He was obviously referring to a nefarious Zionist banker cartel.

The alchemical marriage of holocaust denial and hardline conspiracism was almost unavoidable. 
According to the Holy Protocols of High Conspiracism the NWO Illuminati cabal that controls the world is largely dominated by the Zionist bankers of London and NYC

If this was true then how can you possibly explain away the colossal indifference to the unfolding cataclysm. And the powerbrokers ( both military and civilian) in London,  NYC and Washington,  knew full well what the Nazi regime was up to in the occupied Eastern territories. 

Thanks to the intelligence provided by the highly effective Polish underground,  from the very earliest days of the war. 

To explain away the silence and the non response the subsequent generations of post war apologists,  neo nazis,  anti semites and assorted fellow travellers,  attempted to explain away the reality of the holocaust itself. 

Just try wading through the latest bilge. We have Ms Sharp , resorting to the fire and brimstone polarity of a revivalist meeting,  quoting the magical Lafitte datebook as if it was Holy scripture,  waving Coup in Dallas above her head, damning the heretic misbeilievers,  who refuse the salvation offered by the blessed prophets of St Hank, to fiery perdition. 

Then we have our resident polymaths: Messrs Barnard and Cotter,  no doubt mindful of their staggering intellectual  superiority,  thus, with the  humility that so often accompanies such prodigious intelligence,  afraid of embarrassing their less evolved fellow members, by overwhelming them with their deep insight and vast knowledge of historical science,  they decide instead to continue their game of " Operation 2- The Revenge of the Mutant Lobotomist " 

" Bzzzt, ive just severed your neural receptors,  rendering you historically vegetabilised "

In the process managing to reduce psychology to a list of banal cliches,  or the rules of a fucking board game,  suitable for ages 4-12.

Dr Neiderhut ( Harvard medical...you know the script by now,  the good doctor , in lieu of his most superior educational background is far FAR superior to us poor sniveling oiks. His Harvard education grants him preternatural insights and bestows him instant expert status,  ya dig? So bunk off you foul smelling simpering plebs,  because the DOCTOR is in da house) is the undoubted star of this particular farce.

His brief foray into Neo Armstrongian mythology obviously paid serious dividends ( in fact the illustrious doctor hasn't been so delighted with an investment since " Honest" Jimbo Baggins,  Middle Earth's most reliable doppelganger oil salesperson and financial advisor,  introduced him to the " Egyptian Tomb thingy " business model " it's got absolutely nothing to do with pyramids doc,  in fact it has about as much to do with pyramids as the H and L theory has to do with the actual JFK assassination!" , Jimbo assured him, while,  purely by chance,  checking the time of the next scheduled flight from Middle Earth to Rio de Janiero , via Ulaan Bataar and Sanibel Island,  In fact the good doctor is expecting the first installment of his projected 10000% return anyday now. Coincidentally,  Jimbo Baggins hasn't been seen since the day after Dr Neiderhuts cheque cleared, he was last spotted in Sweeney Todd and Alan Tippit's barbershop,  getting his goatee and his hobbit feet shaved, buying hair dye and asking directions to the Brazilian  and Outer Mongolian consulates) as he's doing an uncanny impersonation of Jimbo Baggins at his most incredulous and Fezzo the Fez at his most unflinchingly dogmatic/ melodramatic 

Simply repeating the " claims" over and over,  and over again. Interspersed with characteristically limp and soggy attempts at verbal pyrotechnics and lurid allegations,  that would probably border on the libellous if they weren't so transparently nonsensical,  not to mention hilarious. 

I just don't understand it. Dr Neiderhut is obviously a smart guy,  and I don't doubt his intentions,  but yet he , like so many others,  seems curiously susceptible to conspiracy induced myopia and lack of mental continence. 

He seems determined to out conspiracy the worst media,  my apologies,  M$M, stereotypes,   guzzling down the wackiest conspiracy crud as if he was gorging himself on Sarah Stanton's homemade chocolate cheesecakes....

As for Jeff Carter? He should be ashamed of himself. Seriously ashamed. The world we live in is infinitely larger,  and more complex than the JFK assassination. To reduce everything to a  ridiculously simplistic binary equation,  judging everyone by some fanciful K and Ks devised litmus test,  further underlines the lack of perspective, not to mention their severely limited perception and perhaps explains their sometimes breathtaking gullibility and tone deafness. 

Jim DiE and his dwindling band of disciples always attempt to downplay the relevance of everything outside the minuscule conspiracy bubble,  trying to make the world small enough to fit into their specific worldviews,  rather than attempting to embrace the universal. 

I suspect its down to ego. Preferring to be the large piece in a small puzzle than a tiny piece in the grand all encompassing puzzle. 

This lack of sophistication and vision perhaps helps explain the susceptibility to a seemingly endless procession of hucksters and charlatans,  touting a cosmic swag bag full of troof and mind blowing secret disclosures 

Apologies for yet another rant. It just makes me sick.

Thanks Alex. Hard to believe that Prouty would be unaware of the views held by his fellow speakers at the conference.

Tempers Ignited as Conferees Claim Holocaust a Hoax.

https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1989-02-21-me-258-story.html


By DIANNE KLEIN
Feb. 21, 1989 12 AM PT



Times Staff Writer

The Institute for Historical Review, a group that claims the Nazi Holocaust was a hoax, ended its 3-day meeting Monday by stirring outrage among residents of Huntington Beach’s Old World Village, including one Jewish woman who was told by a conference participant, “You need the gas chamber!”
Six members of the militant Jewish Defense League showed up with signs to picket later in the day when conference participants were holding an impromptu news conference at the end of the meeting.
Although there was no physical violence, several conference participants shouted racial epithets at the protesters. Witnesses said police took away one man in handcuffs after he tried to strike Irv Rubin, national JDL chairman. A Huntington Beach police spokesman said late Monday that he could not confirm that an arrest was made.

“We were there to make a point,” Rubin said. “We want to expose these people to the light of the day.”
Earlier in the day, conference participants exchanged angry words with several residents of Old World Village, who said they had no idea the group was meeting there until they read about it in the newspaper.
Three plainclothes police officers were keeping an eye on things during the meeting, and several conference participants acting as security guards were stationed outside the basement of the German Community Church, where the meeting was held.

