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Book: Hippies
Chapter 4: Huge Lava Lamps

Onboard the vastness of the space vessel Lentil seed, Commander A’Doner was issuing commands to his hippy crew. “Wake up, butt monkeys! There’s an unidentified ship ahead!”

With a broad sweep of his large hands the commander struck up a regal pose, like an opera singer on some futuristic stage. All around him bleary-eyed hippies roused from drug induced stupors. Murmurs and moans came from all corners of the huge oddly decorated bridge.

“Hey man, not so, like, loud.” A voice said from underneath the communications console.

Another voice came from the direction of the weapons array. “Yeah, chill out, or something. No need for noise!”

Commander A’Doner was in no mood for these hippies today. Unlike most people from his planet, he had no interest in taking recreational drugs. His youth had been spent planning and scheming to take over the hippy home world; which he’d achieved in a remarkably short span of time, probably due to the fact that all his opponents were too stoned to care one way or the other. Now the commander was embarking on his boldest scheme yet: to force the hippy culture on the rest of the galaxy’s civilizations. Though not a user himself, the commander saw the potential for becoming the biggest dope dealer this side of the galactic core. He had an almost unlimited supply; his home planet was a lush green paradise - field after field of fertile hemp fronds. Due to some evolutionary quirk almost every plant from the tiniest moss to the largest tree would yield, with careful processing, incredibly potent mind blowing drugs. Some historians had speculated that some ancient sentient race of dope-heads had traveled the cosmos seeding whole planets with these plants so that wherever they were in the galaxy they’d never get caught short.

But Commander A’Doner wasn’t concerned with history at this moment. His ship looked like it was under attack and action had to be taken, and he needed his crew to be as alert as possible. There was only one way he could think of to achieve that aim. He spoke, his voice powerful and deep. “I’m turning the lights on!”

On the bridge of the HMS Death Reaper Justin, Peter, Pan and Ross just stared at the staggering transformation that had occurred in front on them. The trusted friend they knew so well had just transformed into their enemy - the enemy of mankind and civilization itself. Not just on Earth, but throughout the entire galaxy.

The shock-induced silence was finally broken by Ross. “Fuck! Fuckin’ fucked-up fucker!” Ross could always be relied upon to eloquently sum up any situation.

The being that was once Lawrence started speaking. “Haay, chill dare ma…”

The loathsome evil overlord, the Supreme Layzee-Sponjer, did not manage to finish the sentence. Ross leapt on him, pinning him to the floor. The hippy leader emitted a bone-chilling gurgling noise as Ross's grip tightened around his throat.

Justin, Pan and Peter grabbed Ross and dragged him away from the half dead convulsing body of the Supreme Layzee-Sponjer.

“Easy, Ross.” Pan said in a soothing voice.


Pan continued. “This thing was once a close and trusted friend. We can't just kill him.”


“We must find a way to restore him to what he once was: our friend.”

“Pan’s right.” Peter agreed. “He'd do the same for any of us.”


Justin, the captain of HMS Death Reaper, used his highly-trained Royal Navy mind to formulate a plan. “We could use him as the bait in a fiendish trap to bring down the whole of the hippy empire.”

Ross decided to use a different word for his response – a sign that he was calming down. “Shit!”

Everyone released their grip on Ross, confident that he would no longer try to snap Lawrence’s neck.


Justin issued commands. “Pan, Peter? You guys put that hippy freak in some stronger restraints. Ross? You can help me with the attack on that ship."

That idea pleased Ross immensely. “Yes!” He turned and glared at the image of the Lentil Seed on the main screen. “Fuckin’ hippies!”

On the bridge of the Lentil Seed, the hippies moaned like the undead, covering their eyes with smoke-stained hands. The lights - four huge lava lamps, one at each corner - illuminated the bridge in brilliant shades of red and green.

“Oh man, that hurts!” the weapons officer said, staggering to his feet. He turned and squinted at Commander A’Doner. “Can’t we, like, sleep a bit longer, or something?”

The commander frowned and leaned forward in his well-padded chair. “Shut up, and look at the damn view screen, you manky-haired bum-loving freak!”

The hippy obeyed his superior and looked. The massive view screen at the front of the ship displayed a wide-screen high-definition image of the view ahead. Silhouetted against the blue-white disk of Earth was a black submarine-shaped vessel. The vessel’s identity was displayed at the bottom of the screen – HMS Death Reaper.

