4 Jan 2225.

Emperor Pooperton was pissed.

Like, really.

He slumped away from his Universal Translator, reaching up a thin strand of himself to flick it off. Only weeks earlier, his most illustrious and impressive race had made contact with the noble Altarian Republic, led by the svelte hotstuff calling herself Elys Mue. They had quickly built a rapport, Pooperton hiding himself behind a digitized reproduction of a bipedal-seeming race, since he was afraid that his true form would startle the sultry smile right off the alien woman's face. She kept giving him the eye – she was obviously warm for his holographic form.

These Altarian men must seriously suck if she's trying to get all hot and bothered with some emperor from a recently-discovered civilization, Pooperton thought to himself. Either that, or she's a strategic genius. Nah, that's giving her far too much credit.

His faithful second-in-command, Stinkeroux, sidled up alongside and asked, 'You seem to be in a particularly crappy mood, Poops. What's up? Usually talking to the Altarian babe gets you all warm and smelly.'

The Faithful, Great, Awesome, and Cool Emperor gave his friend the cold shoulder – so to speak. He answered, 'You know that crapperdrive we've been working on for the last five years, and that we finally saw in successful tests yesterday? Some dumb group calling themselves “humans” or something stupid like that just gave out schematics for something called “hyperdrive”, that basically does the same thing. And they gave it to everybody. Ellys was just uploading me the plans so we can “move out into the stars” and “fulfill our destiny”. Her words, not mine. I mean, talk about stealing our thunder. Once we get these crapperdrive-capable ships built, I'll fly to wherever these “humans” are and envelop them myself.'

Stinkeroux, optimist as he was, replied, 'But Poops – think about it! Everyone's on an even playing field now. We can make our way out into the unknown, sharing our technologies and goods with others, building friendly relations with all different races. Maybe we'll even find some race that are nearer to ourselves in body structure! Surely not all the other sentient beings in the universe are these strange bipedal things . . .'

Pooperton flushed brown with anger, declaring, 'Not all bipedal! Let's see, of the races we've met so far, we've got the Altarians, the Iconians, and the Scottilingas. Exactly how many of these silly “leg” appendages does each one of these species have?'

The younger pile turned a pale shade of green, embarrassed. 'Okay, so zero for three ain't anything to write home about. But still! Keep the hope alive, Poops. We might still make it.'

The Emperor turned back to the huge screen on the wall of his inner sanctum, flipping a switch to bring up the production tables on the fleet of Crapps colony vessels, slowly preparing to flood the universe with poop.

If he had had a face, he would have smiled. Perhaps we will make it, he thought. Perhaps we will.

Stinkeroux sensed the change in demeanor of his dear friend and asked, 'So, you wanna go get some corn?'

"all warm and smelly"?

You are gross.

But really funny.

Another installment! Yay for The Crapps!

--

1 Jun 2225. (Yes, I know the game starts in 2226. 2225 sounds cooler.)

The Great Holy Highness Emperor Pooperton slithered out of his bowl, stretching (as well as anthropomorphic crap can stretch) and slowly working towards full consciousness.

The last five months had flown by like a dream – the fleet of Crappy Colonizers finished, his noble race had set out from their home planet of The Bowl intent on smearing across known space. Their first successful colonization had taken place on the beautiful tropical planet of Nestor III (now properly christened The Loo), now brimming with brown activity. Shortly thereafter they had captured decisive planets Nestor II and Hatch I – The Hole and The John, respectively.

Pooperton's settlers were happy, content, and growing exponentially. All that free open space begging for defecation seemed to cause unbridled population increase, the likes of which none of the Emperor's advisors had foreseen. After a couple months of rocky economic constipation, his poople were finally on track for growth and success.

His flagship, the Pinched Loaf, had whisked its way across the galaxy from one end to the other, seeking new civilizations and other opportunities for growth. (It certainly helped that they kept finding stuff to send home and sell . . .) His Crappy Scouts were scouring the galaxy for uninhabited planets, and his Crappy Constructors were arduously mining the precious resources found among the stars.

And to top it all off, things were going smashingly between he and Elis. Nearly every Crappy day (their unit of solar measurement) they'd chat, her looking more beautiful every day, he hiding behind his holoform. He'd purposely fashioned it to look like an agreeable, mostly-Altarian looking being, with a slightly browner color to its skin and deep, dark, chocolaty eyes. He had clearly convinced her he was every bit as charming as he appeared, and though he hated to think about it (and refused to admit it to his faithful advisors), he was afraid he had begun to fall for her.

It's a stupid thought anyway, he reasoned. What would she want to do with me? Besides the obvious?

Yet those fears were not enough to keep him away from Eles, time and time again.

He slid into his royal throne, that sparkling ivory symbol of his power and prestige, and squished a bit of himself over to flip on his essential viewscreens. Perhaps I'll call Eleys this fine morning, he conjectured giddily. As the screen began to lighten, it was filled with a picture of Lieutenant Shizerson, looking an especially potent shade of darkish yellow. Pooperton could tell already that this would be a troublesome morning.

'Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you this wonderful morning?' He made sure to hide his annoyance behind a veneer of cordial distance. He didn't need his underlings knowing that all he wanted to do this morning was talk with that fine piece of alien pie . . .

The younger blob paled to an even more sickly yellow, replying, 'Sir, we, um, got a, um, transmission here, um, that, um, says it's from, um, Earth.'

His Illustrious, Blessed Pooperton snapped to attention. 'What? Why wasn't I immediately alerted to this? The humans, contacting me . . . is the signal still active?'

Shizerson, on the verge of passing out from fear and embarrassment, quickly answered, 'Yes sir, um, patching it, um, through to you, um, now, sir.'

