The Irish Pilot was able to steady the ship, dangerously staggered by the passion of Scientist Hulk and Sexy Scientist Lady #1.
“Ayy mon, dat be some good flyin’,” commented Rasta Rick, placing his hand on his shoulder as a sign of respectful camaraderie.
Irish Pilot recognized the sign of respectful camaraderie, and gave him a thumbs up.
“Aye sir, there’s no situation I can’t pilot out of. Me ma always told me ‘Son, you’ve got to learn to fly, and you’ve got to learn to fly right, or else there’ll be no potatoes in your future.”
Rasta Rick nodded solemnly. He knew too well of the old Potato Famine that almost eliminated the Irish people, whose life-force was powered by triple-distilled potato vodka.
Suddenly there was a scream, and everyone turned to see Scientist Hulk in the throws of a terrible seizure.
“He’s having a seizure,” noted Robert.
“Thanks Rob,” said Space Marine #1.
“How can we help him?!” asked Space Marine #3.
“We can’t,” answered Sexy Scientist Lady, “I was afraid of this happening. His body was not able to tolerate going from a 2 to a 10 in the looks department. He’s dying.”
Asia Bones knew what had to be done. He karate-kicked Scientist Hulk in the head with such force that his head exploded. Brain matter spattered across everyone’s face.
“Tank you, Masta Bones, for ‘avin da courage ta do what must be done…” said Rasta Rick, extending his hand.
Asia Bones shook his hand.
“There’s nothing that makes these bones of mine sicker than seeing another living being in pain. That is why King Skeleton must be put to rest for all time. To end this nonsense war, and bring back honor to my skeletal people.”
“We gun do dat mon, but w’out da Super-Space Marines, we cahn’t get true da fire an da flames mon,” said Rasta Rick sadly.
“No, my Rasta brother. There is a way. We can still turn the Robert into a Super Space Marine. Unlike the unattractive scientist dork skinnyfat virgin, Robert has a nice, full beard and is quite handsome. Who wouldn’t want to fuck him?”
“I don’t know,” replied Space Marine #1, rubbing his hand down Robert’s back slowly.
Rob sensed his impending molestation and grabbed the syringe from the dead scientist, jammed it into his arm, and karate-kicked Space Marine #1 in the head, knocking him out cold. He then lit a match, and pressed it near his skin. The flame shrieked and died. Rob struck a pose. He was finally tough as nails.
“SUCH POWA!” exclaimed Space Marine #3, “The skeletons won’t stand a chance! But how can the rest of us help if we’re not fireproof?”
“Inside a guard station on the planet is a valve that controls all the fire on the planet. If Rob can turn that valve shut, we’ll be able to land!” explained Asia Bones, “And after that, it’ll be a piece of delicious ice cream cake taking the rest of the planet.”
“MON IT LOOKS LIKE WE GOTA PLAN, MON!” cheered Rasta Rick, “Irish Pilot, bring us close ma brodda!”
“Aye aye, sir!” said Irish Pilot, and he brought the Space-helicopter in low.
Rob tore the door open and prepared to make his jump.
Asia Bones placed his hand on his shoulder. So much respect.
“How do you feel, my child?”
“I’m ready,” said Rob, “I’m ready to finally do something great in one of these stupid stories.”
to be continued…