Sic Semper Tyrannus

May 11, 2008 - 10:28 AM PST

FORWARD
Allow me to explain, before this text begins, exactly what the purpose of it was and clear up a few things.

Sic Semper Tyrannus is a short story modeled around the basic ideas of a heroic epic. It was for a group assignment in the first semester of my AP Literature class, immediately following our study of Beowulf. Our class was broken up into groups and we were charged with creating our own heroic epic. My friends, interestingly, being all in my group (surprisingly by chance) ended up volunteering me to do all the work. We did hammer out a few basic concepts (some which, unfortunately, did not make it into this text for reasons which will be explained later). I then spent the next week or two (unfortunately, that era of my life is a little fuzzy) drinking as much energy drinks as I could while sleeping as little as possible in an attempt to write this.

At some point, I actually managed to O.D. on caffeine. Managed a bruise over my heart, somehow. It was quite odd. I never did, really, finish this work. It's been left in a rough draft state since then, I haven't exactly had the desire to work on it again. Still, it seems fitting to upload for lack of a better piece. And, well, I just had a lot of fun writing it.o

Oh, I wrote a companion encyclopedia as well. That'll be uploaded shortly.

Our initial grade was an 81%, by the way. A few weeks later he lost the grades, and asked us what ours was.

Our final grade was a 120%.

PREFACE

"There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable."
- Douglas Adams (1952 - 2001)




"There is another theory which states that this has already happened."
- Also Douglas Adams (still 1952 - 2001)

PROLOGUE

Earth. It kind of sucks.
Having broken the confines of gravity to indulge in their seemingly insatiable quest of both conquest and exploration (and not at all because they already nuked the bollocks out of their own planet and really had no where else to go except the moon and come on guys, seriously, the moon?), humanity busted a cap into universal ass and began settling the far-reaches of space, the galaxy, and the universe in general. Like Chinese rabbits snorting viagra-based crack-cocaine, humanity, not unlike AIDS, quickly spread to every system in reach and then proceeded to overpopulate all over the blimey place.
It was a golden age of beauty. It was an age of exploration and settlement, an age of joyous wonder and bewilderment. It was also an age of killing aliens. Oh, did they kill them some alien hordes. But times were good, and parties were hard, except the parties which weren't; which were only actually kept fresh in the memory as a means to remember to forget about what a bunch of bollocks those other parties actually were.

CHAPTER ONE

Earth. It still kind of sucks. But being that it has been a few millennia since anyone actually cared, no body really cares. Instead, they've replaced their caring with the universalization of seemingly endless amount of galaxies spanning the, er, universe. Which people still don't really care about, with the possible exception of the heads of the intergalactic corporations; but their status as human is arguable at best (and virtually non-existent at every other degree). But this is not where our story begins.
This is where our story begins: at the inter-galactic club known, simply, as "DA Club." Built, initially, to be a most excellent house of awesome; DA Club has since become a rather most excellent house of awesome, garnering universal attention. Our story begins with Hilga of the PERUVIAN GALAXY. After a long night of dancing hardcore, this majestic beast of olde (she's a dragon! Oh my!) has situated herself at the best possible vantage point to gaze longingly across the bar at another dashing majestic beast of olde. Hilga was a formidable majestic beast, displaying her florescent colors and bone-like extrusions and tendrils gallantly, her American flag-like cape swaying softly in the nonexistent breeze sweeping over the bar. For a brief moment earlier, her eyes met his and they shared a moment not unlike that a doctor might have with a patient as he viciously cuts out the cancer that is his patient's heart, replacing it with the love and warmth only a brand new, cold, steel mechanical heart can provide. In that moment their love blossomed into something akin to a beaucoup of beautiful flowers, swarming with hornets. This is foreshadowing. Having felt this moment beat by, like the beating of a giant's heart on PCP, her life had instantly been made clear to her: she was to follow him, like a dog follows a shadowy man with a treat into the alley, wherever he went. To the ends of the universe, if so be.