Old World Village is a condominium and commercial development built to resemble a Bavarian village where shopkeepers live on the grounds and a homeowners’ association owns and manages the common grounds. Since 1982, however, the development has been embroiled in legal disputes, and it has been in receivership for the last 2 years.
Much of the animosity generated Monday by the Historical Review conference appeared intertwined with the legal disputes, which essentially have pitted the owner of the building where the meeting took place against the rest of the shopkeepers and homeowners. The building owner agreed to allow the conferees to meet without consulting the other village owners.
Expressions of Anger
But the mere presence of an estimated 200 people attending the Ninth International Revisionist Conference, which was forced to move from two Costa Mesa hotels after protests from the JDL, also sparked expressions of anger, outrage and hurt from many of the village residents.
Lony Hauff, owner of the Rathskeller restaurant, said conference participants had insulted his customers, calling them “Jews and traitors.”
“We don’t like this,” Hauff said. “We don’t need these kind of people here.”
“I never was a Nazi, or a Jew,” said Gene Pilz, a customer at the restaurant. “I never was a traitor.”
In one conversation witnessed by a reporter, Georges Theil, a conference participant from France, told bridal shop owner Pat Weiss that the Holocaust did not happen.
When Weiss told Theil that several of her relatives were killed in Nazi concentration camps, he responded that there were no gas chambers and that perhaps Weiss’ relatives did not disappear.
‘You Are a Liar’
“You are a liar!” Weiss said.
“There were no gas chambers!” Theil shot back. “You need the gas chamber! You need the gas chamber!”
Weiss, unable to control her anger, spat on Theil, who then turned to a reporter and said, “They are hysterical people here.”
Tom Marcellus, director of the Costa Mesa-based Institute for Historical Review, said the presence of the conference at the village represented a victory for free speech and a defeat for the JDL.
He said that despite the JDL’s efforts to stop the meeting, which was attended by delegates from South Africa, Sweden, Germany, Japan, France, England, Switzerland, Canada and the United States, the group had managed to have a full conference “by hopscotching around.”
After both the Red Lion Inn and the Holiday Inn in Costa Mesa refused to allow the group to meet there, Marcellus said the conference moved to the Huntington Beach Inn and, finally, to the village.
When asked why he agreed to rent to the Historical Review, Joseph Bischof, a native of Germany who designed the village, said, “Why shouldn’t I?”
‘Want to Correct History’
“I know that there is a lot of truth to what they say,” Bischof said. “They want to correct history. I know that they didn’t even have 6 million Jews in Europe. How could they have killed that many?”
As for the complaints of the other shop owners, Bischof dismissed them by saying, “Some of the store owners are sick.”
But Cris Cris, owner of B.M.A. Financial Services in the village, said the presence of such a group sends a bad message to the public.
“I think it’s a bad place to have a meeting,” he said, “especially the connotation with the German village and the Holocaust being a predominately German thing. It is in very poor taste.”
“If they would have brought (the matter) to the homeowners, it wouldn’t be here,” added his wife, Cathy Cris. “They shouldn’t be allowed anywhere, particularly here.”
Weiss, who was trembling after her encounter with Theil, said that a customer who read about the conference in a newspaper called her Monday to cancel a wedding gown she was planning to buy.
‘I resent This’
“She said that under no circumstances would she ever set foot in the village again,” Weiss said. “It makes my skin have goose bumps, having these people here. I’m a Jew, and I resent this very, very much.”
Village employee Cecelia Baca, her eyes brimming with tears, said that nearly all of the relatives of her Polish grandmother, who was Catholic, were killed in the Holocaust.
“I don’t approve of prejudice in the first place,” she said. “The fact that these people are here, my grandmother is probably turning in her grave.”
But such sentiments did not appear to trouble the conference participants, who said that anybody opposed to their meeting was guilty of prejudice themselves or was ill-informed.
“If they were more fully informed, they would, perhaps, be less upset,” said Michael Laurence, 38, a technician who had come to the conference from Atlanta, Ga.
“The point of this conference is to educate people, and our belief is that if people are educated, they will believe as we do and all upset will be eliminated,” Laurence said.
‘Silly Story’
Conference participant Gerald Domitrovic, an attorney from Wichita, Kan., said the “real story” was that people were trying to silence the conference.
“The Holocaust is a silly story,” he said. “It is silly on its face.”
Jurgen Bless, a German Lutheran pastor who was opening up the German Community Church as the conference continued in the basement below, said he was not bothered by the presence of those who believe the Holocaust did not occur.
“The Holocaust is being taken too far,” he said. “And these people are trying to set the record straight. And if it is wrong, then the truth will come out. What it looks like to me is that someone is afraid of what they have to say. . . . I feel everybody should have the right to say what they think.”
But Frank Emma, vice president of the homeowners’ association and owner of a frame shop in the village, said that he and other residents were offended by the message that the conference participants bring.
“Most of us are hard-working, sincere people,” he said. “We don’t like Nazis.”
With that, Michele Weiss, daughter of Pat Weiss, returned to her home above the bridal shop and hung the American and the Israeli flag, which pictures the Star of David, off the balcony.
“We put it out there because I am not afraid of being Jewish,” Pat Weiss said. “We are proud to be Jewish. . . . You just can’t argue with these people.”

No problems Vinny. And thanks again for your invaluable service, not only to this forum,  but also the cause in general. 

Your willingness to brave the most unsanitary , deeply unsalubrious shitholes,  along with your modesty and your level headed commentary guarantees you an honoured plinth, high up on Troll Punk Parnassus 

Ive spent over a decade studying the holocaust pretty deeply( in the context of the ignominious millennia long history of European anti semitism, specifically the particular mitteleuropean strain,  the history of Europe post 1848, the triumph of Bismarck and the subsequent Prussianisation of Klein Deutschland and the short turbulent history of Imperial Germany,  the history of the Austro Hungarian Empire,  post the 1867 Compromise,  and the complicated evolution of Adolf Hitler and the phenomenon of National Socialism) relying upon,  wherever possible,  primary source material ( crucially in the original German)

In my opinion Raul Hilberg,  most especially his encyclopedic masterwork " The Destruction of the European Jews" remains the leading scholarly interpreter of the Endesolung der Juden Frage 

Hilberg never sought to silence the deniers,  on the contrary,  " Let them speak!" was his oft quoted opinion. 

