11 Reasons Why Game of Thrones with Animaniacs Characters would be a good idea.

Reason number one: The zany wacky loony world of Animaniacs is a perfect juxtaposition against the brutal and harsh world of Game of Thrones. Both are fantastic in different ways and although ice cream and pizza might be an odd combination of two excellent things I’d say this is more a Nutella-PB&J…with a side of orange spice snaps and salmon crabs stuffed with nuggets of caramel and Pentos apple taffy kind of idea. It’s good trust me on this.Such stark opposites could only get along.

422361-game-of-thrones-cast-banner-credit-hboTotallyinsaney

Reason number two: Animaniacs ended  on the air in 1998 meaning that anyone who was alive when this show was running is now over 18 years old (if you didn’t feel old already), yeah only adults can remember watching Animaniacs on the WB, if there was ever a reason to make more adult humor* about the universe, this is it. Game of thrones is ripe for a parody with giant sledge hammers, bulging surprise eyes, and zig-zaggy tongues just as much as Animaniacs could be ready for horrid violence and medieval political intrigue if it was done right. Imagine the reactions can happen when the white walkers show up. Without a doubt mixing the two things would have to be done carefully so as not to make Animaniacs needlessly violent and still retain the cold steel of realism that GoT has.  .

Reason number Three:

goodideabadidea

Narrator: “It’s time once again for another good idea, bad idea”

Narrator: “Good idea…”

[We see the mannequin resembling Ned Stark/Sean Bean in the tower of the hand’s solarium pawning over the book of lineages]

Narrator: “…Discovering the dark secret behind Jon Arryn’s murder…”

[Fade to black and then show Bad Idea title]

Narrator: “…Bad Idea…”

[Open to Stark/Bean mannequin confronting Slappy Squirrel as Cerci Lannister. Cerci folds her arms.]

Narrator: “Telling the one who murdered John Arryn that you figured out their dark secret.”

[Fade to black with drum roll]

[Open to  the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing, we see the stage from the  far crowd where Slappy/Cerci stands with the high members of the court, Skippy/ Joffery orders Illan Payne forth, Stark/Bean Mannequin kneels before being beheaded**.]

[Show end title]

Narrator: “The End”

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Reason number Four: I already have the lyrics for the opening theme, if you need to refresh your memory this is the original.  The one thing you have to force is the “game of” into one syllable for all but the first chorus, but I’m not claiming that I’m a perfect lyricist. This also assumes that you go with the Animaniacs opening theme as opposed to the Game of Thrones one.

“It’s Game of Animaniacs,
and it’s zany to the max,
so get your sword and your axe,
which house will die off last?
Game of Animaniacs.

 

Come join the stark children,
and their stark sibling Dot,
Just for fun they run around Westeros a lot.
They throw them out the moon door,
Whenever they get caught,
but your favorite ones will lose their heads and now you know the plot.

 

Game of Animaniacs,
Sansa’s cute and Robb’s got class,
Jon’s a bastard of his dad, Bran won’t ever walk again,
Game of Animaniacs.

 

Meet Tyrion and Bronn who want to learn and make a purse,
Ned and Robert stick together, Cerci sends them to the Herse***,
Jorah chases Danni,
While Arrie sings a verse,
The writing’s fucked I’ve given up on who’s bad and who is worse,

 

Game of Animaniacs,
Brutality and flay-ing flesh,
Atrocities begin to mesh,
It’s fake folklore at its best,
It’s Animany,
Totally Insaney,
(More than a little Derangey,)

Game of anamaney-acs

You can-not go back.

donk.

 Reason Number Five:…I don’t have too much time on my hands and am a rational human being like you.

 Reason Number six: Imagine The Brain as Tyrion Lannister. Yeah. The Brain as Orson Wells as Tyrion Lannister walking around Westeros with an armored and deadly mercenary Pinkey. Tell me that’d not be fantastic and you’re spittle will dry in your mouth because I’ve poisoned your wine with “The strangler” for your heresy.

Joffrey_envenenado_HBO

This is you. This is what you get.

