ElPestoso

2850 A.D.

There are times when one is forced to believe in Fate. We want to believe to believe we're the masters of our destinies. We choose to be happy rather than wallow in pain and sorrow and yet we often have red hot pokers crammed up our collective asses more times than we care to remember. My good friend, Fredo, didn't believe in Fate. I tried to warn him, but The Great Poker Of The Universe was heading for him at warp speed.

Fredo "El Pestoso" Sanchez and I come from Nemroy, the twelfth planet of the Garlef System. The native Garlefians still consider humans as outsiders even though we've been there for a hundred years. The call us Pash Nefoont which, according to my parents, means "Star Masters." But my Garlefian classmates told me it really means "Dick Heads."

I first met Fredo when he moved in with his aunt Socorro after his parents were killed. Everyone said they died in a particularly hideous manner. What was worse, Fredo was there when it happened and he was strangely affected by the incident. How he was affected, no one knew for sure, but it had to be something awful. Adults refused to tell us kids what happened so rumors spread about the drooling, cross-dressing, masochistic twelve year old that was moving into the neighborhood.

Fredo's flight arrived at Slackjaw Spaceport and I was there to meet him because my Dad was a family friend. I, for one, was nervous about meeting with the Unknown. As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Fredo looked pretty normal to me. As we went to greet him, everyone seemed to suddenly look ill. They were all coughing and gagging. Except me.

"Hijo! Que peste!" exclaimed my Dad. "Who threw the fart?"

Well I knew that I wasn't the one who threw the fart. It was probably Uncle Beto. He was always farting. It didn't bother me since I had a cold and couldn't smell anything any way. But the coughing and gagging got worse as Fredo drew near and, from the redness of his face, I suspected it was he who had farted.

It turned out that Fredo didn't fart at all. He just plain smelled like a cabbage that had been fermenting in someone's ass for a month. I was the only one who could be near him that first week, so we quickly became friends. And then I got over the cold.

As my sense of smell returned, I understood why everyone gagged when Fredo came near. Soon, everyone in the barrio started calling him "El Pestoso" (The Stinky One), including his Aunt Socorro. Poor Fredo was obviously hurt by the name-calling and the fact that no amount of bathing could lessen the smell. It took almost two years for the stench to fade. He was my friend though and I stood by him. I guess that's why he told me how his parents died.

It turned out that they were killed while working the Front at the beginning of the Teronic War. Many people believe the Terons killed Fredo's parents and that's why he joined the United Planetary Uniformed Response Service. It's true that they were killed, but Terons didn't kill them. Revenge was not the primary motivation in his joining the service. I think Stupidity caused him to take the oath of enlistment.

Weeks after the war started Fredo's parents, Bernie and Josefina Sanchez, decided it was their patriotic duty to provide for the fast food needs of our troops. The fact that they would make a killing selling over-priced crap to fellow patriots only fleetingly crossed their minds. They converted Bernie's old Cholo '35 Star-Bus into a mobile canteen, stocked it with snacks from a dozen systems, packed up their young son, and headed to the Front.

B & J's Mobile Canteen was popular throughout the Hoek Quadrant. Affectionately known as "The Roach Coach" by our troops, it catered to the fast food needs of many species. This can be quite dangerous if one samples the wrong interplanetary fare.

The BJ Burger, named after Bernie and Josefina, was a favorite of every being. The troops just called it the BJ, which Bernie didn't appreciate. I suppose having one's wife take an order of a "BJ to go" from every male in the quadrant would eventually get on one's nerves.

On the day of his parents' demise, Fredo had to go to the bathroom. The Roach Coach's waste tank was full, so he used the Port-A-Crapper LS which was behind the canteen. That his life was spared because he had to use a different toilet had to be due to the Hand of Fate. If not for the Port-A-Crapper LS there would be no story for me to tell.

While Fredo was taking a crap, a Lageshian Intestoid Being approached The Roach Coach. It had just received news that its spouse had slithered off with a proctologist and now it wanted to commit suicide. It solemnly ordered a Super Double Bean & Cheese Burrito and a Dr. Pepper.