Pooperton quickly flicked the switch to engage the holographic representation as a wizened, ugly face filled his viewscreen. The human seemed disoriented, and had none of the grace and presence of its Altarian counterpart. The bipedal creature leaned forward, tapping the microphone, inquiring, 'Is this thing on now? What? We're live? Oh, crap.'

Oh crap indeed, the Emperor said to himself.

The grayish humanoid continued, 'Sorry. Anyway, howdy!' He turned off screen, asking, 'Does “howdy” translate? No? Oops. Anyway, hello from the beautiful planet of Earth! Hail, friends from the planet . . .' He looked away from the camera again, searching for cues, before continuing, 'The Bowl. Interesting name for your planet. Anyway. My name is Alan Bradley and I guess you could call me the President of the Terran Alliance. How are you today, Mr. . .'

The Amazing, Odorous Emperor thought the necessary words to make the hologram speak, responding indignantly, 'It's Emperor, actually. Emperor Pooperton, Holy Ruler of the Holy Crapps. I can see that you're very skilled with diplomacy and such, Mr. Bradley. It's truly a pleasure to finally meet the famed leader of the Terran Alliance,' the crappy being retorted. 'What exactly is this an “Alliance” of?' Pooperton felt fairly confident in his sarcasm, sure his hologram had a dumb smile on its face, presenting itself as a mere simpleton – exactly the face the Emperor wanted to portray to the Earthling.

Bradley looked surprised, reacting with, 'Well, you know. Our planets. We have three, after all . . . Anyway.'

Pooperton felt immensely superior, reflecting, And what's with all this 'anyway' nonsense? Does this idiot not know how to have natural conversation? Or is he really just that dumb?

Bradley continued speaking, recounting tales of Earth's expansion to the stars as Pooperton feigned interest, countering when necessary, more than willing to pretend like he gave a crap.

Rather, the Most Intuitive and Beautiful Emperor believed he may have just found his first true enemy among the stars.

"What would she want to do with me? Besides the obvious?"



Cracked me up!

For the record - since Cedarbird wasted my 'changing name' joke, it's all spelled the same this time. And now . . . MORE POOP!

--

1 Jan 2226.

Another six months had passed according to the reckoning of those ugly, gray 'human' creatures, and His Great Smelliness Pooperton was terrified of what was coming up as his shuttle approached the waiting diplomatic station.

After meeting the humans, further exploration led to the discovery of two other major races making their way out among the stars – some trumpeted-nose green things called Arceans and some faceless pink blobs referring to themselves as Korx. (And what kind of stupid name is 'Korx' anyway? Tackiness supreme, these mouthless wonders.) As the six major groups continued to expand into the waiting-to-be-raped galaxy, The Amazing, Illustrious Pooperton would become very upset that his people's growth was being hindered by these inferior beings.

Then Eleys would call, and his demeanor would change; he would blush to a fine, deep brown, and spend hours on the holovid with her, wishing he could somehow traverse the distance between them and be at her side – not thinking, of course, of the holoform projection protecting her from his might and true glory.

However, late in September, that sweet hunk of Altarian hotness approached her dear Pooperton with two proposals that piqued his interest. The first was to create a research treaty between their two great peoples, which the Odoriferous Emperor gladly agreed to. The second, however, excited him even further – Eleys proposed the creation of a United Planets organization, to keep everyone on the up-and-up and keep relations between the races (hopefully) more-or-less friendly.

And it was done; communiques were sent to each of the leaders of the great nations (and never mind those stupid, big-headed floppy Scottilingas – they weren't invited to the party because no-one could stand their faces) and the plans were set for a great meeting of all six rulers of their respective empires. Graciously, Eleys volunteered to finance and supply a diplomatic space station in neutral territory for the meeting. (And of course everyone agreed – anything to put a smile on that succulent honey's face.)

The Immeasurable, Immaculate Emperor Pooperton had spent the last three months having an exoskeleton built, to once again disguise his true nature and allow him to move less conspicuously among the annoyingly bipedal denizens of this galaxy – one that could portray his power and greatness without emitting foul smells.

And here he was, watching the docking couplings attach to the front of his diplomatic cruiser, the Porto-Potty. He carefully manipulated tendrils of himself down into the servos of his suit, moving it forward and trying to look as natural as possible hidden behind a body of plastic and metal. (To be honest, he looked more convincing than Kralax did as an actual living thing – what IS the deal with those Korx, anyway?)

The airlock opened and he slowly stepped down into the docking bay. Waiting for him was a royal Altarian guard, escorting their scrumptious leader to her first face-to-face meeting with her secret crush, the crappy being coming down the ramp. She hesitated a moment, blushing bright red, and extended her hand. 'The Great and Illustrious Pooperton, I have long waited for the day to meet you in person. It truly is a pleasure to welcome you aboard Babilonia Cinco.'

Poops trembled at the thought of the mechano-hand touching hers, but made it so with his controls, replying, 'Eleys, it is I who am honored to be here. I only hope that we can enjoy some time together . . . perhaps alone . . . in the midst of all this political intrigue.'

She leaned closer, and through the intake vents The Well-Formed and Perfectly Saturated Emperor could catch the sweet smell of her perfume. She responded, 'I'd like nothing better.'

He put out his arm and she took it, as they left the docking bay and moved towards the Great Hall Of Speaking Together And Crap, or GHOSTAC, where the nitty-gritty of this newly formed United Planets would play out. She continued, 'Kralax of Korx and Iso the 'supposedly' Wise have already arrived, and Lord Vega is docking as we speak. I guess we're just waiting on Alan Bradley. You'd think after he picked the date he'd have the decency to show up on time.'

Poops was gleeful. Anything to keep the ugly human away from his sweet, lovely Eleys.

Niiice...you a Howard Stern fan?

And will his soldiers do their duty (doody)?