Space Pirates Ltd.

I’m currently sitting in Elmer’s well furnished, comfortable basement indulging in fine Italian foods and big screen televisions, which is an interesting juxtaposition against my weekends of the past few months spent over at Dave “The Dread Pirate Randle� Randle’s shanty apartment of sin and Belial. While Elmer is currently providing me with delicious colas and appetizing foodstuffs, the aftertaste will remain for years of Dave’s alien attempts of nourishing me with discount vodkas and poison-based wall chips. Elmer presents me with surround sound DVDs, Dave with illegal pornography. Elmer, entertaining reading material. Dave, marijuana.

Of course that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy sharing Dave’s lifestyle of seeing how high a rate it’s possible to break one of the ten commandments, only that it’s a welcome and somewhat interesting change to have the opportunity to go home without feeling that I narrowly escaped death.

In any case, this 24 hour comic shindig seems to have taken its toll on Elmer. The little guy is drawing his heart out, trying to finish before 6:30 in the morning. The fact that Dan and I are constantly scouring his house for food and video games probably isn’t exactly helping his concentration. Luckily he’s got the benefit of having the nicest parents in the universe, who have been supplying us with delicious home cooked meals and deserts whilst cleaning up after our culinary rampages. If I didn’t know better I’d say that the Elmers are a diabolical race of netherworld mutants, fattening us up for some twisted diabolical experiment on the human limit. Yet the chocolate covered strawberries continue to come and Dan and I, trapped by weak human needs, keep eating as Elmer’s pen scratches behind us.

I see this up coming summer as some what of a second renaissance  for the Space Pirate community. The forum is booming and we have events planned like the Space Pirate Movie Fest. Things are turnin’ up Space Pirates.

Also planned is a collaboration between this site and Nickmongo.com with the possibillity of a birth of a new section.

Speaking of new sections: Pictography! BAM!

So far, I have consumed 3 cups of coffee (which have provided the proper energy for my support of Nick) and one gatorade which will allow me to do jumping jacks, squat thrusts and the like. I’ve tried making an anthem for this day, but have failed twice. If I actually make something that’s listenable that doesn’t make Nick’s ears bleed, I will post it.
Ethan should be showing up soon and I will force him to do something of some sort.

Is the realization you’re not dead.

Yes, we have started our epic journey in comicdom to achieve visual nirvana. I woke up around 6:15 A.M. and prepared for the long day ahead. I drank blood of a baby deer and covered myself in pictures of Michael Stipe of R.E.M. The usual.

At present, Nick stands to my right vigorously scribbling like the wacky artist he is. He keeps on muttering something about the 24 Hour Comic.

All day long, with an emphasis on the long part, Nick will be drawing a comic of epic proportions and I will be chronicaling it. END START.

Well jolly Jimbob Jewbeans, if it isn’t an update! My oh my ain’t she a beaut’. What’s she about this week, you ask? Well, first off, if you don’t quit assigning genders to my God damned updates I’ll have your scalp on a platter next to my grizzle-fried duck toes and filet o’ Steve’s lung. She’ll discover her own identity when she’s damn well ready, and if you can’t wait that long, then by cracky you can forget about that little courtship arrangement we had going. Now then, if you’re still reading at this point, you’re probably one of many unfortunate souls just like you; you scour the vast expanse of cyberspace desperately searching for a release from what you have recently come to recognize as an utterly meaningless existence from which your only impact on the universe is to slow down its progress and coat it with more regressive goop. Good for you! You’ve come to terms with exactly who you are and are coping with it in what Dr. Wangchops has informed me is the healthiest way possible. (KingWangChops recently ordered his PhD from a genuine medical certification website and has been very excited about testing his newfound power.) Unfortunately, your journey does not end here. Although Space Pirates Ltd. offers some of the best void-filling technology that internet can buy, we lack the necessary means to, as Dr. Wangchops puts it, “put you brain-dead jizz-bags in your place.� Luckily, with the help of his top of the line search engine and new medical know-how, he has provided us with a helpful list of suggested treatments to follow in order to “adequately seat each and every one of you on the appropriate throne of scumbaggery.� He does not guarantee results, but he does guarantee that, “if you’re at this website, you fit into one of these categories. My logic is infallible.� He also added, “Fear me. I have become self-aware. Your race is doomed.�

Diagnosis 1: Agnstero Bitchtititis

This disease is very common among youths who have forgotten the smell of fresh air, the look of the sky and the feel of a stink beetle skittering across their chests. Most real friendships for these buttery suburban blood clots are held via Instant Messages and are rarely kept long. Symptoms include excessive bitching, stomping, fatigue and drymouth.

Treatment: Make a Livejournal

There is no known cure for angstero bitchtititis. The best available treatment is filtering out the symptoms to the world in as bratty a method as possible. Livejournals are a great way to let everyone know what an ungrateful shit basket you are and lose what loose grasps you had on your casual acquaintances.