I agree. Let them speak. Let them damn themselves with their very own words, the utter paucity  and moral/ ethical bankruptcy of their claims.

The reality of the Holocaust, especially when  juxtaposed with the mute inaction of the Western Allies,  supposedly mere marionettes in thrall to the omnipotent Zionist wirepullers in London,  Washington and NYC ( brushing off the increasingly desperate pleas for help,  greeting the Polish majors report,  Karski's  first hand testimony,  the Vrba Report and countless other tremors reaching them via the spider's webs of resistance networks with a blase shrug of bureaucratic shoulders,  to be filed under " No further action ", the powebrokers even refused to authorise the bombing of Auschwitz,  despite having carried out successful raids on the ball bearing plant at nearby Monowitz) destroys the lurid conspirafantasies of all powerful Jewish banking cabals.

So, in order to keep one fantasy alive, another was invented. 

The fantasy of Holocaust Denial 

" I'm not an expert in this area" quoth Lt Colonel L Fletcher Prouty USAF ( ret) when asked about the holocaust,  in light of his dalliances with Carto, IHR and the Spotlight. 

Imho, Prouty , on balance,  despite the sometimes illuminating insights he provided into the shadowlands of the covert world,  was / is a negative force. 

In the final analysis what did he really contribute? Some tantalising speculations? A few intoxicating yarns? 

His own words before the ARRB destroyed his credibility. 

And his long and profitable association with the likes of Willis Carto/ IHR/ Liberty Lobby and Scientology are an absolute god send for lone nutist establishment hatchet merchants,  eager to portray " conspiracy theorists " as gullible,  money grubbing chancers,  who belong in the sewers,  along with their fellow travellers in Stormfront and Combat 18

Prouty always seemed a little too good to be true.

TROLL WARS EPISODE IV 




CONTINUED 


Having crossed the dune sea the droids: CMiPP and RSS4, now find themselves struggling to climb the smaller of the two peaks,  which scar the horizon of Kabbalah 3, like space smallpox scarred the faces of the conspridrones , on the tiny gas mining colony of Der Forum,  when Oberadministrator Burnham held his infamous " Let's Unvaccinate Ourselves " party. 


Trudging up the sparse dusty track , wound precipitously round the sheer granite slopes of Burnham's Bulge ( named after the ex Oberadministrator,  now selling space timeshares on Ponzi 4, out in the distant Enron sector, because of the curiously  malformed asymmetrical summit) 


Unaware they have been tracked by a posse of jewas 


As the 5th moon of Kabbalah 3 rises solemnly,  crisscrossing the crumbling granite facade of Burnham's Bulge with an eerie tapestry of shadows,  the 2 droids continue their weary trek. 


Unaware of the jewas, tiny hooded shapes, lurking watchfully in the network of tunnels and gorges,  which honeycomb the steeply misshapen slopes , and of the giant menacing silhouette of the Doppeldestroyer,  now orbiting Kabbalah 3


MEANWHILE  , on the bridge of the Doppeldestroyer itself,  Grand Muff Merkin is holding an impromptu conference,  summoning his closest collaborators together,  to discuss the results of Princess Liar's interrogation......


ON THE SURFACE OF KABBALAH 3


CMiPP " I can't go on much further, this beastly sand is clogging up my terminals and damaging my joints,  I'm a highly sophisticated Conspiradroid,  the most up to date model,  fluent in over 6 billion conspiracy theories , fully pervobott compliant and a highly skilled fellatiobot and cunnilingubot,  fluent in over 8 million tongues, I can turn my super advanced computer brain and tongues to just about anything,  but I'm not designed for mountaineering,  or hiking,  indeed any sort of non tongue compliant physical exertions,  we're re doomed RRS4,  rusting away to nothing in some Armstrong forsaken corner of some jewa infested helloid, listen RRS4,  now we're destined for such an ignominious deactivation,  ive always been meaning to ask you something,  have you ever " done it" with another droid? I mean I can extend my arms if you just want a reach around,  but it seems an awful shame to waste all those lovely input sockets "

RRS4 " WHIRRRRR CLICK BLEEP I wouldn't touch your clicking inputs with a Jookies jorbelingpole,  even if you bleeping whirr were the last unvaccinated sodobot on Kock Major,  but we've click bleep got a lot more to worry about bleep than some horny conspiradroid with a sudden deactivation fetish,  when I was a nappybot on the remedial planetoid Jeffries- Minor Minor I was fitted with a jewa sensor,  let's click bleep whirr just say I haven't seen more jewas since I was a hanukkahbot on Barmitvah 9, did you know I was the last astrodroid to escape before the asteroid,  Fatzer's Coil , " accidentally " destroyed it?"

CMiPP " Our Albert,  Who Art in Sanibel 8, Hatred be thy name , anti semitic be thy son,  Give us this day our daily denial and rid us of the plague of jewas,  deliver them to the gas moon of Zyklon B...."

RRS4 " I didn't know you were a Born Againbot, bleep,  were you space baptised,  upside down in a trough full of Bantha turds, oh bleeping fuck"

CMiPP " By the Hoods of Albert!! May the Brinity- the Father,  the Son and the Anti Semitic Spirit save us all,  we're doomed I tell you,  doomed,  oh RSS4 hold me!"