Reason Number Seven: Mindy as Dennarys Targaryan and Buttons as Jorah Mormont

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Of all the Animaniacs shorts the Mindy/Buttons ones were my least favorite, it was a pretty drawn out ten minutes of the blissfully unaware innocent who narrowly avoids certain demise while an equally innocent takes all the hits cleshe of slapstick comedy (I ended up just feeling bad for Buttons). However, make Jorah Mormont a cartoon dog dedicated to pledging his life to an Idealistic Mindy who has the power of three Dragons and an army of freed slaves? I don’t care what happens that is pure gold.
Also this can happen at Astopor:

Dovaogēdys! Āeksia ossēnātās, menti ossēnātās, qilōni pilos lue vale tolvie ossēnātās, yn riñe dōre ōdrikātās. Urnet luo buzdaro tolvio belma pryjātās! Okay I love you Buhbye!”

[slave master is emulated by dragon fire]

Reason Number Eight: Rita as the murderous Arya Stark and Runt as the even more murderous Sandor Clegane. It’s a musical romp from the Riverlands to the twins and then back south to the Eyrie surrounded by the deaths of many villagers, bandits, and coincidental relatives. You will see such hits as
I put needle in your throat and now you can gurgle while I gloat.
and
Merrin Fucking Trent!” <<this conversation as a song, between these characters:

rita_and_runt__next_to_me_by_statx015-d64pd5n
the-hound-arya.jpg

Reason number nine: Dot would be a good Arya too…maybe once she gets out of westeros and handles that…face temple.

Ten: Wakko as Bran, maybe his warg powers turns the animals into a kind of Elvis impersonation. Who wouldn’t want to see Hodor sing blue suede shoes? I’m sure he knows all the lyrics.

Eleven: umm… Yakko using his cartoon invincibility and willy tricks to turn the red wedding into a kind of Scooby doo chase scene….

Anyway I’m losing steam with this*****, what with the wine, and the tiredness. It’s like 3 AM.

Comment if you have any ideas, if you are an animator steal mine ….I just want it to exist.

Footnotes:
* I realize that Animaniacs has a lot of adult humor already, but maybe just pushing the line a bit farther could be warranted. Or we could just leave it unspoiled.

**oh yeah SPOILERS!! That was season one/ book one stuff that was probably already ruined for you between now and 5 or 20 years ago. Also my theory is Jon is a Warg and is now living as his dyrewolf Ghost which is a cool prospect.

***Ohhh more stuff that had more than two decades of common knowledge****

****I’m pretty sure the majority of people don’t care about GoT/SOIAF spoilers anymore…I just wanted to be edgy… L

*****There are too many characters in GoT for it to match up perfectly but It would be good as just short snippits.

Okay I love you Buhbye!

Suit.

So for the past week and a half I’ve been hibernating within a large comforter and youtube. I did not see the light of the sun for easily four days and resolved that the world would carry on just fine without me and that the source of all my problems was just from getting too involved with the people of planet earth and thus resolved to ignore the world completely. I watched a lot of this rpg stream thing called Thrilling Intent and kind of let that influence the in-and-out-dream-states I periodically went through. I figure if people spend all day doing drugs and whatnot, what would be wrong with dissociating time and reality for a long time with just my brain mind’s stories to entertain me. At least before immediately having amnesia about whatever glorious adventures i was going on in my dream states.
I’d be brought back from dreams with this great feeling of happiness and fulfillment and a glimmer of maybe a memory, but like everything it fades before I can grasp what it was that gave me this good feeling. Then I would go back into remembering that I was ignoring everyone and the regrets of messed up social situations and ruined relationships start all over again with vivid detail and I go back to telling myself i just need to stop with people and ignore the world.
I had all this free time and I used the excuse that i was feeling sick to completely put off having to deal with any engagements of any kind. I haden’t seen the doctor in a while, the dentist keeps calling me, and I have to write a bunch of content, and it’s all hanging over me in a cloud of anxiety, but i just resolve to continue watching trailer park boys for another four hours as time goes on outside my little world.
By the fourth day my mind was consumed by the finite nature of life and death.
Anyway thank jebus I had to go to work at my minimum wage job eventually, or I’d still be there wasting away. The biggest thing that keeps me from going outside is that I wonder what I’m going to do out there in the world. I feel way better when I just pick something and do it.Today I decided to play dress up and I put on a shirt with a tie and wore my Grand Pa’s old trench coat just to go to the library to get work done (those four walls in my house are a place of insanity now), yet wearing the suit jacket also had another effect, I gained a +2 adult status and made appointments with my doctor and dentist after calling my boss about schedule stuff. My second advice would be dress like you’re the shit and you will feel like the shit and other people will be like “right this way sir” when you talk to them.
Anyway I put my adult clothes on and felt better, I even did a little song and dance with my grandpa’s jacket on about how much of an adult I am. It went something like this:

Look at me,
I’m An Adult,
Look at me,
I’m an Adult,
getting stuff done,
woohoo!