“Whoa!” the hippy said. “It’s, like, a British submarine. And it’s, like, out in space.” He looked down at the remains of several joints that littered the floor around his feet. “That must ‘ave been, like, some damn good shit we ‘ad last night!”

Commander A’Doner yelled. “It’s not a bloody hallucination, you greasy turd angel! It’s real!”

The weapons officer gazed at the screen. “Are you sure?” He concentrated hard, forcing his drug-eroded brain to comprehend the imagery before him. “Well, eat me!”

“I have no idea why there’s a British submarine in orbit,” the commander said, “but it’s in the way. Launch a missile and destroy it.”

The weapons officer nodded. He turned to his console and clumsily operated a few controls. He pulled on a large red lever. A deep rumbling sound reverberated through the ship, and then faded. “Missile away!” The weapons officer said. “Time to target is, like, about ninety-two seconds, I think.”

“Excellent.” Commander A’Doner said, getting to his feet. As he stood, the incredible bulk of his lardy frame became apparent. It was strangely at odds with the bony physiques of the other hippies around him, all of whom were now conscious, or at least as near to consciousness as they were likely to get.

The commander spoke. “The signal we sent out a few minutes ago should now have restored the memory of our leader, the Supreme Layzee Sponjer. Soon, the Lentil Seed will detect the stirrings of our great master, and at last, after many many years, we will find him, and bring him back with us to our home world.”

The hippy bridge crew cheered quietly, and raised their girly arms ever so slightly. They were still too stoned, sleepy and weak to show more enthusiasm.

A synthesized snoring sounded.

“That’s it! That’s the sign!” The commander said, excited. “The Supreme Layzee Sponjer has been found!” He wandered over to the communications officer; his wobbly gut undulated under his robes as he walked. “Display the location of our master on the main view screen.” He laughed. “Finally, we’ll know where on Earth his laziness has been resting.”

In a barely coherent manner, the communications officer did as he was told.

All the hippies stared at the main view screen. A digital map of the Earth and its vicinity appeared. A red arrow zoomed in from the side of the screen with the words ‘The Supreme Layzee Sponjer is here’ written above it. Everyone expected to see it stop at a point on the Earth’s sphere. It didn’t. The hippies watched in wonder as the red arrow continued across the screen and away from the Earth. Finally, it stopped at a point two-thousand three-hundred and ninety-seven kilometers above the Earth’s surface.

Commander A’Doner’s jaw dropped as he realized what he was seeing.

Five seconds later, after their slow spongy brains managed to comprehend the information on the view screen, the jaws of the other hippies dropped too.

The commander staggered backwards with shock. “He’s on that submarine!” He screamed. “The British Navy, our most fierce and determined enemy, has kidnapped the Supreme Layzee Sponger!”

With remarkable perception, the weapons officer spoke. “Erm… When our missile hits that submarine, won’t it, like, kill our master, or something?”

Commander A’Doner stomped heavily over to the weapons officer and whacked the hippy hard across the back of his head. “Of course it will, you flippin’ arse invader!”

The weapons officer cowered before his commander. “Maybe I should, like, make the missile self-destruct?”

“Obviously, bum fiend! Do it now!”

The weapons officer thought for a moment, and then slammed his hands onto his console. Incredibly, the right sequence of buttons and switches were pressed. The image on the main view screen showed the missile detonating harmlessly several seconds before impact.

Commander A’Doner sighed with relief, and then he whacked the back of the weapons officer’s head once again. “You’re damn lucky, anal dreamer! You were seconds away from killing our beloved master!”

The weapons officer rubbed his head and looked up at his commander. “But, like, it was you who ordered…”

“Silence!” the commander screamed. He turned and strode in a hippo-like manner back to his large chair at the center of the bridge. He sank heavily into its padded seat.

The image of the submarine filled the view screen.

Commander A’Doner pointed at the British vessel on the screen and snorted with rage. “Those Royal Navy bastards have taken our Supreme Layzee Sponjer. They will pay dearly for their crime against the very fabric of the hippy empire. They may have brutally defeated us during the battle of the Spliff all those years ago. They may have splattered our pale-skinned backsides and ripped the matted hair from our scalps. They may have stomped on the heads of our Earthbound comrades outside the gates of their naval bases. But now they’ve gone too far.”

