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Book: Hippies
Chapter 9: Large-Breasted Security Officer

The HMS Death Reaper, the largest, fastest and most powerful submarine ever constructed, continued on its course through the frigid void of deep space.


“It just disappeared, ma’am!”

General Kath glared at the young officer. “It can’t have done! What on Earth could have made that fat hippy ship vanish?”

The officer looked confused. “Nothing on Earth did, ma’am. It was something in space.”

The general was becoming highly impatient. “Then tell me what, in space, made it vanish?”

“Some sort of space time anomaly is usually the culprit. Probably a black hole.”

Kath got to her feet and stared at the main screen. All that was displayed was the expanse of stars ahead. The centre of the screen, though, now had no stars. She noticed that more and more of the stars were fading and distorting, and then disappearing from view. “It seems to be sucking in all the light from those stars!”

The young officer smiled. “Indeed! Its gravitational field is so strong that no light at all can escape – just like the inside of my…”

“Enough!” shouted General Kath. “Mention the inside of your arse once more and I’ll relieve you of duty. Understand?”

The officer nodded. “Yes, ma’am, no more arse.”

The general sat back into the command chair. A wave of sadness passed over her. “If it is a black hole, then my friends have been crushed into nothingness.”

The young officer shook his head. “Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“That black hole could also be one end of a wormhole. That hippy ship may emerge safely in another region of space, possibly thousands of light-years from here.”

Kath’s mood perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could we follow them?”

“Erm… Well, I guess we could, ma’am, but…”

“Then do it!”

The young officer was shocked. “But what if it’s not a wormhole? What if it’s just a plain old lump of super-dense matter? We’ll be compressed to the size of a flea’s arse!”

“I said do it! Set course for that anomaly, now!”

The young officer stood. “I must formally object, ma’am. You are putting the crew of this fine submarine in extreme and unnecessary danger!”

General Kath stormed over and grabbed the officer’s shoulder, pulling him back into his seat. “Don’t you understand? My friend’s onboard the Lentil Seed are the only hope humanity has to defeat those hippy bastards! If they’ve perished, then we will perish too, even if we don’t go into the anomaly.”

The officer thought for a moment. “Maybe, but I still think…”

“Trust me, young man. Do as I order. My friends need me. And they need you, too.”

Kath’s emotive speech worked. The young officer operated his control console. “Heading altered. Course set to intercept the anomaly.”


The command deck of the Lentil Seed was in chaos.

Three gallons of lentil soup erupted from Commander A’Doner’s mouth, and landed squarely on the face of Hooch McArse. The force of the vomit pushed the cadet away from his engineering station, smashing him against a bulkhead. One of the nearby lava-lamps shattered, releasing its globules.

Another cadet slipped on the commander’s puke, and landed heavily on Hooch’s legs. Hooch screamed as his femurs snapped. He then vomited on the cadet.

All over the bridge of the Lentil Seed, the crew were puking and slipping, and breaking all sorts of bones. The tidal forces of the black hole were playing havoc with the stomachs of the hippies. Many of them were inhaling deeply on huge spliffs in a valiant attempt to stop the sickness, but not even that helped.

The commander pulled himself into his chair. “Status!” He gurgled, vomit still oozing out of his mouth.

The Lentil Seed’s new pilot wiped a thick layer of semi-digested lunch off his console and examined his screens. “I think we’re, like, still being drawn into that black hole thing.”

“I know that, you fuzzy butt manipulator!” The commander bellowed. “How can we escape?”

The pilot heaved his guts as he thought, this time spreading his breakfast over his screens. He wiped his mouth, and then faced his commander. “Like, we can’t, I guess.”

Commander A’Doner went temporarily insane with rage. There was only one cure for that. He reached out with his flabby right arm and smacked a nearby hippy cadet hard in the face. The cadet’s nose split like a ripe tomato. The commander grabbed the cadet and pulled him down hard onto his knee. The dull snapping of ribs was heard. The cadet rolled onto the floor, gasping. Laughing like an old lady, the commander hauled himself to his feet and stamped hard on the cadet’s neck. The cadet went limp. Commander A’Doner admired his handiwork, and then vomited yet more lentil soup.