CHAPTER TWO

Swooping down from his place of perch, like the great owl in its blood lust hunt, the majestic dragon wrapped his mighty talons around the flower of his delights: Hilga of the PERUVIAN GALAXY was fit snuggly in his bondage, both of her heart and of her voluptuous body. In unison, they roared - like the great razor beasts of Elcor, feasting merrily on the mangled flesh of tonight's offering. Their victim's blood coursing over their elongated, indescribably sharp protrusions; like those of a bear's claw, sharpened beyond all belief and fastened to the jolly end of their ripe hide - and, in a single moment, he had trusted himself upon her. Calculated and cautious he was, but inversely proportional was his quickness: without what seemed to be a moments hesitation the great dragon fired his torpedo deep, deep into his lover's aft, causing a great stir within her metaphorical central processing unit. Glowing, like a firefly perpetually caught in a zapper, her chest guards flared out, displaying 16 extravagant breasts, bristling with succulent nipples. [Author's note: I hate myself. So much.]

As a writer, I realize that there will be plenty of times where I will be forced to write about things which will make me truly question my will to live. But thank God these things aren't Paris Hilton.

THEY WENT FOR A HARD NIGHT OF JOGGING. THIS IS THE END OF CHAPTER 2.

CHAPTER THREE

Deep gray smoke sifted in the air, creating entangling spirals as it curved around the exquisite, naked bodies of the two lovers; the majestic beasts of olde. Gray and black ash floated alongside their bodies, seemingly defying the gravity were it actually present. And for a while, they were silent. They had no use for words: their language was that of love, it was that of motion, of thrusting. Lots and lots and lots of thrusting. Like, Elvis thrusting. Except multiply that by the average amount of tassels he had on at any given time, and you're starting to get a vague idea of the thrusting involved. The language of love is that of an epic kind of thrusting, a thrusting only achievable when two Dragons take it upon themselves to express their true feelings for one another, without first having learned the other's name.
He spoke, after a while, dispelling the silence. Softly at first, testing the waters. His words were quiet and measured. "I have yet to share a lair with any creature such as yourself, and yet I am ashamed to admit my lack of introduction. For you see, I was stricken by the beauty of your movements, of your soul. Never before have I met a being so unlike anything I have known, and never before have I felt so completed by a simple glance from across a club. I am Sher, son of Share; Prince of and heir to the COMMUNIST GALAXY, and I fear for our love. For you see, we are star-crossed. I, the heir to the COMMUNIST GALACTIC throne. You, with your American flag cape. Can't you see it could never be? And yet, I feel as if I must defy tradition: I feel as if I must rebel against the very beliefs instilled in me as a hatchling. The love I feel for you, my love, is the very essence of love itself; the natural existence of love in its purest and most lovable form. It's like a new born kitten, full of spunk and life! And adorable loveliness! And without all of the maiming and anger-driven destruction at the result of said maiming that often occurs with newborn kittens! And at least twice as delicious! It's the love one feels when they receive their bread, after waiting in the freezing cold bread line for days on end! It's pure, unadultured, lovitude!"
Without hesitation, without missing a beat, her heart flung a response back: "These colors don't run, my sweet!" she drug her American flag cape over her moist and delicious body. "Not from communism, and certainly not from love. And though you be the spawn of the devil, heir to the throne of Satan himself; Raptor Jesus shall have mercy. We may be star crossed - my love, my Sher - but our love is true, and our bond is strong. Only Raptor Jesus could have foreseen this, and only he could see redemption within your eleven hearts."
And as his tendrils pulled their bodies closer, they embraced.
Remember that foreshadowing?