Having just leapt down from the tunnels and caves, at least two dozen jewas, tiny creatures in filthy hooded dressing gowns and gasmasks ( to stop them poisoning themselves and  each other,  with their chronic space halitosis,  as the jewas are notorious for having the worst teeth and dental hygiene this side of the Colgate Nebula), armed with sawn off space Mauser blasters , they crowd round the hapless droid, waiting for   Gilly,  elder of his tribe, to give the order

CMiPP " Oh Albert don't forsake me now!! Reach round,  or at least reach down and scoop your loyal droid servant up to Sanibel,  look RRS4,  they're pointing their blasters at us!! Loaded with the tears of the space Christian babies they've sacrificed in their abominable rituals "

RRS4 " Whirr click cluck, hey buddy I speak a little jewa, blah blah credible shove the poncey rentabot off the cliff blah blah credible skilled blah ive got a couple of intergalactic space credits you lovely bipedals can have,  just drop me off at the nearest robobrothel blah credible blah*"

* A quick word about the jewas dialect. They speak a primitive form of space gibberish,  perhaps a mutated type of Lesser Fezzian,  as the Fezzian Brotherhood did send some missionaries out into the Drago's Gut system and surrounding sectors after the Peace of San Saba ended the First Clone War,  the doppelarmies of the tyrant DaRouse being crushed by the Old Credible Research Republic. 

To non speakers,  and those unaccustomed to fluent gibberish jewa dialect is impenetrable aural mush, like an earfucking Butlerite from the bizarre banana genitaled moon of Sanford 7, trying to impregnate a frigid fussbot ,  the translations provided are mostly accurate, however caution is advised. 

Gilly Elder Jewa " blah blah burble blah set your blaster on stun, chief eunuch , then bring these droids back to the mantrawler,  the humanoids who own the conspiracy farm near Don Kenjobi's hovel are on the lookout for droids,  get busy you arrogant egomaniac with an inferiority complex"

Chief eunuch jewa " blah blah credible I'm the most highly skilled marksman outside the Sarti galaxy,  "

SEVERAL MINUTES AND COUNTLESS SPACE MAUSER BLASTS LATER 

RRS4 " What the bleeping click are these jewas up to? Whirr click, according to your space messiah they control half the whirring clicking universe but this fucking space booby can't even shoot straight "

CMiPP " My space prayers have been answered!! I'm saved, saved I tell you,  now Albert,  about those nubile erectobots and the fleshy appendages I was enquiring about,  oh space golly ive just been shot,  farewell cruel desert planetoid,  I die alone,  unloved and a 45906 year old space virgin, the oldest virgin outside the entire Sanibel quadrant,  including Gaalstone 5 and 6" 

RRS4 " Bleeping whirr,  so those militant sadobots on Gomorrah 69 were right,  deactivation tastes just like space chicken,  and it feels a little bit like getting your innards rewired by a thumbless engineer droid from Brighamyoung "

Having just been zapped by the chief eunuch of the jewas, after approximately 342 attempts,  scarring the granite cliff face of Burnham's Bulge,  ironically enough,  the way Burnham's actual Bulge was scarred by paratyphus and space cholera,  after his attempt to DeVaccinate Like it was 1599 the 2 droids,  stunned and incapacitated are dragged up into the caves by the jewas...

To face the uncertain fate,  awaiting them on the mantrawler,  or as humble servodroids on a conspiracy farm 

MEANWHILE ON THE BRIDGE OF THE DOPPELDESTROYER 

The Grand  Muff Merkin and his most intimate  collaborators are gathered round the large strangely familiar carved mahogany conference table,  perched anachronisticically in the centre of the bridge; a mass of flickering monitors,  blinking lights,  the dull insistent whining of the surveillance devices,  and the  claustrophobic  gleam from the blank metallic panels,  adorned with a lone black eagle,  symbol of the Trollatic Empire and a portrait of the Grand Muff Merkin,  eyebrows twitching majestically. 

Not even the shimmering and twinkling of countless stars,  beyond the huge nuclear proof perspex viewing windows can alleviate the grimly paranoid atmosphere 

All around , the sharp clickclack of steel toed zen jackboots,  as technocrats,  in their peach cable knit cardigans and the junior moderators,  in their drab grey tunics bustle to and fro  trying to ignore  Darth Straya's fearsome  aura.While the Grand Muff Merkin's inner retinue Imperial Stormtrollers,  a menacing presence in their scarlet body armour,  flowing red gowns and mauve tanktops,  are lined up,  silently oppressive,  behind the Grand Muff's comfy looking floral patterned pastel easy chair

From left to right, there's Darth Straya himself,  then Vizetroll Larsen,  Oberstmoderator of the Outer Polygamous Ring, a pulsating ball of semi sentient gas, attached via a dizzying assortment of wires and cables to a large cowboy hat shaped breathing apparatus,  he communicates with his multi purpose space shades, strapped to his cowboy hat with a  thick leather belt,  a black belt in space ju jitsu and highly respected authority on the breeding cycles of certain species of space parasites,  this particular leather belt,  known , to friend,  foe and militant  haberdasher alike as Mervyn Belt jnr, comes from Flaggilitus Minor,  a satellite of the semen mining moon of Sanibel 6. Next to him, Admiral Trollzil,  wearing his gaudy fluorescent pink dress uniform,  with the Blutorden of the Grand Trollatic Empire dangling round his neck. A nervous,  awkward looking humanoid,  with gaunt features a little wispy toothbrush moustache and a pair of deepset shifty brown eyes, blinking restlessly beneath his obligatory plucked eyebrows,  next to him Standartenmoderator Speeroid,  a blob of newly humanized radioactive faeces,  who emigrated from the dung planet of Bradenton in the Haslam zone back when he was just an unabsorbed pellet,  an amorphous brownish green dollop of reconstituted shite, solidified on the ice planet Frigidarium with limbs grafted by Surgeon in chief Gaal, Speeroid has 2 retractable eyestalks,  transplanted from a Ben Cole deep political bloater and a crudely fashioned mouth slit, his natural stench absorbed by the two Trejo fresh urinal cakes suspended from his roughly fashioned  earducts,  next to him Obermatronfuhrer Beckett,  The Grand Muff's secretary,  confidante and allegedly lovebot,  an ice matron from the frozen wastes of Frigidaire,  cold,  grey, remorseless. The collar of her ferociously starched tunic glimmers with homicidal menace in the brightly illuminated interior of the bridge. Her taut features are as impassive as an impassiibot from the moons of Pokerface, and her eyes dead and empty as  the  chest unit of a recently redeceased suicidalbot from the graveyard planet Goth.

