I'm trying to mix things up a bit, so here's an old(er) satire I started late last year (originally posted December 27, 2008. If it's well-received (or received at all), I'll eventually post the rest of it... might even finish it. There are currently six parts, but I've been lazy in the humor department as of late, and I suppose re-posting this is no exception to that.
Admiral James T. Adama strolled through the corridors of his ship, the battlestar Enterprise, as he always did. He liked to show his face to the crew in the morning, to let them know he was watching. They were, after all, a bunch of undisciplined jackasses. He often wondered how the Hell they survived this long. Or, he would have, had the Greek-inspired concept of the bad place in the afterlife been called Hell. Rather, he often wondered how in Hades they survived this long. Or, he would have, had the Greek-inspired concept of the bad place in the afterlife been called Hades. Hades was the god, he regularly pointed out, so he often wondered how in the Underworld they survived this long.
It seemed like his crew was more concerned with trying to gang-bang Persephone than escape the wrath of Hades himself.
Bah. It didn't matter. Today, it appeared, they were doing their jobs, so he wrapped up his little walk and headed to the bridge. Or the CIC. He couldn't remember what it was called.
The doors to the CIC whooshed open, because they like to whoosh, and he spotted his first officer, Colonel Saul Spock. Spock was a pointy-eared drunk from a small colony called Hephaestus. It would have been called Vulcan, but the world of Battlestar Enterprise is decidedly Greek and not, as some fools who rely too much on Bulfinch's Mythology would have, Greco-Roman.
"Captain Adama," Spock spoke, seriously slurring sloppily since Saturday, "We are approaching the anomaly."
Anomaly? Not another one. And it's Admiral, you asshole.
"Did you send out a recon?"
"David's flying escort for She-Boomer."
Oh, great. Love him as he may, James had a problem with his son doing anything that required any sense of responsibility. David Adama, as it was, had a reputation for being confused. He had been a scientist before the Cylon Armaggedon, although nobody called it the Cylon Armaggedon, since the Holy Bible was unknown to them. At any rate, David had been working on some weird "life bomb." Basically, it killed everything on a planet and replaced it with a new planet, replete with flora and fauna. James had secretly hoped they'd use it on Picon, since that colony had such a ridiculously ugly name. Nevertheless, since a battlestar had little need for an actual scientist, and a battlestar series had even less need for a competent science adviser, David was pressed into service as a Viper pilot.
"She-Boomer?" James asked. "I thought He-Boomer had flight detail today."
Spock raised an eyebrow, his typical response when Captain Adama misspoke. "Captain, need I remind you that He-Boomer is a Viper pilot. She-Boomer is the one assigned to the Raptor squadron."
"As I was, Mr. Spock. As I was." He really hated that pointy-eared bastard. And it's fucking Admiral, asshole.
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