CHAPTER FOUR

"Oh, lowly ship-slaves; my servants of the day and consorts of the night. I ask of you, what is wrong with our once great province?" Long moments passed as general Cher's question went unanswered. Though it's important to note that it really wasn't due to a lack of opinion on the part of the lowly ship-slaves, but rather out of fear. Chair had a reputation, after all, a naughty reputation of vehemently gagging and whipping those who crossed the line. A line. Any line. Any line at all. It wasn't uncommon - no, in fact, it was extraordinarily common - to overhear the muffled yelps of a line crossing offender long throughout the ship's simulate night. And day. And often times during weekly brunch, as well. "War! That is what's wrong! War, war and famine! Our collective - she is under great pain, my ignorant and lowly ship-slaves. And at a time of such stress! It's depressing, no? Our people - our great COMMUNIST people! They die in our bread lines; they explode in our glorious space battles! And as all this happens, our prince - the one most beloved to all our hearts (or else) - has been kidnaped! Stolen away from us, he has been, by the galactic filth infesting this disease festering universe! It shall be the COMMUNIST blood that cleanses our rightful land! And it shall be by the blood of the COMMUNISTS that we return our prince home! My comrades - I might share a great victory with you - we know now, finally, whom it was who snatched our prince, this wretched thief by the night. And, dare I say it, - no! I shall not! At least, yet." General Cher's eyes glistened with glee as he poured over his monitor; they were approaching a ship. A PERUVIAN ship. The PERUVIAN ship. With a satisfying smack of his lips, he engaged.
A quick battle ensued. The whole of General Chair’s platoon, the COMMUST GALAXY’S finest along with their flagship Sonny, subdued the puny PERUVIAN ship in an orgasmic light show of deadly, deadly lasers. Hilga and Sher were captured, and retained. Each torn from their lovers arms, and locked away in their respective places only to be dragged back to the COMMUNIST GALAXY.
And as they grew closer to their destination, the giant intergalactic disembodied head of Share loomed high in the sky, ready to try Hilga for her crimes.
Oh snap.

CHAPTER FIVE

“HILGA OF THE PERUVIAN GALAXY!” a deep, low rumble emitted from a giant floating head before her ship. He was old, chizzled, and yet somehow handsome. “YOU STAND TRIAL FOR CRIMES AGAINST COMMUNIST INCLUDING (BUT CERTAINLY NOT LIMITED TO) NOT BEING A COMMUNIST (YOU CAPITALIST PIG-DOG) AND KIDNAPPING THE PRINCE OF THE COMMUNIST GALAXY! HOW DO YOU PLEAD?” His voice boomed across the galaxy, rattling the poor little ship housing Hilga. It was truly a sight to behold.
It took her only moments to consider, before she finally spoke. “NOT. GUILTY!” her loudspeakers chimed, spreading a confident and sensual voice across the field – like mayonnaise and olive oil across the rich, scaly skin of her lover.
Three seconds. Three seconds of deliberation occurred, though to her it felt like three hundred quadrillion years. She didn’t really know if quadrillion was really a number, though she was reasonably sure it was a pretty large number in its own right were it really a number. And even if it wasn’t a number, it still felt rather large in her head. Large like an angry bear. An angry and fat bear, ravishing the country side looking for its next meal of honey and fresh man-meat. For a second she almost wondered if maybe quadrillion might be too angry of a number to use, but then quickly resigned herself to the belief that Share isn’t psychic and it wouldn’t affect him one way or another.
A grin came across Share’s defined face. A glimmer sparkled in his eye. “GUILTY. YOU ALL HEARD IT.” He bellowed out, laughing manically as he did. Hilga’s heart sank. “I-I never kidnaped him! We’re in love!” she cried out, straining her speakers. “He left with me!”
The grin never left Share’s face. Instead, a dark red laser burst through his eye and struck her ship – breaching her observation deck and striking her directly in the heart.
“Would my son be in love with a… man!” he countered, viciously, a venom in his voice like none other.
As she stood, her façade fell away. Her tendrils withered, her breasts shriveled, her florescent scales rescinded into pinkish skin. And worst of all, her family jewels were put on great display for all to see. Hilga was, most definitely, a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a dragon. And now she – no, he – was exposed.
A collective gasp of horror overtook the COMMUNIST GALAXY at the revelation. And despite Hilga’s attempts to cover under her cape, the truth was bare for all to see. He looked away in shame, unsure of how to act.
“AND NOW, I SENTENCE YOU. DEATH!” The COMMUNIST leader cried! “DEATH! BY DEVOURATION!” A collective cheer – a galactic shout of triumph – overtook the galaxy as millions of billions of people stepped away from their breadline and bear wrestlings to applaud the decision (and, occasionally, to be mauled by angry bears in the process). Perhaps it was primal instinct to survive, perhaps it was a supernatural force, but somehow the sight of Share’s gigantic disembodied head opening wide to reveal five hundred rows of razor sharp teeth coming in to devourate him, he found a reason to fight back. Without warning Hilga launched his arsenal of many, many phallically shaped nuclear missiles directly at Share. And when the fallout cleared, there she was: Share, in all her glory. A disembodied female head, desperately struggling to cling to its holographic masculine appearance, was in full view. A collective gasp was released by all those populating the COMMUNIST GALAXY, except those who were currently being mauled by bears. Instead, they released a series of screams and gurgling noises which was really to be expected by men (women, unfortunately, tend not to wrestle bears) in their position.
The disembodied head disappeared altogether. Gone. Away. Missing. Disappeared. (I said that twice). Either way, it was just gone. Like, here one minute and gone the next. Like socks in a dryer, the disembodied head had vanished without a trace. With a cat like grace, Share pulled a Hoodiny. In its place sat a giant, machine-riddled asteroid. Several large – fresh – craters sat on its surface, fracturing its body. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, the pieces tore off only to reveal the true Share. The hidden Share. The Share that was, will be, and is… a seahorse.