 

The Lamp Struggle

I see an old man and his wife with a large, heavy looking lamp, reminiscent of the old time gas lamps that lined the streets of Paris in a time before our exploitation of electricity.

With the stand and it’s cumbersome head, easily ten pounds apiece, the man removes it gingerly from the trunk of his silver CRV under the watchful gaze of his wife. I can already see that their intended desire is to sell the lamp is folly. A red sign on the front door of the seldom frequented lamp place across the street states -CLOSED- which now at second glance does actually appear to say -OPEN-.

The man’s legs aren’t what they used to be; he shuffles slowly, but not as slow as others his age might be. His bald head is surrounded by a half circle of frosty hair. With their pace, the man with the lamp, the elderly wife behind him, make their way up the rough concrete stairs: pushed and warped by the grassy hill in front of the old store, attempting to devour all human constructs.
The man pants, battling the growing realization that his carrying days are numbered. Step by step, he makes it, leading his wife from the car to the stairs in the hill.

His wife fusses over something in her bag as the man makes for the door. Before he can reach it, the wife stops and says something along the lines of “I forgot (this or that) at home.”

The man with the lamp turns and irritably talks with her yet only with the kind of anger that comes from the burden of a heavy lamp and annoyance with a loved one.

Anyway, whatever problem occurred, the  two continue along the overgrown concrete towards the door, the old man lugging the heavy lamp, the old woman right behind him until they finally see the entrance which bears the sign. On third glance it must say closed after all. The two stand side by side as though the world has dropped away from them. At first thought to me, it is that they cannot fathom the sign being on display, but more likely they are reading the open/closed times.

Side by side they stand at the door as though something may occur to make it open.

Alas, it is fruitless, and although there is no outward showing of emotion, I get the feeling that the old man is annoyed in that way of a working person, always willing to take the burden but unhappy over futility in it. His world becomes that of Sisyphus in an instant.  The woman is filled with the void of reality, of unhinged plans and wasted time. Just for a moment,

the time it takes for them to make their way back to the trunk of the CRV and stow the heavy lamp for another day.

The Princess

Once upon a time there was a princess. She was the most bitchen’ princess of all the seven realms. People all the times be commin’ up to her for her super rad advice.

Like this one Duke was all: “Yo, how do I reduce energy consumption in my Duchy.”

And she’d be all: “You gotta invest in energy efficient bulbs and solar power and diversify your energy sources. Start to compost n’ shit.”

And the duke be all: “fuckn’ ay thanks!”

She was so cool, she rode around on 15 multicolored unicorns on the reg and she lived in a dope bitchin’ castle; she wasn’t all elitist about it either, like other monarchs, she shared the castle with all the wanderers and destitutes and they all had sweet wicked rad feasts all the time with like local stuffed pheasant and Rice and Kale and oregano, and bacon wafers stuffed in peppers and everyone was full and happy and carefree as goddamned jay birds. They played croquet and rode bikes too.

One day there was an evil wizard who showed up to defile the land from the awesomeness. And so the princess summoned the wizard to her castle and they argued and they fought for many moons until the conflict brought about a reconciliation through words and they decided to be awesome together and so the bitchen’ princess and the magic wizard proceeded to  kick so much ass and the world became way cool.

The End

Nono’s Store

We were all living at Aunt Nono’s store at the time: My Father Kevin and Mother Nancy as well as my Younger brother Ryan. Aunt Nono was in California when it all started so we had no idea where she might have been. The electricity was out for a few months and so we were still getting used to making fires and lighting the old oil lamps Nono kept around the antique store. It had a cozy back room with a fireplace, all wood paneled walls. The front room was about as boring as any store front, and it’s big front windows saw through to the strip mall enclave outside.