The ship started to shudder violently.

“Commander?” The pilot said.

The commander looked up. “What?”

“Look at the main viewer! There’s, like, a bright light outside!”

The viewer was showing a white - almost blinding – light dead ahead. It was growing rapidly. The ship’s shaking was getting more violent.

“What, in a faggot’s bowels, is that?”

The pilot smiled, mesmerized. “It’s, like, beautiful!”


Reality stretched and flexed.


A billion dimensions merged together, and then parted.


And then a crunch to end all crunches wreaked havoc across the already dilapidated Lentil Seed.


Pan, Ross, and Peter had managed to stagger up one more deck. They were now holding tightly to a handrail next to a huge porthole window. Around them, the wreckage of hippy machinery, ceiling panels, and bony body parts was strewn across the floor. The ship shuddered like a freshly shaved monkey in a fridge full of salad.

“I think that was the loudest crunch I’ve ever heard!” Pan said as he selected ‘Apple Pie’ from his suit’s dessert menu. An almost molten MacDonald’s style snack was propelled into his mouth. He gasped.

A dazzling wash of pure white light suddenly surrounded the ship. The three heroes turned away from the window. The light faded fast. The shuddering stopped.

“And that,” Pan said, selecting ‘Dr Pepper’ from his suits beverage menu, “was the brightest light I’ve ever seen!” He sucked hard and cooled his scalded mouth.

Peter looked out of the window. “We’re back in normal space!” He said, with obvious relief.

“About fuckin’ time!” Ross said. The vista of stars was noticeably shifting. Below, the blue mass of a planet was coming into view. It was very close.

“We appear to be heading for that.” Peter said. “And this ship appears to be out of control.”

“There can be only two reasons for that.” Ross said, with sage-like wisdom. “Either this ship’s engines and stabilizers are fucked, or the ship’s command crew are fucked.”

Pan was still gulping down Dr Pepper. “Or both?” He suggested, through a mouthful of carbonated liquid. “Whatever the reason, we should make the most of the situation.”

With a swift motion, Peter drew a long battle knife from his backpack. He held it high, stabbing a hole into the ceiling. “To the bridge!” he shouted. “And to glorious victory!” He ran off down the passageway.

Ross watched his mad friend running away. “Where the fuck did Pete get that fuck-off knife from?”

Pan headed after Peter. “Knife shop?” He suggested.

Ross shrugged and followed Pan.


Unlike the Lentil Seed, which was constructed entirely out of lentil-derived materials, HMS Death Reaper was built out of high-tech steel, titanium, and tough plastic composites. This ensured a much smoother ride over the event horizon of the black hole.

The bridge crew of the Death Reaper held on tightly as the submarine creaked under the incredible stresses it was enduring. Vibrations were strong, but bearable.

“Status?” General Kath asked, holding tightly on to the arms of her command chair.

“Course is remarkably steady.” The pilot said. “It’s hard to believe, but I think we’re going to survive!”

Kath reached forwards and smacked him across the head. “Of course we are! Be positive, young man, or I’ll dismiss you!”

The pilot cowered. “Yes, ma’am.”

The main screen showed a bright light ahead. It was growing in size.

Private Schwimmer entered the bridge. He looked at the screen and screamed. “We’re doomed!” He ran to the general and cowered at her feet. He covered his face with his hands and began sobbing like a little girl.

General Kath shouted. “Why the hell are you here, private? I thought you were in the brig?”

Private Schwimmer looked up at his superior. “I was in the brig, but the vibrations shattered the locking mechanism on my cell. As there was nothing keeping me there I decided I’d rather come up here and be by your side. Also, I passed sickbay on the way here. The doctor told me to tell you that he’s almost finished connecting Captain Codd’s head to a new…”

General Kath leaned over and glowered down at the private. “The bridge of the navy’s flagship submarine is no place for someone with a rank as low as yours. Get out. Now!”