Bernie, being unaware of the danger in serving potentially explosive foods to a Lageshian Intestoid Being, took the money and shoved the burrito and Dr. Pepper down its pulsating food opening. The resulting explosion doomed not only the Intestoid, but the occupants of The Roach Coach as well. The screams were incredible. The screams are always incredible when one is downwind of the now famous Stinking Pit of Hoek.

The Port-A-Crapper was thrown fifty yards from ground zero and was buried under a pile of unspeakable ooze. Fredo's screams could barely be heard over the horrific fits of gagging from the onlookers. It wasn't until a biohazard cleanup team arrived that he was pulled from the insidious remnants of the explosion.

It's hard to imagine that anyone could survive such trauma but, if Fredo could live with it I certainly could live with being his friend. Even after his stench faded and people started hanging with him we remained best buddies.

People still called him "El Pestoso" but didn't remember how he came by that name. One thing for sure, his farts were famous not only in our barrio but in all of Nemroy. Socorro would often say, "Mijo, I don't think anyone has farted like that since the First Migration!"

My grandfather told me horrendous stories of the First Migration and the settlement years that were passed down to him by his great grandfather. I don't know how my ancestors survived the five year transit to Aztlan (which is the capitol of The League Of United Latino Planets) in deep space with nothing to eat but beans and tortillas. The stench in the ships must have been overpowering. It is a historical fact that beans were outlawed on Aztlan for fifty years after the colonists arrived.

The Second Teronic War started soon after Fredo and I turned eighteen. He immediately suggested that we join UPURS Space Navy and go kill a few of those purple, giggling dinosaurs. "No way," I told him. "Heck, I hate those pinche lizards too, but UPURS is already muy chingon as it is and two more Chicanos in uniform ain't going to help them any way."

"Chingado," Fredo responded. "Do you think I hate Terons? Shit no! I just want to get away from here!

"Do you know what it's like being called 'Pestoso' all of your life? It's not easy. All those pinche pendejos at school made my life miserable for years. And those asshole wannabe cholos are the worst! Those cabrones make fun of me, but look at those babosos with their buzz cuts. Shit, their heads look like the nut sack of a twelve year old. Fuck them! I'm out of here!"

Well, I was still Fredo's friend and I wasn't about to desert him so I enlisted too. Except for boot camp, it wasn't too bad at all. We had nice uniforms, the pay was good, and we partied like idiots.

We got our orders to the UPSS MELVIN CHIP (SF-1066), which was in the Spanky Quadrant. Our homeport was on the planet Squeed in the port of Roseanne. The ship was in dry-dock when we reported. When Fredo saw who our shipmates were, he got the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that I ever saw.

"Holy shit, man!" Fredo exclaimed. "It looks like we're the only humans onboard!"

He was right. There were Moldarian Spittlemen, Safronite Crabbies, Antarian Rantry-Squeezers, and even Vegan Intelli-Nads. As we looked around the ship, we saw beings from almost every intelligent race in the free system. This was a dream come true for Fredo.

"Finally. Finally, I'm not the only weirdo. Damn, Bro! Isn't this great?"

Yeah, great. A great big pain in the ass, I thought. Now I don't think anyone could call me bigoted by any stretch of the imagination, but there's just so much weirdness a guy can take. Only a person who's served in the UPURS can possibly understand what it's like living day in and day out with a whole pile of alien species. I mean you can get used to almost anything if you're around it long enough, but some things you never get used to.

You see, the Rantry-Squeezers aren't so bad once you get used to the screams of the rantries. Crabbies pretty much stick to themselves and don't bother anyone except for the occasional curse. The Intelli-Nads can get a little creepy since they communicate by touch. It's the Spittle-Men that really bug me because I can't talk with one without wearing a raincoat and goggles.

None of the aforementioned beings were even remotely as repugnant as the slithering thing that reported for duty three years ago. I remember walking topside with Fredo and being hit by a horrendous stench. I hadn't smelled anything like that since the day I got over my cold when Fredo became my friend.

"I smell something familiar," Fredo said.

"Me too and I don't want to know what it is."

