Friday, 18 September 2009


Captain's Log, Stardate September 18th, 2009.

My ship the USS Furious had just left my usual shtick of parodying old detective novels and started doing something in the vein of science fiction when I got two important messages from my communications officer Lt. Youtuba. First was to wake up, and the second was that I had a call coming in from Starflick Command.

"Come in Furious D," said Admiral Tellitall, chief of the Exposition Department of Starflick Command.

"Captain Furious D here," I said jutting forward my strong chin, and puffing out my mighty chest, so my loyal crew could bask in my raw sex appeal. "How can I save the galaxy today?"

"The USS Weinsteinco is currently in a state of flux," said Admiral Tellitall, "films are getting shuffled, delayed and disappearing altogether. We need you to bring your blend of sheer genius, incredible sexiness, awe inspiring manliness, and simple modesty to the Minimajor System and find out what flux is going on there."

"I'm on it," I said, my deep voice matching my rugged good looks. I then turned to my ship's navigator, "Mr. Hulu, the MiniMajor System, maximum warp."

"We're on our way you fat bastard," said Mr. Hulu.

"What?" I asked, wondering how I could be narrating the story, yet still missing things that I'm writing about.

"I said 'We're on our way much faster,'" said Mr. Hulu.

"Very good Mr. Hulu," I said in a patronizing and condescending way. "Mr. Spec-Script, as my chief science officer I will need all sensors running."

"Well d'uh," said Mr. Spec.


"I said 'Well done,'" replied Mr. Spec.

"Yes," I said, "everything I do really is well done." I then turned to the nearest mirror to bask in just how wonderful I really am.


The MiniMajor System lay where the main-stream of the Indie Quadrant met the fringe of the Hollywood Quadrant. It was tricky territory, dotted with the wreckage of many a rebel ship. The USS Vestron, the USS Carolco, the USS Polygramfilmedentertainment and dozens of others, drifted in this part of movie-space, their libraries and assets stripped by bigger ships once their engines died.

"I see the USS Weinsteinco," said Ensign Jakov, annoyed at having only one line and not being able to say anything snarky under my nose.

"I am detecting an incredible amount of flux," said Mr. Spec.

"Put it on the main viewer," I commanded, and got a bitching hi-def picture of the USS Weinsteinco. "Wow, that really is fluxed up." I had never seen anything quite like this before, the ship was badly damaged, and drifting. The ship's hull was dotted with big holes, employees were spewing out of every orifice, cast into the outer darkness of movie-space, and films were drifting, their release dates getting farther and farther away. "Great Zanuck's Ghost," I exclaimed, "that company looks really fluxed up."

"What do you want to do Captain?" asked Mr. Spec.

"Tell Spotty to get the transporter warmed up," I said, "you, me, and Dr. McGoy are going to beam over there to investigate."


After a few special effects I Mr. Spec, and Dr. McGoy, were in the ship's main reception area. The ship was swaying beneath our feet, and an Englishman dressed like an extra from Mad Men was sitting in a seat reading a copy of Variety.

"Hello," said the Englishman, "are you a new film acquisition?"

"No," we said, "we're from Starflick command to save the day."

"Oh," said the Englishman, "I'm A Single Man and I've just joined the crew heeeeeeereeeee."

In an instant the Englishman was gone, vanished, kaput, leaving a trail of festival awards and Oscar consideration ads.

Spec whipped out his tricorder and started scanning the area.

"He been fluxed away," said Mr. Spec.

"He's dead Jim," said McGoy.

"Whose Jim?" I asked, "and whose dead?"

"Listen," growled McGoy, "I'm a doctor Furious, I don't do script continuity."

"Let's just find out what's going on," I said, "and we can find the answers at the bridge."

We stormed our way to the bridge of the USS Weinsteinco, dodging clouds of pink slips, and hearing the wails of lost and forgotten films. Then we reached the tastefully appointed bridge of the ship.

"If anyone knows what's going on on any ship," I said, "it's the captain."

"Like you know so much," said McGoy.

"What?" I asked.

"I said 'Mike do blow too much,'" replied McGoy, then he grumbled, "fuck it, I'm no good at this game, you're a dumb-ass."

I opened the door and went into the bridge, and was shocked. Then I took my finger out of the light socket, and saw something incredible.

It was a black hole in the centre of the bridge, it was sucking away all of the films into oblivion.

"What is it?" I asked Mr. Spec.

"It's a collapsed star," said Mr. Spec. "It burned brightly for a while in the 1990s, but it started spitting out money to suck in Oscars. The Oscars caused an increase in the ego density of the star, and then it collapsed in on itself, and started sucking in the company with it."

"Well," I said, "there's nothing I can do to save this company, but at least I solved the mystery."

"Don't you mean I solved the mystery," said Mr. Spec.

"Never question the star," I snapped, remembering that I didn't have to put up with this when I was doing solo detective parodies. "Let's go. Beam me up Spotty!!"

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