The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Tales of Yesteryear
It occurs to me that upon reading the poem written for my grandfather, some of you might be curious as to how my grandfather could have possibly served in the United States military when my family is, in fact, the royal family of Pluto. Well, I’ll tell you a story.
Back in 1940 (Earth-years), old Gramps (or young Gramps, as he was then) was in deep doo-doo. The time had arrived for him to marry old Grammy (no, she was old even then, like Angela Lansbury). Anyway, Gramps figured he didn’t really want to settle down. Gramps wanted to roam the space-ways and have adventures. He wanted to play tip-the-Reticulan, wrestle the space-bears, and bag himself a sapphire-skinned chick. In short, Gramps wasn’t ready for the entrapment presented by a wedding ring.
So sometime after he got his traditional matrimonial crewcut, and before he was scheduled to arrive for his spandex-tuxedo fitting, Gramps snuck away to his garage, climbed into the space-cruiser, and with a turn of his key, hauled ass off of the beauteous purple planet of Pluto.
Upon reaching space, it occurred to Gramps that he had no place to go to, so he just kind of cruised for a while. After about a week his supply of Yoohoo and Ho-Hos was near exhausted, so Gramps decided to cruise the asteroid belt for some food. After 3 hours of navigating past massive hunks of iron ore floating through space, Gramps found himself what looked like a decent place to eat, a crummy burger joint named Blorg’s Bestial Biped, located conveniently just off of Spaceway 1. It was as Gramps was in the middle of eating his meteopher burger that he witnessed the joint’s manager firing the fry-cook for snorting fungus frog anal dust in the employee washroom.
Having noticed a cheap hotel complex an asteroid or two away, and never one to pass up an opportunity, Gramps applied for a job on the spot. He quickly received it, along with a metallic hair-net and a special paper hat with 3 Bs on it. Gramps was the new short-order fry-cook for Blorg’s Bestial Biped. He wasn’t incredibly overjoyed, never having had to work before, and disdainful of what the abundance of grease in the kitchen would do to his frilly shirts, but he knew the new job would give him a chance to make some money so he could afford to hide out for a while and refuel his ship for a large trip, just as soon as he figured out where to go.
It wasn’t a month before Gramps was caught banging the manager’s stripper girlfriend. Barely escaping the angry burger joint operator’s swinging cleaver, eluding it only by using the stripper as a makeshift human shield, Gramps managed to jump through a nearby window, tearing his best frilly shirt in the process. Running to his ship and ditching the asteroid post-haste, Gramps realized he hadn’t been able to fully refuel his ship for a long trip, nor was he any closer to knowing where to go. Reluctantly, Gramps began to head back to Pluto.
It was as Gramps neared the planetary satellites that his sensors picked up a probe-craft coming from the general direction of either Krypton or Daxam. Crossing his fingers and hoping for the best, Gramps followed after it. The probe led Gramps to Earth.
Earth wasn’t really what he’d hoped. The technology was centuries behind what Pluto had, and the females generally had no more than two breasts. It was a far cry from Magdalena 12, a planet where female members of the galactic police vacationed. He had hoped to eventually make it there, to get a job as a Space-Chippendale, and live the sweet life. But the ship’s fuel cells were drained by the time he reached Earth, and thusly, he was committed.
The story largely ends there. Upon landing on Earth, Gramps spent a few days hiding in a Kansas farm until he heard news of the great war. Jumping up at the chance for action and adventure, he then enlisted in the U.S. military. He picked the navy solely because of the bell-bottoms.
He never did fight though. He got shipped out to an island base where he sat out the war and developed an unholy love for pickled pigs feet. Gramps then set up a secret gambling operation which he ran up until the day Grammy flew into Earth in her Astro Model T. She then dragged his ass, kicking and screaming, back to Pluto. She had wanted to attain queenhood after all, and her biological clock was ticking away. A few sedatives later, they were married. The rest is history.
Back in 1940 (Earth-years), old Gramps (or young Gramps, as he was then) was in deep doo-doo. The time had arrived for him to marry old Grammy (no, she was old even then, like Angela Lansbury). Anyway, Gramps figured he didn’t really want to settle down. Gramps wanted to roam the space-ways and have adventures. He wanted to play tip-the-Reticulan, wrestle the space-bears, and bag himself a sapphire-skinned chick. In short, Gramps wasn’t ready for the entrapment presented by a wedding ring.
So sometime after he got his traditional matrimonial crewcut, and before he was scheduled to arrive for his spandex-tuxedo fitting, Gramps snuck away to his garage, climbed into the space-cruiser, and with a turn of his key, hauled ass off of the beauteous purple planet of Pluto.
Upon reaching space, it occurred to Gramps that he had no place to go to, so he just kind of cruised for a while. After about a week his supply of Yoohoo and Ho-Hos was near exhausted, so Gramps decided to cruise the asteroid belt for some food. After 3 hours of navigating past massive hunks of iron ore floating through space, Gramps found himself what looked like a decent place to eat, a crummy burger joint named Blorg’s Bestial Biped, located conveniently just off of Spaceway 1. It was as Gramps was in the middle of eating his meteopher burger that he witnessed the joint’s manager firing the fry-cook for snorting fungus frog anal dust in the employee washroom.
Having noticed a cheap hotel complex an asteroid or two away, and never one to pass up an opportunity, Gramps applied for a job on the spot. He quickly received it, along with a metallic hair-net and a special paper hat with 3 Bs on it. Gramps was the new short-order fry-cook for Blorg’s Bestial Biped. He wasn’t incredibly overjoyed, never having had to work before, and disdainful of what the abundance of grease in the kitchen would do to his frilly shirts, but he knew the new job would give him a chance to make some money so he could afford to hide out for a while and refuel his ship for a large trip, just as soon as he figured out where to go.
It wasn’t a month before Gramps was caught banging the manager’s stripper girlfriend. Barely escaping the angry burger joint operator’s swinging cleaver, eluding it only by using the stripper as a makeshift human shield, Gramps managed to jump through a nearby window, tearing his best frilly shirt in the process. Running to his ship and ditching the asteroid post-haste, Gramps realized he hadn’t been able to fully refuel his ship for a long trip, nor was he any closer to knowing where to go. Reluctantly, Gramps began to head back to Pluto.
It was as Gramps neared the planetary satellites that his sensors picked up a probe-craft coming from the general direction of either Krypton or Daxam. Crossing his fingers and hoping for the best, Gramps followed after it. The probe led Gramps to Earth.
Earth wasn’t really what he’d hoped. The technology was centuries behind what Pluto had, and the females generally had no more than two breasts. It was a far cry from Magdalena 12, a planet where female members of the galactic police vacationed. He had hoped to eventually make it there, to get a job as a Space-Chippendale, and live the sweet life. But the ship’s fuel cells were drained by the time he reached Earth, and thusly, he was committed.
The story largely ends there. Upon landing on Earth, Gramps spent a few days hiding in a Kansas farm until he heard news of the great war. Jumping up at the chance for action and adventure, he then enlisted in the U.S. military. He picked the navy solely because of the bell-bottoms.
He never did fight though. He got shipped out to an island base where he sat out the war and developed an unholy love for pickled pigs feet. Gramps then set up a secret gambling operation which he ran up until the day Grammy flew into Earth in her Astro Model T. She then dragged his ass, kicking and screaming, back to Pluto. She had wanted to attain queenhood after all, and her biological clock was ticking away. A few sedatives later, they were married. The rest is history.