Standing or laying or something or the other by the Officer of the Deck was what could only be described as a shit-sleeve with arms. It looked something like a large, pulsating, pinkish meat tube. At the top of the tube was a gaping hole, which I assumed was its mouth. Below the mouth were fifteen eyes set around the tube like a nightmarish necklace.

It had four arms which were somewhat like those of a salamander but long enough to reach both ends of its quivering body. Those arms seemed to be in constant motion, rubbing the length of its body with a disgusting, gelatinous substance that continually oozed from its insidious, gaping maw. To my horror, the OOD was calling me to the Quarterdeck.

"Hey, Polanco! Get yer stinkin' human ass over here before I rip yer head off and shit down the hole!"

I double-timed it to the Quarterdeck and stood at attention, scared shitless. The OOD was a seven hundred pound Betan Beastman and I have seen him rip heads off and shit down the holes several times. Let me tell you, there was no way I was going to piss him off.

The OOD pointed at the being. "You know what this is?"

"No sir!" I responded as quickly as I could.

"This, you lousy wog, is a Lageshian Intestoid Being. It has volunteered for service in the greatest fucking space navy in the universe and you are going to get it a rack and show it around the ship."

Just fucking great. I was stuck babysitting a giant, fucking intestine. Things couldn't possibly get any worse.

Fredo was laughing. "Isn't this fucking great? I always wanted to meet an Intestoid. Shit, we can put it in the top rack over you. Come on, man! It's almost liberty call. Let's get in our civvies and show it around town!"

I whispered to my friend, "Hey, man. What the fuck are you talking about? That's an Intestoid! Have you forgotten that your parents were killed by one?"

"Yeah, but this Intestoid didn't do it. Besides, its odors bring back memories."

Well Fredo was my friend and I guess it couldn't hurt to be nice to the stinking thing. After a while the three of us became quite close.

Now FfFttT, as it was called, wasn't a bad Intestoid as Intestoids go. Once you get past the smell, it was a darned pleasant being to hang with. The conversations were kind of strange though since the language of Lageshian Intestoid Beings consists of rumblings, gurglings, and mild gaseous eruptions not unlike human flatulence. After a while you can actually keep yourself from gagging. You don't even want to throw up, because Intestoids think it's a compliment and will excrete what can only be described as Cocoa Puffs and Almond Joys swimming in brown gravy.

The thing that bugged me the most was that Fredo had taken a real shine to FfFttT. He seemed almost obsessed with learning everything about it. He found out that its father was assassinated in the Hoek Quadrant by a Mexican terrorist running a mobile canteen.

This was bad. I tried to convince Fredo that maybe we shouldn't get so chummy with FfFttT, seeing that it was the spawn of the Intestoid that killed his parents. Fredo wouldn't listen and insisted that we let bygones be bygones. I just knew something bad was going to happen.

One morning at muster, Chief Strain informed us that we would be getting underway the next day to engage the Terons. Poor FfFttT was scared. A scared Intestoid is not a pretty thing to behold. In fact, it's pretty darned sickening. Only the strongest stomachs can encounter a scared Intestoid and live to tell the tale. Fredo said he would take it below and calm it down.

I had the first watch so I couldn't follow them. When I was finally relieved, I went down to the berthing compartment. When I got to my rack, Fredo and FfFttT were nowhere to be found. Fredo left a note on my locker. I felt a chill.

Gil, FtFttT is really nervous so I'm taking it for a walk.

Chief says there's a roach coach on the beach. We're going

to get some chilidogs and a few Cokes. We'll bring some

back for you.

Fredo

I ran to the Quarterdeck as fast as I could. I had to get off the ship and stop them. I didn't give a shit if I got busted for jumping ship. My friend's life was at stake.

Chief Strain was on the Quarterdeck. Just as I reached the brow, he yelled, "Hey! Where in the fuck do you think you're..."

The sheer force of the explosion was mind-boggling. We were knocked off our feet. A split second later, we were covered by a thin layer of unspeakable ooze that smelled like a cabbage that had been fermenting in someone's ass for a month.

I looked up and could see the greenish mushroom cloud a quarter-mile away. It was beginning to dissipate. The screams were incredible. The screams are always incredible when one is downwind of the now famous Stinking Pit Of Roseanne.

End