Commander A’Doner looked at the Lentil Seed’s pilot, a wizened waif of a man sitting awkwardly on a stool at the front of the bridge. He was taking deep draws on a carrot-sized reefer. “Set a course for that submarine. Open the front bay doors and bring it inside. Once we rescue our master, those British fools will face the astonishingly absurd forces of maximum hippy justice!”

Like the jaws of a deformed walrus, the mile-wide door of the Lentil Seed’s front bay struggled open. The flagship of the hippy fleet approached HMS Death Reaper.

On the bridge of the HMS Death Reaper the approach of the Lentil Seed was being monitored closely.

“We were lucky.” Captain Justin Codd said. “That missile could have caused a lot of damage. They must have realized that we have their leader.”

Peter was confused. “How could they know that?”

“As I said before, the hippies are quite intelligent and resourceful, despite their inconceivable laziness.”

Peter nodded. “They are indeed.”

“Fuckin’ hippies!” Ross added.

“Okay, listen up.” Justin said with remarkable authority. “I have a cunning plan. “He pointed to the back of the bridge. “Pass me Lawrence, or the Supreme Layzee Sponjer, as I guess I should now refer to him.”

Ross’s face widened with a devilish smile. He got up, undid the straps keeping Lawrence in his seat, grabbed him, and then threw him into the air with an easy overhand lob. The Supreme Layzee Sponjer was hurled across the control room, landing in a disheveled heap by Justin’s feet.

Justin directed his voice to the ship. “Death Reaper? Open a communications channel with the Lentil Seed.”

The ship’s computer replied. “COMMUNICATIONS CHANNEL OPEN.”

An extraordinarily obese man appeared on the huge screen at the front of the bridge. He had long greasy hair and had obviously not shaved in over a week. His uniform was unkempt, more like old robes, and worst of all snot oozed like rancid honey from his flared nostrils. “My name is Commander A’Doner. What do you want?

Ross laughed. “Donna? Isn’t that a fuckin’ girls name?”


Ross glared at the disgustingly fat commander. “I think you’ll find it is.”

Commander A’Doner frowned. “No it isn’t!

“Yes it fuckin’ is!”

No it isn’t!

Peter felt he had to comment. “Sounds like a girls name to me.”

“Me too.” Pan said, nodding.

Another voice joined the conversation. It was a voice filled with hate, lethargy, and drool. “Aye man, it’s a ganja-munchin girls name!”

When Commander A’Doner noticed the owner of the last comment he bowed in awe and respect. “Yes, oh Supreme Layzee Sponjer, it is a girl’s name. My mother hates me and I have no friends.

“Ha! You admit it!” Ross said with glee. “You weak fuckin’ girly girl!”

Justin was not happy. “Excuse me, but can I get a word in, do you think?”

Ross grinned, and then nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I am Commander Justin Codd of the British Royal Navy Submarine, HMS Death Reaper. As you know, we have your leader. We also have a large arsenal of weapons with which to completely obliterate you. I am a peaceable man.” Just out of sight of the camera Justin’s hands were deftly moving over the weapons console arming and aiming several quantum nuclear tipped space torpedoes, which according to the suppliers were guaranteed to seriously fuck up anyone’s day. He continued speaking. “I believe that we can end this situation with little or no blood being spilt.”

Ross had not noticed what Justin was up to. He was not happy. “No way! Let’s kill the fuckers!”.

Justin grinned. “Okay, Ross. You’ve twisted my arm!” Justin pressed the big red fire button.

A dull rumble reverberated through the submarine. The female computer voice could be heard again. “TWENTY FOUR QUANTUM NUCLEAR TIPPED SPACE TORPEDOES LAUNCHED.”

Peter sat in his seat and called up some information on his console’s screen and checked the status of the weapons. “Cool! All torpedoes running fast and straight.”

Pan had also seated himself. A full English breakfast was frying noisily his console’s hot plate.

Lawrence, the Supreme Layzee Sponjer, was mumbling something to himself. He produced some ganja and a Rizzla from one of his pockets and skinned up.

Justin pointed at Lawrence. “Someone strap him back into his chair!”

Peter got up and carried out Justin’s order.

Ross was becoming more and more excited as he watched the progress of the torpedoes. He pointed at the image of the hippy commander, A’Doner, on screen at the front of the bridge. Behind the commander there was a lot of lethargic activity as numerous hippy crewmembers staggered into action. “Fuckers! Die, you motherfuckin’ fucks! Die!” Ross leapt into the air and head-butted the ceiling of the bridge. “You’re all going die, you fuckin’ languid freaks!”

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