Tripping The Rift - Season 2

Captain's Log: As captain of a starship, being on-time is an important component of my professional image. That's why I was justifiably pissed off when a traffic jam made me miss a critical appointment at McHooter's with a client I'll call Mistress Shots O'Booze. As consolation, I stole some shwag from the frecked-up spaceship that caused the jam. Turned out I'd stolen ten thousand tubes of G-Y Jelly. For those of you who don't care what men do with other men behind closed doors, I'll just say it's an intimate masculine product.

Captain's Log: Cruisin', bruisin', and losin' my temper a little more every freckin' minute. Christmas came early on the Jupiter 42 this year: I was charging up a storm, buying every sick freckin' porno I could find. When my crew started to whine that I was hogging all the goodies, I shared the wealth (generous guy that I am). T'Nuk, naturally, missed the point and bought a new bra big enough to hold her sagging blubber-bags. Fortunately, Whip showed a little imagination and ordered a shiny new shrink ray from the back of a comic book. Sadly, not everyone likes to share as much as I do.

Captain's Log: Everyone knows the old "out of gas" trick - you fly your ship somewhere out into the void between a couple of galaxies, let the fusion drive sputter out, and tell your date the ship's out of fuel. Then you find creative ways to pass the time "until help arrives," or you decide your pelvis can't take anymore and you "remember" that there's a spare fuel pod in the cargo bay. Times like that, running out of gas can be a good thing. This was not one of those times.

Captain's Log: It's always such a tragedy when my ass-bouncing with Six is interrupted by petty trivialities. This time, my grandpa Benito broke out of the Fun City Retirement Home with a gang of antique cronies, then waylaid us with some wackjob story about the staff at Fun City sucking his brainwaves out against his will. Obviously, I can't be blamed for thinking that was a load of horse crap.

Captain's Log: My crew's pulled some fart-brained stunts over the years, but this time it was S.B.D. - "Stupid But Deliberate." Six, Gus, T'Nuk, and Whip actually walked out on me, quit, mutinied! They were blathering about how they couldn't stand the "working conditions" aboard the Jupiter 42! They're all freckin' crazy. Sure, there was the screwup with the dental plan, and that minor incident with the radiation leakage, but that's nothing to leave a job over. Especially when the boss is as cool and proactively employee-focused as me.

Captain's Log: Damn, that was a close one. And, for once, I'm not talking about premature ejaculation. I'm talking about my latest run-in with Commander Adam and his Confederation cronies. Over drinks down at Sammy's, "Assmaster" Adam got on this bragging kick about his brat son, Adam 12. In the same breath, he started ragging on my nephew, Whip. Now, if I want to call Whip a no-good worthless pissant slacker moron who's lazier than a stagnant puddle of sewage, that's my business. But nobody else better call him that, 'cause he's family. So, naturally, I bet Commander Adam that Whip could whip Adam 12's sorry ass in the spaceboarding competition at the Intergalactic X-Games. The deal was, if Whip lost, I had to give Six to the Commander. (Talk about a "sucker" bet....)

Captain's Log: Gus forgot to refill the damned toilet paper again. Now that Whip has his learner's permit, I have to spend a crapload of time teaching him the difference between braking and speeding. Worse, during our latest lesson, some Gray freaks in a flying saucer cut us off, backed into us, and then had the balls to demand that I pay them damages! It was obviously a scam, so I grabbed the wheel and took off. They chased us, which didn't shock me (after all, I always hate it when my scam victims run away). I plunged the ship into a wormhole to ditch them, but they followed us through. Next thing we knew, we'd all crash-landed together in a place called Roswell, in the mind-blowingly lame year of 1947, on some backwater dirtball called Earth. The Jupiter 42 was banged up, but we were way luckier than our pals in the flying saucer. They'd crashed near a military base, and the local cavemen confiscated them and their ship.

Captain's Log: Ah, vacation. A time when I can kick back, get drunk, and engage in elaborate frauds on the public. Now, I know what you're saying: That sounds suspiciously like my everyday life. But you're forgetting one key difference, which is that the accommodations are way crappier on vacation. This year I dragged Six, Gus, Whip, and T'Nuk along with me to Gulibus IV, where I like to take advantage of the off-season specials. Problem was, the place was crawling with people the way T'Nuk's ass is crawling with lice. We were lucky to get cots crammed in the laundry room at the hotel. That especially sucked, because I wasn't gonna have hot vacation sex with Six riding me like a cowgirl on top of the dryers while my crew lay around and drooled at us in big-eyed horny envy. (It's not that I'm a prude; if I'm gonna perform in public I'm charging admission, and I don't pay my crew enough to see that hot a show.)

Captain's Log: With my high-school reunion coming up, I needed to look swankier than ever, so I got busy with my do-it-yourself liposuction kit. As the coolest kid in school, my former classmates had depended on me, right up until graduation, for every nanosecond of happiness, humor, or hot backseat sex they had ever had. I wasn't going to betray that sacred trust now. By the time I stepped into the limopod with Six on my arm and T'Nuk crammed in the trunk, I was a lean, mean, spitballing machine once again. At the party, I was working my usual mojo when Darph Bobo pranced in, pretending he was a hipster evil mastermind instead of the cosmically dorky blob of nerd-flesh he'd been back in the day. People even pretended to be impressed until my first prank of the night landed him on his ass with a punch bowl on his head.