Living Garbage

Thornsword Earwig, telepathically ordered the latest version of Time Optimizer to call his wife. After analysing one hundred and seventy million words of his manual conversations it approximated his personality eerily well.

“A toxic afternoon to you too Jyena. Planet Droom is great babe, it’s a wonderful place to start a family.  Droom’s dominant creatures are anatomically almost identical to Homo sapiens, a typically stupid Earthling primate, but they’re much smarter. Droom is frequented by innumerable impressive species. Its prison population is hardly homogenous either and neither are the participants in its most popular reality television show Living Garbage. It’s a title that reminds me of your friends Jyena. I’ve already given you four extensions for your higher calibre acquaintances project, I look forward to the next update.”

“Returning to a more important subject, every episode of Living Garbage features an astounding array of incarcerated creatures Jyena. They’re the worst imaginable prisoners. A smattering of murderers and rapists, of valuable citizens, walk among the most despicable felons of all, activists. The most notorious is Lomandra Whamboozle. Her diabolical ascent among the ranks of anti juvenile slavery campaigners, resulted in her becoming the most wanted Droomian fugitive.

“No words can convey how grateful I am to those who apprehended her. The thought of having to purchase and insure an expensive robot to perform cleaning, cooking and maintenance tasks sickens me. It’s not necessary to insure juvenile slaves, they’re as replaceable as plastic bags. They can be abducted from planets in neighbouring galaxies thousands at a time. It’s like picking fruit without having to grow the orchards.  Lomandra Whamboozle and her comrades could have ended all that in less than a generation, if most of them hadn’t been so gloriously slain.”

“Like a lot of people, I was ecstatic when I heard Lomandra had been conscripted to appear on Living Garbage. Unbelievably, the multi species attacks on her, since her sentence began, have completely and utterly failed to break her spirit, but the 28th episode of Living Garbage will surely rectify that appallingly frustrating situation. Whamboozle has been led to believe the displaying, whipping, pawing and penetrating of her living carcass isn’t part of the show, that she will be given an opportunity to seek “justice” haha air quotes justice baby, air quotes justice. The Vangtorbs’s, Wungborb’s and Kraabslarb’s will teach her not to steal my slaves.”

“I’ve got to go Jyena, Living Garbage is about to start. What do you mean you have issues you need to discuss, didn’t you hear me, Living Garbage is about to begin. Cease your self centred whining woman and I will forgive you for speaking without an invitation to do so. Oh, you want a divorce do you? Call me back if you think of something important to discuss. It’s only ten seconds to Living Garbage sweetheart, make sure you call back during an ad break.”

The synthetic version of Thornsword was a tad tactless, but the next software upgrade was nigh. While Time Optimiser did its thing, Thornsword made millions, by more closely monitoring his investments. A few calls to financially influential people, on an intergalactic scale, still trumped automatic trading. Any remotely significant citizen could purchase the best software.

“That’s weird, normally Jyena would’ve called back already, to apologise for her insolence” Thornsword muttered to himself, as he watched the holographic orgy advertising his favourite brand of toothpaste. It was the first time he’d ever seen an ewok get down and down and dirty with an Andromedan goblin of any sort and he was impressed. As the advertisement receded, the mock courtroom, where Lomandra Whamboozle assumed justice was about to be served, came into focus.

At first, the fake judge spoke Droomian legalese with ease but after a while he sounded like he was referring to a teleprompter. Whamboozle looked confused. Thornsword assumed she was asking herself why on Droom would an experienced judge stumble through a routine part of their job. Suddenly the room inverted. The hem of Lomandra’s translucent floral dress clung to her face as she fell to the padded ceiling. Thornsword whistled in appreciation at her matching floral silk delicates. Lomandra was briefly stuck in the most squishy folds of a vast waterbed, her legs flailing uselessly. The Vangtorb’s, Wungborb’s and Kraabslarb’s, had anticipated the inversion, so they landed on their equivalent of feet.