Private Schwimmer scurried away, bowing and sobbing as he did so.

“We’re going in!” The pilot stated. “Brace yourselves!”

The bridge crew of the submarine gripped tightly onto their seats.


The huge phallic mass of HMS Death Reaper swept through six distinct realities, and then vanished into the light…


The light faded. Stillness reigned.

General Kath sighed with relief. “See!” She said to the Death Reaper’s pilot, who was seated in front of her. “We made it!”

The pilot nodded. “I guess we did.”

The rest of the bridge crew began laughing and chatting, the stress of the journey through the wormhole disappeared.

“That’s enough.” Kath said. “Everyone back to work. We have a mission, remember?”

The crew stopped yakking and returned to their duties. All except one, it seemed. The general could still hear someone laughing - although ‘cackling’ would have been a more accurate term. She stood and turned, expecting, for some reason, for it to be the large-breasted security officer.

It was not.

There, still strapped into a chair, sat Lawrence, green drool still dribbling down his chin. He looked intently at the general, and sniggered like a cartoon character.

Kath smiled. “Lawrence! You’re awake! How are you? I was worried about you. Why are you tied up like that?”

Lawrence stopped sniggering and spat at the general. “Ya stupid fookin’ bitch! Ya shud not be callin’ me Lawrence. I be da fookin’ Supreme Layzee Sponjer!”

There was a loud tearing sound as the Supreme Layzee Sponjer, the being formally known as Lawrence, tore through the gaffer tape and ropes that tied him to his seat. He stood unsteadily, his wizened legs – atrophied after a decade of very long lie-ins – barely able to support even his own light weight. He put his right hand in his hair and ruffled it about.

General Kath frowned. “You are obviously ill, but that’s no excuse to insult me! I’m a general in the British Army, and temporarily captain of this submarine, the flagship of the British Navy! I demand respect!”

The Supreme Layzee Sponjer spat at the general again. “Shuddup, ya smellee whore!”

Kath was about to launch a punishing roundhouse kick to Lawrence’s neck when an alarm started blaring. She turned and looked at the pilot. “What’s that?”

“Collision alert!” the pilot said.

“With what?”

The pilot pointed at the main screen. “With that!”

General Kath looked. The screen showed the yellowish green mass of the Lentil Seed dead ahead, framed by the disk of a deep blue planet. She looked back at the pilot. “Change course, you idiot! Avoid it!”

The pilot had started to sweat. “I can’t! All maneuvering thrusters have failed! That wormhole did more damage than we thought!”

“Then full reverse! Now!”

The pilot tried but failed. He slammed his hands on his console in despair. “Nothing’s working! Collision in twenty seconds! There’s nothing I can do!”

“Ya is all doomed!” The Supreme Layzee Sponjer yelled.

Kath turned to see the body of Lawrence lurching towards her. He was pointing at the main screen. “Meez peoples are here! Meez peoples’ will fookin’ tear yer bastard fookin’ ears off!”

“Restrain him!” The general ordered.

The large-breasted security officer bounded forwards and grabbed the Supreme Layzee Sponjer from behind. “Cease and desist! You’re under arrest.”

“Get ya fat hands off mez, ya tit monster!” With a burst of strength, the Supreme Layzee Sponjer broke free, turned, and vomited hard in the security officer’s face. She fell backwards, gargling drool. Laughing, the Supreme Layzee Sponjer leapt onto her ample frame, ripped off her uniform, and began gnawing on her nipples.

General Kath wanted to intervene, but there were more pressing problems. At least the security officer’s abundant melons would keep Lawrence occupied. She turned her attention back to the main screen. The hippy ship loomed large as it tumbled slowly above the planet.

“Ten seconds to impact!” The pilot announced. He was on the verge of tears.

It’s too late to do anything now, Kath thought. Sadness washed over her. Her heroic friends were on that vessel, and the collision would almost certainly mash every living being onboard. Realizing she still had a job to do, she sat back in her command chair and operated her communications panel. She made an announcement to the entire ship. “All hands, collision alert! Brace for impact in five… four… three… two…one…”

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