I was never a big user of technology and my parents grew up in the 80’s so I don’t think the internet crashes really hit us as bad. Their big thing was the lack of comforts. It took hours to boil the course rice from the bag we salvaged and our clothes stank from lack of any running water to clean them. It bothered me too, but I could see it bothered them more.

But my brother, he never lived in a world without phones and the internet. Even as we sat by the fireplace with the pot boiling rice and the low firelight flickering across our downtrodden faces, he would take out his precious phone and the foreign blue-white LED light would splatter into the dark. His eyes wide and grasping for hope that he would get a connection again. Each time, it became worse to see; I just wanted to take it from him and throw it into the fire, but I could see it gave him hope and that was the resource that could afford any cost.

“Why don’t you just throw that damn thing away!” my mother said. Her face twisted with frustration as she huddled under Aunt Nono’s blanket.

My brother said nothing but clicked refresh on the unopened web page.

“Didn’t you hear your mother!” my Dad said by the firelight. He threw in a leg to an antique chair and the smoke smelled like varnish.

“Maybe it came back up! The government was trying to bring it back in places.”

He clicked refresh again and I could see tears in his eyes. I reached over and put a hand on his. He looked over suddenly with wide eyes.

“You’ll waste the battery.” I said

Slowly he clicked away the screen and put it back in his pocket.

“We’ll try again when we can move.”

The first month or so we had to live this way, sitting by the fire waiting for the rice was full of conversation. We’d reminisce over things and the places we went and how things might get closer to how they were. I always knew that things would never go back to how they were. I didn’t say anything, but I think they knew.

Now we just sat by the fire, watching the flames like the enigma of life. The only sound now the lapping of its magic tenderals on the pot, the snapping of ancient wood, and the occasional bolt of thunder beyond the thin confines of the house. There was no telling if it was natural thunder or not. The silence with each other was a fearful and tense comfort.

We had to find things to occupy ourselves. Nono’s store had a collection of strange knives and I learned pretty well how to throw them and a series of marks embedded into the far wood panels of the wall showed practice. My favorite was a sort of curved knife with a curved handle of bone with a large pommel at the end. I would idly learn how to spin it between my fingers. I taught my brother as well.

“I’m gonna look outside.” I said, standing.

My family looked at me.

“Be careful.” My mom said.

“I’ll look too.” My brother said and got up.

Beyond the thin wooden door was the storefront, still full of junk and antiques which were now of little value except to burn. An old globe, the kind you’d see in old movies in some rich guy’s study, stuck out among brass poles to a disassembled trundle bed. Coffee tables and handcrafted chairs with floral patterns on their cushions from a bygone but not a dissimilar era.

The big glass windows that looked out to the big parking lot showed the rubble and deep holes gouged into the tarmac. The other stores in the old strip mall plaza were dark. Old cars, either smashed into twisted metal or burned to a solemn husk littered the cracked and jaunted pavement. In the distance, a tall building was engulfed in flame. It had been burning for two days.

The sky was clouded with a low overcast that had been present for nearly a month, and tiny speckles of rain formed on the glass panes. Under my poncho and my brother under his blanket, we moved to the window and looked up. Beyond the clouds flashes of orange light could be seen and their mystery was terrifying and out of our control.

The two of us just looked and said nothing for a long moment.

“What do you think is going on?” My brother finally said as booms and rumbles reached our feet.

“I don’t know. The government could be trying to fight them.”

Suddenly an object burst from the clouds far away. Behind it carried a streamer of blue flame and debris broke away and spiraled in streaks of blue.

“look!” My brother said.

The object became more clear, and it seemed to be nearing us. An aircraft of some strange design. I couldn’t see any wings and my brother adjusted his old rayban glasses to see better.

“Get back.” I said as the craft broke apart further, it’s hulk rocketing down.

The craft struck the burning building and the largest part skipped off of it in a shower of fire and rubble. It moved very fast now in our direction and crashed against the smashed pavement at the edge of the parking lot. The sound was a tumult and the ground shuddered under our feet as it came to rest at the far end of the plaza.