Once the briefcases belonging to Lomandra’s pseudo legal team stopped bouncing they opened. There were no documents inside, just a vast array of sex toys. The drooling Vangtorb’s, Wungborb’s and Kraabslarb’s erotic tentacles were as hideous as tapeworm and as erect as skyscrapers. They were arguably the most disturbing manifestation of predatory euphoria ever seen on Living Garbage.

Lomandra Whamboozle didn’t mince words “In contrast with your kiss, bin juice tastes like heaven. The most wart infested arsehole in the galaxy looks gorgeous beside your plague comet nostrils and pus glacier eyelids” she roared at the biggest Vangtorb in the room. He looked somewhat taken aback.

“How about you drink the dregs of a Slorg Snail swamp and shit yourself to a death as gruesome as your smile” she continued, as though she were as willing to play the game as they.

“We’ve got a feisty one here boys. What shall we do first? Should we bring in the impregnation robots, to plant the seed of the oesophagus tarantula down her throat, the offspring of the sabre fanged glow worm in her entrails and the eggs of the parasitic scorpion in her womb or is that too kind?”

They all agreed it was too kind, even the nice guy among them, whose most heinous hobby was nothing worse than watching babies dissolve in vats of acid.

“Why does she look so confident?” Hoobmafia Gronkbland nervously asked the amorous horde. They didn’t bother to answer. They were too busy encircling and closing in on Ms Whamboozle. The smallest among them was a powerlifter five times her size.

The fleet of butt plugs, double ended dildos and transforming vibrators followed the commands of  Trargchomper, a four hundred kilogram Kraabslarb. He looked like the conductor of an orchestra, as he waved them forward in a variety of swarming formations.

“Exit pseudo co-operation mode” Lomandra commanded. The devices hovered as still as the opals in the wall.

“Enter attack mode!” she spat. Her dildo, butt plug, vibrator and penis pump air force revealed their retractable tranquiliser guns and fired a barrage of automated syringes at Lomandra’s assailants.

“Rape them, rape them, rape them you stupid bitch” Thornsword Earwig yelled at his holographic television. His more explicit instructions made the director of the most nightmarish Earthling porno sound romantic.

“Enter defence mode” Lomandra barked at her sex toy squadrons. Not surprisingly, she ignored the hideous viewer suggestions that were being transmitted into the would be torture chamber, at a rate of fifteen per minute. The overlapping voices were an attempt to simulate schizophrenia. Lomandra’s unconventional bodyguards swarmed around her. The studio guards didn’t dare call for reinforcements, let alone attempt to stop her themselves.

“Enter platform mode” Whamboozle whispered as the last guard slumped to the ground, with a tranquilizer syringe protruding from his buttocks. Lomandra flew over the Living Garbage studio wall, on a magic carpet of penis pumps.”

Thornsword looked so ill that one could be forgiven for thinking he was possessed by a Varkonian Cranium Worm. He’d bet ten times as much money on the outcome of Living Garbage than he’d made by delegating his marriage conversational duties to Time Optimiser. Thanks to Thornsword, Living Garbage’s co-producer, that disinherited loser Vortex Varnisher the 5th, had been able to buy an orbiting bachelor pad. Thornsword asked for nothing more than Vortex Varnisher granting Lomandra Whamboozle access to Living Garbage’s computer network, under the guise of having his way with her in his office.

Apparently Vortex Varnisher had also allowed Whamboozle to change the passwords to the doors between the various layers of the buildings. Why hadn’t Whamboozle taken the opportunity to seek revenge on her leering, pawing, probing fellow contestants? What was wrong with that woman? All she had to do was rape Gronkpanza the Vangtorb and Spewrash the Kraabslarb and that would be five million Droomian dollars split twenty/eighty. With so many episodes left to bet on, he couldn’t afford not to pay her.

Vungtorb, the Reptilian Orangutan

Vungtorb the reptilian orangutan, recharged his brain via his solar electric scales. A meal of antelope would’ve energised him more swiftly but in the Lorp Desert, hawk hornets and ballet scorpions, are the only readily available sustenance besides the merciless midnight sun.

