I wrote this little gem for submission to an SF humor ‘zine. They rejected it. I can’t say I blame them, it isn’t my best work, however, I have to admit: I chuckled a few times during the composition process, so I guess I’ll call it a success.
Captain T.J. Foster plopped heavily down into his chair on the bridge and sighed. “I’m getting to old for this,” he said.
He and his crew had just passed three days on a barren planet beyond the known rim of the galaxy. They were drawn by distress calls from someone called “Barbara.” Instead of a lone survivor, they found a tribe of women with two vaginas apiece.
And, man, were they randy! Foster was buried so deep in pussy he could barely move.
“You’re fine, Captain,” Johnny Milk said. Sitting at the radio rig, Johnny looked like a kid, even though was going on thirty-five. It’s my boyish face, he said, grinning.
“Tell that to my second-in-command.”
“I’m right here, sir,” Debbie Johnson said from behind him. She must have just come on the bridge.
“Not you,” Foster said, looking at his crotch.
“I’m glad you had fun,” Debbie said, slapping a folder onto Foster’s lap. “Status report.”
Foster opened it. He was just starting to read when Debbie screamed.
Starting, Foster looked up just in time to see something scuttle across the control panel below the window (you’re looking nice today, Venus, wink-wink).
“What is it?” he asked, standing.
The thing dropped onto the floor and starting coming toward him. It was large, the size of a small kitten, with six long, scraping legs.
“Spider!” Foster screamed, jumping onto his chair. He threw the folder at it; papers went wild.
It still came.
It wasn’t a spider.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Foster wailed.
Johnny was standing now. “Holy shit.”
The spider disappeared under the chair. Screaming, Foster leapt off the chair and landed next to Debbie, who was frozen.
“Captain…” Johnny started, but screamed.
When Foster looked, he saw another one of the things on Johnny’s shoulder, just chilling like he paid rent. Debbie screamed. Foster screamed. Pointed. Spun in mindless terror, kicking his legs like a river dancer. Johnny pushed the thing off and fell to the floor.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT???” Foster wailed, falling to his knees. “IT’S SO GROSS!!!”
The first thing was still under the chair, watching. The second, having fallen onto its back, rolled over and started coming at them.
Foster jumped up and crashed into Johnny. “Move, bitch,” Foster cried, shoving Johnny out of the way and running for the door.
Outside the bridge, Foster waited for Debbie and Johnny before slamming the door and locking it.
“Oh, my God,” Foster sighed, falling back against the wall. “That was scary.”
“Don’t look now, Captain, but things just got scarier,” Johnny said.
Foster glanced to his left. A hundred more of the spider-things dotted the hall.
“OH NO!!!!” Foster screamed. He pushed away from the wall and fled in the opposite direction.
“Captain!” Debbie screamed.
Foster turned a corner and stopped. They were everywhere, bulbous brown horrors with black eyes.
Foster looked left, right. There was no escape.
A spider dropped from the ceiling onto his shoulder. “Fuck this!”
Foster opened the airlock door and leapt into space.
Debbie and Johnny watched as Captain Foster floated by the window, his head swelling like a bag full of pulp. When it popped, they looked away.
“Nice prank, asshole,” Debbie said, slapping Johnny’s chest.
“I thought he’d know they were holograms!”