From what I could see, it was not a government plane or design at all. Wordlessly we watched it as blue flames rose up to the heavens.

From the side a door could be seen opening and we pressed up to the glass to see. Several small blue humanoid creatures exited it and milled about the wreck, they had weapons of some kind and red spines flaring off of their heads. At the distance we were, it was hard to tell what they were doing, but they were the survivors.

“It’s them.” I said, and the primal fear took hold. We looked at each other and both bolted back to our parents.

“We NEED to go.” I said

Mom and Dad both looked up at us, breathing heavy.

“What is it?” My dad said standing.

“A ship or something just fell and some of them  are out there in the plaza.”

We took no time to hurry our things together. The hunger was what lead my dad to strain the half cooked rice, pouring the water over the fire and make for the door last with the pot in his hand. We left the embers for whomever might find it.

The four of us moved swiftly as we could out into the woods next to the highway and we did not stop moving until dawn rose the world into a grey.

Ants & Telepathy

“Mosquitoes pay ants no mind. They lack the sustenance needed. And as I watch what looks like some kind of ant highway, a daddy long-legs marches above them through the tall grass.

Species that don’t bother eachother.

I don’t trouble them, but by my very nature I couldn’t live among them.

I’m too big.

And that’s why the mosquitoes like me.”

Do you think ants see themselves as individuals?

Not family relations, but the insects.

I mean If you take the thought experiment to say that maybe they could have a sense that they are one among many and not in the sense that they have thoughts and feelings. But I mean they could for all we really know.

Apparently the more ants you have in a group, the smarter they become, which seems to be the exact inverse of humanity.

In that regard, perhaps ants all feel and sense the collective colony, seeing the world as one organism. Rather than a bunch of ants working at menial goals, they understand the implications of it all, their place in it as more of an appendage. They would probably feel themselves closer to a plant, with far stretching roots and systems.

Such things would require a certain degree of what we would call telepathy. Whether you believe in it or not, I don’t think if it existed that it would be as simple as “talking” in other people’s heads. Words were around much later from any biological ability. It would be in feelings, images. or just plain impulses to do things.

I recently read that aboriginal Australian tribes have a “system” where when they feel a twitch or a pain randomly in their body, they can touch that place on them, enter a meditative state and somehow “see” a relative (an aunt if you will) or a location that they know. All the article told me was that it was startlingly accurate, as telepathy was just a small caveat to a greater conclusion about the brain.

In this busy world of business we live in of internet and numbers, perhaps that key part of the brain was lost or clouded from us. Perhaps it’s still there somewhere deep inside. It could be for all we know.

Johnny6

<————– Continued from Johnny5

Pat looked out the window. As he furiously smashed buttons on  the observation room console, he swiveled the microphone and spoke.

“Johnny you need to relax.”

Johnny did not respond as the Regallion came into view on the far side of the station.

“Johnny, the combat stims should be wearing off now. Just THINK for a moment.”said Pat.

The ship ponderously turned about and aimed it’s prow directly at the room where Pat was. The energy bursts from the engines fired out from behind and into the vast blackness in the background.

Pat needed to act. Words were not going to work with someone hopped up on solder juice. He needed to use the emergency transporter. Pat stopped pushing buttons, and looked towards the yellow and black bordered glass chamber on the adjacent wall. The empty space spoke only danger to him, and the words of his training instructor came back to him.

The gruff, cropped-top, aviator-sporting pro spoke with the intense authority of a man who was required to give a safety speech. Truth be told the mustachioed fellow did not expect any of the valets to do anything correctly.

“This is the A1-7 transporter. It is very similar to the standard pedestrian model, however it does not have a direct link to any standard receiving portal. In the case of an emergency where a ship is out of control and headed towards the station, this transporter can be used to “board” the out of control ship. It accesses a transporter inside and deposits a subject in there.

Be warned however, that these devices are unstable and can constitute a serious threat if used improperly. Without the exact correct coordinates, a subject will simply dissipate beyond the realm of scientific knowledge.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Pat’s temple. The Regallion approaching the point of no return. The space Valet prepared the A1-7 system, planned out the trajectory of the ship, and pulled himself from his chair.