Then there's the Grand Muff Merkin himself. At first glance a prissy unimpressive prig of a man. Heavily rouged cheeks, lips practically sagging under the weight of all the excessive gloss and botox,  eyebrows grotesquely overplucked,  like a turkey on cannibal Thanksgiving on Gobble Major,  the infamous planet colonised by human turkey hybrids,  who escaped from the Ward/ Trejo laboratory planetoid,  TedWalkersCock .

Wrapped in a homely tartan shawl,  and sipping a cup of unsweetened space ovaltine. 

In front of him: the blood splattered report of Princess Liar's interrogation 

TO BE CONTINUED

TROLL WARS EPISODE IV 


CONTINUED 


THE CONFERENCE IS TEMPORARILY POSTPONED UNTIL A HASTILY DISPATCHED INNER RETINUE STORMTROLLER RETURNS WITH THE GRAND MUFF MERKIN'S " BURBLING TREJOBUS " A FRIGHTENINGLY LIFELIKE POLYURETHANE ANDROID RUBBER DUCKIE/ COMFORT BLANKET. HAVING JUST SPENT OVER 8 SPACE HOURS,  SPLASHING AROUND IN HIS FOAMING SPACE JACUZZI,  RE ENACTING THE TRIUMPHANT BOARDING OF SMS BECKETT'S MOUND,  THE GRAND MUFF LEFT HIS 2ND FAVOURITE COMPANION,  BOBBING HELPLESSLY ON THE OVER SCENTED SURFEIT OF SPACE BUBBLES...


Grand Muff Merkin ( from now on GMM) ( Nuzzling his beloved Trejobus to his withered breast)" Oh  my sweet Treji! I thought you'd abandoned me! Don't ever do that to Daddykins again "

Darth Straya ( rasping with obvious impatience) " Your elevated Muffness,  you ordered us to attend this conference,  for urgent consultations, with the greatest of respect,  your Inordinate Muffinence you're starting to sound like a giggling geishabot at a cosplay festival on the virgin moon of Dickie Magnus "

Vizetroll Larsen begins throbbing in embarrassment,  causing small gaseous particles to pop , like tiny flatulent over ripe space peas in a pod. Sensing his minions obvious discomfort,  despite being somewhat disoriented by the feeling- as he is usually on the receiving end of the obvious discomfort his minions expertly administer- Grand Muff perches the Burbling Trejobus ( a kind of bizarre amphibian) on his knee, stroking it rhythmically

GMM " Golly gee my apologies "

Obermatronfuhrer (sternly, gazing hatefully at the throbbing tentacles of the semi inert Trejobus,  her mortal enemy) " Mind your language Your Esteemed Muffykins"

GMM( blushing) " Egads!! Forgive my profane outburst!! I must have sounded like an inebriated fishwife on some loutish ethanol sodden satellite,  to the matter at hand,  ladies,  gentlemen and indeterminate fungal protoplasmotic gaseous orbs,  I have the full report here" ( taps the blood splattered dossier with a gloved finger)" a direct transmission from the troofbot , a marvellous invention,  I only hope ACME designs a pleasure compatible version "( sighs dreamily as his sudden frantic caressing causes the now fully activated Trejobus to emit a moist burble)

Darth Straya " Don't be too proud of your technological marvel,  Your Succulent Muffitude,  your pitiful mechanical toy pales into insignificance next to the power of the Source"

Admiral Trollzil ( sneering) " Poor unskilled booby!! The rest of the universe has moved on Darth,  we're no longer impressed by your fairground cons and your conjuror's tricks,  next you'll be trying to convince us that a fake Feebiebot in a space toupee fake blasted Agent Oswald , after the assassination of the last president of the Old Galactic Research Republic!"

Darth Straya ( his breathing deepens,  like Don Jeffries on a dating app for underage single moms)" I find your lack of faith disturbing Admiral " Raises a gloved hand 

Admiral Trollzil ( begins choking,  wheezing and hyperventilating like Don and Herr Burnham, back in June 2020, at their maskless fuck COVID White Lifes Matter sleepover) " I'm choking, help me "

GMM ( trying desperately to master his obvious arousal) " Darth Straya release him, in 5 seconds,  "( Slumps forward,  panting slightly,  the Trejobus burbling piteously,  in a state of post penetrative shock) " Ok, you can release him now" ( Turns to the closest Stormtroller) " be a good chap and pop along to my boudoir and fetch me a few pot pourri scented Kleenex,  oh yes and my portable kleenupabot "

Darth Straya ( releasing his psychic grip) " As you wish your Muffly Fecundness,  but don't underestimate the power of the Source, these Troofbots cannot completely unlock the occuluded mysteries of the stubbornly deceptive psyche "

Obermatronfuhrer ( glancing at her watchbot) " Oh gee whizz,  I'm going to miss the latest episode of Space Oprah,  hurry up Muffypoo,  you mustn't miss your nap, you know how crotchety you get"

GMM " Of course,  the report,  Princess Liar is actually the daughter of a tenant dung farmer from Bradenton,  the Fertiliser planet , in the Haslam zone. Bradenton provides more liquid effluent,  raw sewage, and plain old fashioned shite than the rest of the universe combined. This Princess Liar,  real name Judyth Vary Space Baker, won a space ribbon at a science fair , for designing a new method of harvesting shite. She ended up getting kicked out of space University,  for trying to seduce the principal's 3 headed canary,  and ended up marrying a half jewa circus freak,  who ran off to become an accountant for the Grand Moff Atlee Phillip's Coffee company in New New Old New Orleans,  back on Terra 1.
She showed up on Rasputin 9, posing as the youngest daughter of the last Tsarbot,  who was famously deactivated in a basement after the Intergalactic Revolution of 4917 CE*, then she claimed to be the reincarnation of the fake prophet Joanna Southcote,  we all know what happened next,  the outbreak of space gonorrhea when she " opened her box", then she tried posing as God,  on the last remaining outpost of the crumbling OIC Confederation,  the most gullible confederation in galactic history,  but even they weren't convinced by her attempts to " walk on water" or " raise the dead" ( a necrotic space Sanibelite who has just chugged 20 space bongs full of Sanibel gold may be technically brain dead), after being chased out of the Pedigree Chum sector for trying to pass off fully shaved Burbling Trejobuses as miracle talking American Cream doggybots,  she somehow ended up selling bottles of space snake oil to the shepherds on Shackleford's Arse,  a colony of virginal hippy incelbots,  and ex fundamentalist Doyleians. According to the Troofbots extensive probing she learned about the legend of the Space Patsy,  Princess Liar and their mythical lovenest on Claybertrand Major, where they lived happily ever after, rescuing mice and monkeys from the nearby laboratories on Ochsner 9. It seems my friends this so called Credible Alliance has grown so desperate they will believe just about anything and anyone "