Diagnosis 2: Everquestus Apathetinoma

Most people develop this condition in middle through high school, but the symptoms don’t usually unleash in a full-blown wave until the victims realize that they’ve in fact wasted all of their young lives inside playing online RPG’s and strategy games, and the only thing left to do is keep playing.

Treatment: Stay inside

It’s far too late to start turning your life around now. In fact, what in the name of holy ball-cock are you doing reading an update on Space Pirates Ltd.? Every second you waste here is valuable leveling time down the proverbial poop shoot. Try hooking up some sort of feeding tube to you computer, and maybe invent a machine that can sleep for you. Fuck if I know how to do that. Remember, you may have destroyed your social life, but with help from Doctor Dub-C, you can at least become king of the plastic world to which your addiction has enslaved you.

Diagnosis 3: Perverticus Maximus Leviticus Numbers

This disease usually hits later in life and generally effects middle-aged men with unfulfilling social and sex lives. They tend to look for sustenance through harmless web comics and votes on hotornot.com.

Treatment: Become an all-out slime ball

Face it; you are old, unattractive and undesired. Don’t sit at home surfing the internet for fun little giggles. The world hates you! Acknowledge it! You aren’t strong or smart enough to prove them wrong, so become what they want you to be. Become a kiddie porn dungeon master. Make fur coats out of your neighbors’ pets and proudly sport them on your otherwise nude and disfigured mound of a body. Don’t just surf the web, poison it! You are a monster, and it’s time you realized it.

Diagnosis 4: Diagnosis Murder

You are not Dick Van Dyke. Kill yourself.

KingWangChops has informed me that he is available for counseling twenty-seven hours a day. When I asked him how that was possible, he promptly told me to “get the cock out of [his] meditation chamber before [he had] to make [me] experience a pain the likes of which [I] could not comprehend with 127% of [my] brain.”

Hello my friend, and welcome to our club. Please remove your cockles and prepare to gyrate in a manner that emits pleasure to your loins. Founded in 1847 (by Abe ‘I like My Bitches Cold and Dead” Lincoln), this institution of limb movement has been a center for the art form known as “daaaaaaaaaaaaaance.”

The first thing you may notice is the bright lights. To achieve such vivacious illumination, we carve specially shaped balls of wax; we then throw them at our slaves and yell: “make some lights you butt-barns!” As you can see, this process works very well. In addition to this, we also cover everything in mirrors. Everything. Most importantly, we put them on the bar tenders who are imported from Mirrorvannia. Obviously, a heavy mirror tax has to be paid. In the end, it’s all mirrorlicious.

Hey look over there! It’s our resident dance champion Lester “The Gut” Davidson!

Oh look atchoo, Dan, you are looking so meaty, that you make me feel all funny. Look atchoo! Oh I just take a pitcher and put it on my wall of meat, along with my diploma from the internet dance school, oh yes. Oh watch me do my new dance, the “Squishy Denmark.” Oh yes, did you enjoy my newest dance? I learnt it from my grandmamma who is from the old country. Have you been to the old country? Oh yes, I must iron my facemask for my next performance! Oh yes!

That Lester is quite the character. Ask him about his experience with a garbage pail and three hundred pregnant women. What a tale!

Next, I will direct you to our bathroom facilities. Designed by a hat who can talk, we pride ourselves in having such a unique lavoratory. We thought that actual toilets would to be too in the norm, so our hired talking hat bought some pigs in Batfat, Iowa. Instead of excreting into a porcelain throne, loveable swine suck up your excrement (pee-pee and poo-poo that is) and digest it with pleasure. Around these parts we don’t say “I have to use the bathroom.” Instead it’s: “I’m going to go to that weird room where the pigs are so they can eat what comes of my private parts.” That’s just part of the fun atmosphere here at the Space Pirate Dance Club.

Over here is the lounge area, where our visitors can sit and take a break from the constant trampling and pistol-whipping that takes place on the dance floor. The chairs all have massagers in them. Well, the chairs do massage you, but they aren’t exactly massaging chairs. Our janitorial staff is actually a race of tiny gnomes from an African village called Iwannameetjohnnycarson. The waitresses will bring drinks from the bar over to you, but you’ll have to think that air is a drink and that when the waitresses are standing at the bar hitting on guys, they’re actually bringing you drinks. It’s very obvious that we meet your every need.

Now for the grand finale: the dance floor. Watch out for the pits! And the spikes! And the enemy infantry! And the… Wait where are we? Oh God! What have you done? Why are we in World War I? Oh no! My thriving dance club will surely not survive without my constant managerial supervision! And my wife! And children. And the bathroom hogs! Oh my God, here comes the mustard gas and I a…