Inter-Planetary Penitentiary
Refer: http://themoondothshine.blogspot.com/2007/02/may-force-be-with-me.html
And here is the much (non)awaited sequel to my inspired ramblings.
I have never been the same since I discovered Douglas Adams...
*--~~--***
Dear Non-Electronic Diary that smells like fermented bird excreta…
I must tell you that the Shazaa’n battle cruiser finally caught up with me. I was about to flee through hyperspace when due to unfortunate circumstances, I was held up at a traffic stop.
I blame my capture on the Balky Milk Company, for if they hadn’t had to transport 2500 tonnes of their sour Zow’s milk, I wouldn’t have been held up for a week at the traffic stop.
So here I am!
A dark and musty cell somewhere in the Shazaa’n stronghold. I think I must be in Zuisse because it smells like stale cheese here.
I’ve been holding out fine. My previous cellmate was a blast, literally, because he kept exploding all the time and I have to tell you that although there’s nothing quite as nasty as an old person farting, I hope you never get stuck in a cell with a Barkan SlatherBlaster. Especially one with really bad dietary problems. Of course, like all cellmates usually go, he did try to eat me. Anyway, I have finally found a use for that lighter I salvaged from earth. I simply threaten to light him up with fire, the next time he ‘explodes’.
My current cellmate is a real bore however! In fact, it’s just so depressing in here that I’d much rather live in the midst of all the nauseous fumes of the SlatherBlaster.
Yes, the newbie is an earthling.
It’s Geri Haliwell! I am not sure, but I think the Shazaa beamed her up when she was halfway between her jump off the sixth floor at some seedy Motel. Maybe somewhere in between the fourth and the third floors, I’m not really sure.
I think she intends to sing herself to death, and kill me in the process… If I hear one more song by the Spice Girls, and her incessant bawling about why she should never have quit, I’m just going to impale myself.
Yet, although I’m a whinnying tool, the facilities here are not really as bad. The Shazaa have really good taste when it comes to Jazz. But it’s a bit unnerving to watch the guards do weird things to their privates (I think masturbation), every time the music plays.
From what I hear, my release papers have been re-released because apparently, before I sign the release papers, I must find someone who would allow me to be released in the first place. And to find this person, I must sign another release form in triplicate to be granted a temporary release to find this person who could eventually release me. I have released a sample of my urine today to let the authorities know I have not been smoking Verulean grass on the sly.
The most important lesson I’ve learnt here is: DO NOT TALK TO ANYONE!
Yes, it’s so important that it needs to be written in such threateningly bold letters. Thankfully I learnt by watching someone else have a bad experience.
Poor Victor didn’t know the terror that was coming to him when he asked one of the members of the Kill-U Brotherhood, what the time was. Although they invited him to a game of poker *, his terribly mutilated body was found later on, in a dumpster. His head, which still retained the ability to converse, told the authorities that he accidentally poked Bleed-Bore (Kill-Gore’s younger sister) thinking she was a member of the brotherhood, and was responsible for his own fate.
* - Poker is a game where you poke a person, who in turn becomes the poker and has to find other people to poke. The game was invented in the boring shores of Crakkar, where other equally pointless games such as ‘crab counting’ and ‘rodeo’ have been invented.
This is where I have to stop, mainly because the paper in this diary is so rotten that the ink just seems to run off the sheets.
Moreover, Prison Guard XoXoX is coming by later to pick up a stool sample. He’s never really satisfied with the cafeteria food…
Also, I plan to gag Geri in her sleep tonight!
posted by Arvind at 1:32 PM
8 comments