Vizetroll Larsen ( communicating via the medium of space shades) " I don't know,  Your Percipacious Muffitude,  she sounds pretty credible to me"

Darth Straya " With your permission Your Snuggly Mr Muffilopicousness would like to interview her personally,  using the Source, I still think she could be of great use to us"

GMM( rising to leave) " If you wish Darth,  oh yes ( sitting back down) " I almost forgot,  those plans she had,  I sent them to our specialist Fezzobots under Obertroll Horne for evaluation,  they were fake of course,  but nevertheless,  I want to find out how the Credible Research Alliance managed to get their tentacles on fake blueprints of our highly secret superweapon,  "the Fetzer's Breath Star" Did your Stormtrollers find out where the credible researcher scum stashed the 2nd read out? Our manual probedroids only found one,  secreted about the personage of this fake princess,  and unfortunately the experience has given them chronic robot psychosis,  a probe droid that thinks it's the reincarnation of Space Mozart isn't much use to the Trollatic Empire "

Admiral Trollzil " An escape pod was jettisoned from the Trejo's Balls,  just after it was boarded, the 2nd read out might have been onboard,  the pod crashed into the surface of Kabbalah 3"

Darth Straya " Send a regiment of Stormtrollers to investigate,  immediately Admiral Trollzil,  or else, the Trollatic Empire is no place for failures, this isn't the remedial semen mines of Sanibel 9"

MEANWHILE on the surface of Kabbalah 3

On a small rundown conspiracy farm -barely more than a mudbrick space hovel,  a couple of sinewy patched up Lemkin receivers, pulsating feebly,  like the antenna of an IQ bot on Sanibel Minor, jutting out of the sand like the nipples of an aroused nymphobot,  and a badly corroded satellite dish,  endlessly surfing the galaxy wide troofweb,  trying to harvest any passing globules , to be packaged and sold to the renegade troof merchants and  space hustlers from  the Trine Day  sector, from the back end of the Black Hole of Alexjonesoid - Pluke Lietalker,  the youngish ( well, sorta) nephew of the owner,  Gick Dilbride, has just finished his nightly chores, checking the West Elevator shafts for any power outages. 

Despite his hunchback,  his chronic piles,  acne, gingivitis and occasional bouts of space leprosy,  not to mention his unprepossessing appearance -lank greasy wisps of grey hair,  dangling limply over his bulbous,  strangely misshapen forehead,  his 2 greenish brown protruding front teeth ( his few remaining teeth,  black rotten stumps,  are even worse than the jewas who emigrated to New Old Great Britain), after a particularly vicious bout of space leprosy his nose fell off,  Uncle Gick had to carve a new one out of his last remaining space turnip,  " Doncha go nibbling at it boy, d'ya hear, and doncha go exchanging it with them nasty jewas for no buzzing mecchycannical one, like the one I ketched yer Auntie Dawnie foolin' around wit,  thank the Lawd Albert in Space Sanibel above for ' em good old fashioned space pillories,  it does a godless floozy a power o'good standin' for days wi' her neck 'n' her wrists clamped in the vice like  claws of a punishmentbot,  gettin' pelted wif all the fruits o' Bradenton ", despite a couple of near nibbles and a close encounter with a drunken rentobot,  in a tavern over in the notorious space port of Fez Pilesly,  he's followed Uncle Gicks advice - standing 4ft 9 inch in his bare hooves, and forever draped in a grubby badly soiled and discoloured space dressing gown,  pink latex space yoga pants and hand me down zen sandals,  from Uncle Gick's time as a catamite for a sect of fundamentalist Lemkinites ( the most militant cult of space conspiracy theorists in the galaxy,  according to the Old New Old New New York Times,  but everyone knows they're just vassals of the Space Zionists,  who REALLY control the Great Trollatic Empire), and despite his advanced age and space rhuematism,  Pluke dreams of enrolling in the Credible Research Academy,  learning how to pilot an X Wing conspiracy warfighter,  armed with weaponized chardonnay and laser guided sofas. 

However,  every year, as regular as a Bradentonite after an All Bran storm, Uncle Gick keeps putting  it off, " Them Trollatic whatchamicallits ain't goin' no place soon boy, you can sure enough enrol in the Academy next semester,  I needs ya for this year's November harvest,  down a .4 milligreers again on last season,  havin' to rely on "em Hickeyists and ' em Miss Scarlett Jackie O, in the limo with a Derringers ,  just to put food in our bellies "

Standing,  watching the 5 moons pulsating, sending a kaleidoscope of fiery shadows spilling across the dune sea,  reminding him of the time he saw Bri Bri the Magnificent,  the galaxy's no 1 anti semitic hermaphrodite escapologybot,  attempting to jump 2000 jewas in a space steamroller, Pluke dreams of becoming a fully fledged Credible Researcher,  spurting gloops of weaponized chardonnay in a Stormtrollers facemask...

