“This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef. This little piggy had none. This little piggy was disposed of in a human biowaste bag and dumped in an incinerator.” Tower opened his eyes. He was strapped to a gurney. Naked. His bulbous form immobile as he stared into a bright light above him. The source of the honeysuckle sweet voice came into focus. He could feel her hands on his toes. Tower tries to hide his face but his hands were bound and his head immobilized. His instinct was to look away. But he couldn't. Eye contact established he began shaking. The woman, mid 30s, well proportioned slid her hands over Tower’s legs smiling. Tower’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water trying to breathe. The meltdown was near. But strapped to the bed, what was he to do? Then it happened. The woman, still smiling, moved her hand up Tower’s leg, toward his flaccid, undersized man organ. Gripping it tight she cooed softly, “ Oh my Captain Tower. What a sexy cock you have here. Do you mind if I suck it?” Tower awoke with a gasp back in his quarters. A dream! He was alone in bed. Tower slowly rolled himself upright, his prosthetic arm scraping the side table. He rose and realized he was covered in sweat unable to breathe. He vomited twice on the floor. Slowly he stood and violently removed the eight inch purple anal plug from where it had been securely stored hours earlier. Dumping it on the bed he waddled over to the washbasin and looked himself in the mirror. Still a virile beast, Tower knew deep in his core that the year of deep space exploration had gotten to him. Disavowed by Starfleet, Tower drove his stolen Enterprise deep into spaces where no man had gone before. Weeks earlier, while going over one of his lists, Tower had Enterprise set in for repairs at an independent star base. The base, run entirely be women, disturbed Tower to his core. Their planets democratically elected leaders seemed impotent and ineffective. To top it off, they insulted his crew by recommending repairs that would increase efficiency. His desire to strike the base was tempered by only one consideration. The base was the only source of lube for 400 light years. “These are dark days,” muttered Tower. “One day. One day.” Before he could finish the thought the bridge hailed. “Captain, this is Goldstein. We've detected an anomaly ahead. We are moving to intercept.” “How many times have I told you to identify yourself as Space Jew when contacting me from the bridge?” Tower replied. “Yes sir, sorry sir. It won't happen again. Space Jew out.” Goldstein signed off. Tower dressed quickly and deliberately. He tightened his man garter and left his quarters still haunted by the nightmare of the woman who touched him. “It's time for a change,” shouted Tower to no one in particular. He headed for the bridge ready to face the day. Ready to change his destiny. “It's game time! Senior staff, report to the locker room.”
He couldn't let us have all the fun ripping on stumpy. You know, being you and chup were friendly you might want to pitch he comes back again. I know he has his reasons for leaving and all, but being as I get this place a bit more it is a bit wrong he isn't with his long time friends at the holidays. Someone should go bring him back. Life is too short.
Candlelight Vigil Thread for Faceman: Cancelled. Looks like he was found safe and sound aboard an independent star base run entirely by women! Lucky git
“Ah,” thought Tower, “a breakfast of champions.” Tower was almost done with his daily box of donuts, liter of Mountain Dew, and deep fried bacon. Tower wolfed down his last donut and headed out the door. Feeling full and satisfied, like a teenager’s anal cavity after a night with Lt. Marsden, Tower lumbered his masculine frame down the hall for his morning workout. Five doors later, at the turbolift to the bridge, his workout was over. Out of breath, Tower called the lift As the turbo lift rose up and penetrated the bridge, Tower strode mightily onto the deck. His yeoman handed him a can of Ensure and Tower assumed his position in the center of the bridge. Surrounded by his crew, Tower inhaled the masculinity. Finally comfortable in the scents of dirt, Axe body spray, and old spice, Tower began to issue orders. “Goldstein, report.” Squealed Tower. “Sir, all stations report optimal. Here's the last shifts report.” Goldstein handed Tower a PADD with the report. Tower took it in his prosthetic claw Tower began to read the only way he knew how. Out loud. “Engines at peak effic…effickacky…effickacaky. We aprons fully charged. Um…”. Struggled Tower. “Space Jew, get someone to turn this nonsense into a list. This is unreadable” “Yes sir,” responded the Jew. “Title it ‘things that work OK on starship Enterprise stardate 68753.08’. Do you got that Jew?” “Yes sir,” muttered Goldstein. “Then get on it. Concentrate on that for a while you heeb.” Tower ordered. Goldstein and Tower’s relationship had soured in the last year in exile. Tower no longer viewed the Jew as an essential part of his crew. Tower’s fall from grace had, in Tower’s opinion, been primarily caused by the Jews. And since Goldstein was the last Jew in space, it made sense to distance himself from the Zionist pig. “Now listen up crew. Seriously, Jew you too. Take the coins and gems out of your ears. I want everyone to hear this, even you. Now, where was I. I was reading in one of my space magazines that in two weeks the government of Proxima Prime will face some upheaval. We visited three and a half years ago after they elected their first female Governor. It was too early to tell but I could tell that their society was going to hell and damnation after that. We're going to fix that.” “How, sir?” Asked Marsden, who batted his eye lashes at Tower. Tower blushed. “In two weeks Proxima will have free elections. We're going to stop that. We're going to make sure that President Plumas does not get re-elected.” Tower declared. “Sir, Proxima is not a member of the Federation. Historically interfering with elections of other nations has been rather poorly taken.” Goldstein interjected. “History can be wrong, Space Jew. We're about to prove it.” Tower replied. “How will we disrupt elections on Proxima?” Asked Marsden. “I have a list of ideas, all of them good. But chief among them,” Tower said, standing, “I am going to run for President.”
I love how the Jew plays coy upon hearing news of Tower’s plan to take control in a foreign land. I hope Tower’s smart enough see through this ruse and rely on Goldstein’s ancestral instincts for counsel in these matters. Make Poxima Great Again!
For some reason this Carson tower fella intrigues me now. I am not sure why? Perhaps I have more room in my heart now that I removed that stick from my butt. This may lead to some interesting places.