Vungtorb the reptilian orangutan and his partner, Elvira the medusa poodle, began their land journey at the equator. Fortunately their all terrain vehicle, didn’t lose a wheel until they reached Gorbantula’s south pole. They’d honeymooned there an Earth century ago. Elvira’s wedding collar was stolen by the Gorbantula’s, the dragons after which the planet was named. Despite the theft, Vungtorb and Elvira considered retiring, just a flame from the geographical pole. Their interspecies marriage made them outcasts on most planets, but the Gorbantula dragons didn’t care what phylum their neighbours fucked. They were too preoccupied with treasure.

Vungtorb was confident the Gorbantulas would return Elvira’s wedding collar. His drag queen act had won over dragons before. Eager to see more, past audiences had parted with synthetic humanoids, reconnaissance drones, fully equipped interstellar spacecraft and a menagerie of soprano octopoids, baritone insectoids and a crustacean that sounded like a violin whenever it was immersed in a cloud of Vungtorb’s flatulence. These creature’s were currency throughout the Milky Way, but not as valuable as Vungtorb’s favourite money maker.

That reptilian Orangutan’s high heels were the final frontier in his act. While lassoing butterflies, with his flower draped erotic organs, he liked to launch his jewel encrusted shoes into the audience. Sometimes he engaged the retractable spears in the heels and sent them hurtling into a dartboard. In case you’re wondering, the butterflies love it.

The Garbantula’s burlesque cave was desperate for new acts. Elvira’s wedding collar was on display, behind RPG proof glass, in the kink museum upstairs. Apparently unimpressed with Vungtorb’s Muhammad Ali like agility, Jackie Chan humbling acrobatics, Fred Astaire rivalling rhythm and Elton John surpassing outfits, the manager refused to pay him the symphonic chameleons he’d promised, let alone consider returning Elvira’s wedding collar. Hoobdubba, the Gorbantula’s monarch, nodded its approval as Vungtorb approached, with his head bowed.

“I humbly thank you, for the honour of performing before you” Vungtorb proclaimed, before passionately kissing Hoobdubba’s cranium tentacle sphincter. It was momentarily startled. Vungtorb proferred his jewel encrusted, silk veneer high heels.

“A gift for you darling. Please take a closer look at what were my most prized possessions until I felt inspired to give them to a more worthy owner.” Hoobdubba was startled once more, as it tentatively sniffed the bejewelled offering. Its courtiers stared at their royal highness quizzically.

Vungtorb appeared to be mumbling gibberish as he crawled off stage. What Hoobdubba and his entourage couldn’t have known, is the crafty drag queen was issuing instructions, in an archaic language, to the multitude of miniature drones he’d sent into Hoobdubba’s blood tunnels. They waited for the signal to empty their hallucinogen tanks.

“The festering zombie donkeys, their bits don’t merely fall, their leprosy is volcanic” Hoobdubba yelled in terror.

Zungtorb addressed the room. “I regret to inform you there is a curse on the monarch.
The only way to free its royal highness from the curse is to return my darling Elvira’s wedding collar. If you’re wondering how this curse came about, we bought the collar from a witch, a Jorbblaga asteroid belt witch. Need I say more?”

“A collar you say. Oh that old thing, what a small price to pay for restoring the health of our royal highness. Hoobdubba is so attached to it but he couldn’t sell it if he wanted to. The most cunning shyster wouldn’t be able to trade it for an Earthling space probe, not even one from the fossil fuel era” Hoobdubba’s procurement officer chuckled.

Its Royal Highness babbled for a little longer “Resplendent in their evening gowns, they waddle across the boomerangs. Look how those throwing implements hover above the methane clouds. The aerial jellyfish swerve from their path. Why must they use their tentacles as satellite phone receivers, when they should use them to massage the urethras of viper maggots” Hoobdubba briefly slipping into a coma. When it awoke, it was its old self.

Vungtorb’s breaking of the curse was rewarded with seven symphonic chameleon’s.
Elvira’s wedding collar was presented in a marble replica of Zarbblimpers ark.
Zarbblimpa was renowned for salvaging plants and animals from planets destined to be demolished for their mineral wealth.

In the morning, a pair of ultra marathon Gorbantulas flew the proud interspecies couple and their crippled all terrain vehicle back to their interstellar cruiser.