CHAPTER SIX

The giant intergalactic seahorse – Share in its truly true and truest form – sat there, its eyes red as blood, laughing like the deranged villain it is. With speed and agile and hate and evil it, Share, swooped forward and into Hilga; blasting her ship miles, miles away! It lunged forward, after the speeding ship. It – Share – was determined to end it.
Hilga was, once more, lost and distraught. His every attempt to crush his foe had been in vain. He had done nothing but strengthen his aggressor. And now, he was soon to lose his life – and sure to lose his love.
His love. Sher. No, he couldn’t bare to lose him. And so Hilga prayed. He sat, and he prayed. Oh did he pray! Like a pregnant twelve year old he prayed, though not necessarily for a miscarriage. And for all the while, while he prayed he attempted to force from him the curious thought of whether or not what Share said was true – that his son, Sher, could never love a man. He then begun to wonder if Share had meant a human, or a male. Or a human male. But quickly (though albeit half-heartedly) he resumed his efforts to push those thoughts away – like an orphan on a playground – after all, he and Sher were in love. Raptor Jesus had willed it to be. And so he prayed.
And so Share grew ever closer.
And so some heavy shit was about to go down.
And so Raptor Jesus, not a stranger to some heavy shit (being, after all, he was both a raptor and a deity; thus making him the very definition of heavy shit) answered Hilga’s prayers.
A shooting star inexplicably appeared in the proximity of Hilga’s ship; firing fast towards the demonic, the unrighteous, the down right evil and sadistic and grotesque and deviant seahorse like three hundred quadrillion (Raptor Jesus, being a deity, had a firm grasp of numbers and especially so of those reasonably large numbers which one might encounter from time to time) nuclear missiles on viagra-based crack cocaine. And; powered by gay love, capitalism, and the holy force of Raptor Jesus; the star struck Share with a truly epic force.
At first there was a light. And then there was a sound. And then… nothing.
Raptor Jesus was pleased.

EPILOGUE

Vibrations from a distant sound gently shook the PERUVIAN ship: a premature awakening to evil to come. Gingerly, he lifted his head to view out the observation deck. A planet, not too distant, spun slowly on its axis revealing a red square imprinted on its atmosphere and spanning the surface. A white circle within it and a black cross with arms bent at right angles within that on full display.
And then there was a sound, like that of a large and tyrannical creature out for blood.
The ship shook. Hilga sighed.

From Peruvia,
With Love.