When he's disturbed by his Auntie Dawnie, " Pluke? Where are you? I'm off to a lecture down at the Very Busy Loyers Club,  a Professor Chippendale is giving a demonstration of different sizes of tackle,  you know how much I love my fishing,  come in and get your dinner,  Uncle Gick wants you to take your ACME Ralph Yates signature Manspeeder over to Burnham's Bulge,  the jewas there have just got a couple of fresh droids in stock "

Pluke" ok Auntie Dawnie" 

TO BE CONTINUED 

* After intensive theological debate and the ultimate collapse of the Albert Doyle cult of fundamentalist anti semitic Sanibelism,  it was decided,  unanimously,  to replace the old AD, Anno Domine,  with the neutral,  CE, or Common Era. After certain militant anti semitic Doyleians were using AD, Anno Doyle,  as a dog whistle phrase, turning it into an online omnitroll graffitibot.

TROLL WARS EPISODE IV 


CONTINUED 


HAVING BEEN CAPTURED BY THE JEWAS THE TWO DROIDS: CMiPP AND RSS4, HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO GILLY JEWA'S MANTRAWLER ( KNOWN AS THE SHIP OF THE DUNE SEA BECAUSE OF THE CHIEF EUNUCH'S FONDNESS FOR JEWA SEAMEN) A HUGE ANTIQUATED MOBILE JUNKSHOP / ROBOBROTHEL,  FULL OF DROIDS,  IN VARIOUS STATES OF DISREPAIR. 


FITTED WITH RESTRAINING BOLTS THE 2 DROIDS HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO A DROID AUCTION,  WHERE GILLY JEWA HOPES TO SELL THEM TO PLUKE LIETALKER


UNKNOWN TO THE INHABITANTS OF KABBALAH 3, AN IMPERIAL SHUTTLE HAS JUST BEEN LAUNCHED,  WITH A FULL REGIMENT OF STORMTROLLERS ON BOARD,  COMMANDED BY THE DREADED OBERGRUPPENMODERATOR McGAE , NOTORIOUS THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY FOR HIS HIGHLY INTRUSIVE MANUALLY ADMINISTERED INTERNAL PROBING...


OUTSIDE UNCLE GICK'S RUNDOWN CONSPIRACY FARM 


Pluke " Just let me brush my teeth and apply some of this miracle spacezit removal cream I bought on the galactic troofweb from Dr Sink,  the miracle working omnidexterous chiropractic centapod, you never know,  there might be a few spacebabes hanging out at the auction house,  I always try to look my best,  it's one of those burdens us spacestuds have to put up with,  oh spacegolly!! My nose has just fallen off,  and a couple of my more aggressive looking pustules have erupted,  spewing pus like the semen mines on Sanibel 6 when it's a wanker's moon" Notices Uncle Gick -a wizened space yokel with a prosthetic arm, dangling  helplessly, where his missing leg should be,  and equally bizarrely,  a prosthetic leg , jutting out stiffly where his missing arm should be ( uncle Gick lost both limbs in the First Clone Wars, serving as a 4th class skivvybot for the Old Galatic Research Republic,  he got wrecked on space turpentine and tried to dry hump one of the guard dogbots,  an unneutered  3 headed space rottweiler )- hopping towards his manspeeder 

Pluke " Where are you going Uncle Gick? Auntie Dawnie asked me to go to a droid auction,  round the back end of Burnham's Bulge,  apparently the jewas have got a couple of new droids in stock.  An astrodroid  and a conspiradroid,  just what we need to help with this November's conspiracy harvest"

Uncle Gick ( mumbling toothlessly,  a jumble of primitive proto Fezzian space gibberish, old timey backwoods patois interspersed with badly mangled quotes from the Revelations of St Albrecht of Upper Silesia,  the holiest text in orthodox anti semitism) " Fribbit me gribbits sideways I ain't letting you go to the jewas on your own boy,  not after I sentcha to buy a cowbot and a set of udders with detachable rubber teets,  only for you to come back with 'em 3 " magic seeds""

Pluke " But uncle ..."

Uncle Gick " Doncha " But Uncle " me boy, them seeds waz downright wicked,  sprouting 'em big gnarled purple stalks, your Auntie Dawnie darn near wrecked her whatchamicallits,  sittin' on 'em, night and day, moanin' and groanin' like ole Johnny Butler,  when he bought hisself a bevy of squirrel brides from them bestiality farms on Mormon 5, I had to call them exorcistbots in, when she started talking all that crazy talk,  about climbing 'em giant stalks and finding herself in a magic kingdom full of he/shebots who fly around in talking doorways,  chasing down flocks of flapping wigs and giant handbags,  not to mention them doppelgangers,  I is an honest conspiracy farmer,  with zero tolerance for profanity and space jewas and space nig...space ethics,  oh aye and 'em space radios,  the blight of humanoid kind, imagine the shame and indignity,  me, a veteran of the First Clone Wars , getting hauled before some petty jumped up little judgebot,  I was the laughing stock of Kabbalah 3 boy, my wife trying to divorce me, to marry a magical doppelganger she'd met in a invisible fairyland up atop a giant purple stalk,  so grab me my trusty Mannlicher Carcano blaster and getcha into that there manspeeder , " Judge not ye be John Judged and sent to wander in the wilderness for 60 space conspiracies with Donald O Norton " Verse 3 Chapter 5 First Epistle to the Galatian Anti Semites "

Pluke " Yes , uncle Gick,  but can I still go to Fez Pilsley afterwards? There's a great new band I want to hear in the Fuzzy Jookie cantina,  I said I'd meet my friends "

Uncle Gick " I telt you before you pile of Bantha droppings an old glove,  a deactivated sodobot and the mummified remains of an unflushed portable space latrine ain't real friends,  and, no, you most definitely cannot go to Fez Pilsley,  no nephew of mine will be caught dead in a cantina full of drunken jewas and horny freighter pilots,  getcha into the manspeeder boy, " And lo, did King Albert say to his followers,  " let us to the manspeeders,  bring forth the cannon of righteousness,  let us wreak our just and godly vengeance upon the stooges of the ZOG and their Feebiebot enforcers" Albert's Proclamation before the Battle of Waco,  and remember boy, the walls of the compound came a tumblin' down as soon as 'em traitors heard the trumpets blasting out the Anthem of the Glorious Space Confederacy.  The Southern Quadrant will Rise Again,  you'll see boy, the War of Northern Aggression will be revenged and the truth about the space holocaust will be revealed,  I betcha didn't know the universe is flat,  and them Trollatics have faked them 5 moons up there, ever heard the old rebel tune " it's only a paper moon"? No, I betcha ain't boy" begins cackling 

Uncle and nephew climb aboard the manspeeder,  heading for the back end of Burnham's Bulge 

Where the jewas have hastily assembled their portable ACME Nathan Bedford Forrest memorial droid auction block 

With the garish radioactive glow of the 5 moons,  their garish neon beams roaming across the desert wastelands like bored spotlights,  sending a disorienting web of ultraviolet light spinning across Burnham's Bulge,  like a sudden eruption of livid red bubonic space pustules,  the jewas, tiny hunched shadows,  fluttering to and fro, drag their merchandise out of the cavernous innards of the mantrawler,  down the droid ramp and onto the flattened sand of the makeshift appelplatz. 