As fast as his legs could take him, he heaved himself across the room, threw open the door to the chamber, and stepped inside. Through the glass of the window and the chamber, the Regallion continued on, without any sign of deviation, and no word from Johnny.

Inside the chamber was a big red button. On the wall was a red and green light. With the coordinates set, all he needed was to hit the button, just as the ship passed into that place in time and space. Pat tried to watch the dim green light, waiting for it to spark to life, yet the spaceship outside was growing nearer. The flashing lights of the station patrol could be seen forming behind the ship, but they were too far and to late to do anything.

Suddenly the light flashed green and Pat slammed his hand down on the red button. It was not like the other transporter. It did not go “Whirr”, it made a piercing, radioactive “VOIP”, de-atomizing Pat and casting him into the temporary link with the Regallion’s transporter.

Pat found himself in a dark room falling violently into a stack of boxes.Pat felt as though he was the thickness of a five mile piece of string that had been wrapped around a thumbtack. Slowly shaking off the twists in his thoughts and the sudden understanding of pea soup, Pat pushed himself up from the boxes, tripping several times before getting up in the dark. He staggered towards where he thought the door was as his mind came back up to speed.

The door to the small storage closet burst open as Pat fell into a corridor. The hallway had orange rust walls with brown seashell imprinted borders. The carpeting was a guacamole green and the ceiling was white. Along the walls were various portraits of people, and end tables with sky blue or green lamps. The doors were all brown wood with brass knobs.

It was as though whoever designed this ship was fascinated by detour from the early 1970’s.

It phased Pat a moment before he took off, his heavy breaths deepening in his panic to find where the bridge might be in this giant flying house.

magnificentfacilities.wordpress.com

magnificentfacilities.wordpress.com

To be continued…

Johnny5

<———continued from Johnny 4

The Ragallion Quadrant Skipper, broken of it’s restraints, cruised into the digital traffic lanes. The massive ship then unfurled two solar sails, catching the light and radiation to further power the thrusters.

All sorts of bells and whistles were going off in the huge chrome and white cockpit. Johnny jammed the thruster pedal with his boot and slammed the energy retention intake to maximum. A wide smile broke over his face, his eyes bulging, and the veins in his head pulsing. He did not heed any kind of protocol or decorum; simply on manual controls, Johnny’s head pounded with the thoughts a subwoffer might have during a series of deep base drones.

Pat’s voice came over the Radio after a calming series of notes amid the warnings and flashing lights.

“Hey man, I’m gonna try to talk you down. It might be kinda imposable, and you’re probably freaking out a little right now-”

Johnny’s smile and expression remained in his rageful mania as he grasped the controls to the multi-billion Credit vessel. Only his eyes moved, his pinpoint pupils and irises sliding to the right side of his head towards the mic.

“-but, you need to try to think about the consequences to your actions. It’s not to late to just stop and let me take over. You can calm down from this, I’ve seen it, It’s a fail safe for the solders so they don’t go Bonkers, you just need to focus on stopping and calming down.”

Johnny’s brain did not hear a word after “think about the consequences”. He imagined continuing to pilot the vessel across the spaceport towards the docking station. He thought about how when the ship collided with the observation room, the consequence would be a massive explosion.The Regallion was a large ship with thousands of gallons of fuel along with the reactor coils from it’s solar array. The wreckage and destruction would likely result in docking bay 27’s shut down for years.  Surely this would be enough to accomplish his goal of killing Pat.

Gripping the controls and grinding his teeth, he pressed forward on the accelerator. A freighter vessel on an intersecting course pulled up just before the space-ship thundered past, it’s V9-TX main thrusters had the force to send the small (more modern) Carrillion  spinning out into space as the Ragallion blew by.

Johnny thought about how much Pat deserved to die for his transgression and like the pinpoints of his pupils, his vision was in a direct tunnel towards reaching that goal. That was until one thought floated through his narrow gaze. To be fair it was part of a larger feeling. It went something like this:

“killpatkillpatkillpatkillpatkillpatkillpatfasterfasterfasterfasterfasterKill Pat I’m going to explode KILL PAT KILL-”

Like the rest of a dubstep song after the drop, his addled thoughts and anger all crashed together into a cacophony of chaos.

“I’m going to explode.”