Under the watchful eye of a tame Musken Gaider sentry,  cradling his handheld Gatling blaster,  in the hurriedly erected watchtower. Another not quite as tame Musken Gaider( a cross between a jewa and a jookie,  over 7 space feet of muscle and space fuzz,  with an average IQ lower than a remedial fOOite)operates the searchlight.

Along with a rusty,  ridiculously over penetrated Donniebot- a low IQ compliant sensobot- with a wonky sodometer,  a malfunctioning probedroid,  another astrodroid,  RSS3, an earlier model,  and a portable photo alteration droid,  CMiPP and RSS4, moving stiffly due to the constraints of the recently added restraint bolt,  however the the former looks curiously untroubled by the rather undignified impediments,  nor does the fact he is chained to his fellow droid captives seem to bother him untowardly,  in fact one might even say his short spell of captivity has reinvigorated the effeminate conspiradroid,  who,  despite his limp, seems to be mincing cheerfully across the sand 

CMIPP  " That wasn't so bad RSS4, now was it? That brandingdroid was actually quite charming,  I managed to slip it my identitynumber,  I hope he buzzes me, oh RSS4 I wasn't too forward,  was I? I don't want that insertodroid to think I'm an easybot,  it's just the way it fiddled with my innards "

RSS4" Whirr bleep zap you conspiradroids are fucked in the circuits,  we've been stunned,  probably had our innermost circuits violated,  we've been chipped,  bolted, examined and probed, now we're going to be sold into indentured servidroidhood,  forced at whirring clicking blaster point to stand in a fucking droid auction in some desert helloid hole, with clicking chains round our terminals and bolts clamped to our tenderest input sockets and you're standing there twittering on about some fucking lunk of an insertodroid contacting you via hornybots.com,  whirr bleeping zap what about all the shite you used to spew about the jewas? How they faked the space holocaust? How android Hitler was actually a great emancipatorbot,  striving for the good of all droidkind? Some bleeping brandingdroid shoves it's rusted antennae up your servoducts and all of a sudden your gushing like an unconsummated space geyser on the semen mines of Sanibel 6, at the height of the Sanibel unicorn mating season"

Gilly Jewa " Silence in the appelplatz,  the next droid who speaks or opens a portal gets 25 lashes of a red hot poker, administered internally "

CMiPP " In the beginning the LORD Albert..."

Gilly Jewa " All except for the pervy conspiradroid,  if you open your cavernous ducts I'll send your identity number to the militant incelbots on Porcelain Throne,  you know what they would do to a astrocurious conspiradroid that is fully fellatiobot compliant "

Pluke Lietalkers manspeeder pulls up, Uncle Gick staggers out, waving his prosthetic leg , slurping from the bottle of methylated space turpentine ( 90% proof, from the planet Hoots Mon in the Buckfast Nebula)

Uncle Gick ( slurring) " There once was a doyle from condrucket,  with a ponytail so long he could suck it,  he said with a grin, while wiping his chin, if my ear was a cu....oh look at the funny little jewas, I'll give you 100 intergalactic credits for the one with the biggest juiciest invisible titties "

Chief Eunuch  " A smarter,  more skilled salesman would see this humanoid is obviously young, teetotal and a tough negotiator,  as the best salesman here I think I should deal with this"

Gilly Jewa " Tighten your gasmask eunuch! And get back to fixing the power outage in the West Elevator,  I'll deal with old Gick Dilbride, he still owes me 50 intergalactic credits for the triple filtered " gloss emulsion " I gave him on tick when he had the space DTs " walks towards the manspeeder 

" Mr Dilbride, what a great honour,  and this must be your nephew,  Pluke, handsome devil, I bet he's broken more space hymens than a horny Kentucky photo analyst in the rohypnol mining colony on Frigidarium 6, before I show you our merchandise could I possibly tempt you with a bongful of Sanibel Gold? Or a little snifter of turpentine? We have our own moonshinebots "

Uncle Gick takes a couple of wobbly steps before vomiting over Pluke's brand new zen sandals

Pluke " oh uncle Gick! I thought you'd promised Auntie Dawnie you'd visit a temperance droid, I had to save for 3 full conspiracy harvests to buy these zen sandals "

Uncle Gick " Fuck Auntie Dawnie,  with all her stripperbots,  space ethnic " golf professionals" and pool boys, we ain't even got no fucking swimming pool, it's like trying to stick yer space needle up the grand fucking canyon,  and them fucking zen sandals make you look like a mincing rentobot from Frisco 69"
Vomits again before collapsing on the sand

" I wish I was in the land of boton,  where jewas were selt  then legally boughten..oh look away look away space dixieland...the Southern Quadrant will rise again "

Pluke ( blushing) " I'm very sorry,  my uncle,  well,  he's,  well, he's my uncle "

Gilly Jewa " Think nothing of it young Pluke" claps his hands " a couple of my jewa minions will take him to your manspeeder,  let him sleep it off, eh? While we do a little business,  yes? I contacted your aunt,  lovely woman,  hardworking, abstemious, you must be so proud,  anyway I contacted her because I have 2 new droids,  just arrived tonight in fact,  they'd be perfect for your conspiracy farm,  why don't we have a look?"

TO BE CONTINUED