Johnny pulled his foot back from the accelerator. His brain was suddenly conflicted.

“But I need to kill Pat.”

“But I’m going to die”

“Why do I need to kill Pat?”

“Because…he …did something”

The Regallion, still at a hideous momentum for the spaceport, hurtled on as docking bay 27 neared.

Johnny4

“WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE THOSE!!” Johnny squeaked into the mic, sweat beading on his forehead and commingling with the irritated skin on his pimple thing. The vision around the exact point he was looking blended together in faded colors as his pupils shrunk to about half their normal size.

“Hey man, chill out, this isn’t a secure channel.” Said Pat “Just try to find a way to-”

“Did you just tell the guy – you gave combat stimulants to – to calm down?” asked Johnny, the tingling bumping pulsing adrenaline coursing through his dilated veins speeding up now.

“Listen,” Said Pat “you’re going to be fine if you just-”

“No, You listen, I think there is a fundamental flaw in your fucking logic!” Johnny said hunched over the controls, breathing heavy, the frustration of the hangover, the tunnel vision of the stimulants, the sting on his forehead. “I don’t have a freakin’ choice, I’m NOT going to calm down, and I’m going to take the ship in docking bay 556 back, and when I do, I’m gonna RAM IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!”. In that moment, the pressure in his head had built up to the point where the bump on his forehead burst open, and a fleck of white shot out and landed on the observation window.

“Johnny-”

Johnny smashed his fist into the button for the mic, his face purple with the onset of a vicious rage. He made his way to the airlock door which opened before him into the dock with the transporter as the lone object in the white paneled room. His boots scuffed against the linoleum floor, the red in his eyes were that of crimson hatred and anxiety.  Blood ran in a small rivulet from his forehead.

(I feel as though here it may be necessary to tell you a little about the drug Pat had unwittedly given his co-worker. What he thought was basic acetaminophen was actually a chemical compound labeled only under the TOP SECRET database at the Federation capital. No one besides high level security forces actually knew it’s chemical name and it’s strict monitoring made it a nearly imposable substance to obtain relationally. Pat had some serious connections, and friends with drug problems. Simply known to the small levels of proliferation, both legal and illicit, the compound was simply called “Stims”.

Stims legal uses were to give to drop troops as they were about to hurtle from an orbital platform through a planet’s atmosphere and immediately into heavy ground combat. The Drug balanced out certain chemicals for peak awareness, pain reduction, endurance, and control.

This had the overall effect of actually heightening one’s metabolism, blood flow, O2 intake, speed, focus, and irritability for one at rest; It’s “control” effects only helpful to those under extreme physical conditions. The depressant effects of the alcohol, the dehydration of the hangover, and his previous irritability commingled with the Stims that had only begun to enter his body. He was beginning to “come up” as it were, but at the “peak” of the combined effects….)

Johnny dropped the ignition key for the Carrilion on the floor and waited on the transporter. A moment later the blue light swirled around him and he was at docking bay 556. He moved like an ape machine, snatching the ignition key for the Quadrant Skipper and stepping through the air locking doors. The Quadrent skipper was a long term space passenger ship, made for the opulent and well to do, like a yatchet or something. This one was named the Regallion.

Johnny moved through the living space, the game tables and puffy couches in recessed areas in the floor passed as unnoticed as the minibar near the cockpit. The valet jumped into the pilot seat, turned the ignition key, punched in the clearance numbers, and ratcheted up the thrusters to full power.

The kinetic energy of the space yacht’s engines scored the rear wall of the spaceport and the ship groaned as the coupling arms fought against their force. A heaving sound of metal would have been heard by Johnny if he was not an ion in a building torrent of anger. Instead, he was just, “aware” that the couplings had broken off and the ship was flung forwards into space.

He had one goal forming in his mind. It began as rational as anyone could be. he was going to bring back the ship needed at the docking bay, collect any tip, and return to pat, very perturbed about the fact that he had been given something he did not expect.

This idea changed in a manner of moments, and although at the time his remark of, quote, “…I’m gonna RAM [the ship from docking bay 556] UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!” was largely an empty threat, it began ringing through his mind. The moment of running the Quadrant Skipper into the observation room, the huge explosion, the crushing metal. It all became….so appealing.

To be continued.