**Disclaimer:: I do not own Treasure Planet, or any of the characters. They belong to Disney and their respective creators. I do, however, enjoy poking fun at it. ^_^

J-Dawg and Docta D had just boarded the S.S. Bootay. Insteada checkin' out tha ship, J-Dawg was busy trippin' on tha punk-ass getup that Docta D was wearin'.

"Yo, Doc, what the HELL is you wearin', foo'?? You smokin' crack, man?? Cuz you look SAD."

Docta D flipped J-Dawg tha bird. "Shut yo' mouth, boy. This 'ere's muh supah fly ship gear. I'm totally safe, yo, so shut yo' trap cuz you gonna die an' I'll be kickin' it wit da ladies when -I- git my ass rich on Ghetto Planet bootie!"

"You f*ckin' wrapped yo'self in FOIL, dumbass!" J-Dawg threw out his hands in exhasperation and suddenly, his hand connected with something that let out a foul, nasty-ass belch. J-Dawg crinkled his nose. "Aw MAN! Whut'n'th'HELL was THAT!?"

"J-Dawg, you fool. You jest hit one o'them ships peep-mates!" Docta D turned to the fat-ass that J-Dawg belted. "Buuuuurrrppp Braaaaappppp brrp Briiiiiiiiiiip!!"

The other belched, flipped Docta D a double bird, and left. J-Dawg stared at tha Docta.

"The Hell??"

Docta D looked right proud. "Hey, I be fluent in Belchian, know what I'm sayin', Dawg?"

"....Belichian...f*ckin', that's tha shiznit."

*****

Docta D and Ja-Dawg now stood in front of some chick who was wearing a tight black mini skirt, a little blue tube top with medals hanging down from either side, and thigh-high slut-red hoochie boots.

"Who tha hell are you, bitch?" J-Dawg asked.

The chick raised an eyebrow. "That's Mizz Bitch to you, white-boy. I suggest you get it right or yo' ass is overboard faster'n'a ballpark plumpin' in tha microwave."

"Mmmm...bitch sho' is fine, know whut I'm sayin'?" Docta D licked his lips, some drool dripping onto his foil breastplate. "Yo, bitch! Whut say you and me blow dis joint an' go git our groove on, mmm?"

"ENOUGH!" boomed a giant man with a triangle-shaped do-rag on his head. Docta D whimpered, his floppy ol' ears laid back.

"Thank you, Mista Arra." The Captain turned back to the two homies. "Let's retreat to my quarters now. I'm ready t'see whut y'all is got." Quickly, she added, "An' wipe that cheesy-ass smirk off yore face, Doc, cuz I ain't interested in no little boyz." Pleased with just about making the Docta cry, she led J-Dawg and Docta D down to her quarters.

"Woah, nice crib ya got here, Mizz Bitch," J-Dawg said appreciatively, looking around.

"Hand over tha map, homie."

"Hell no, bitch! Ain't your's, an' I ain't lettin' you have it."

"Either you hand it over now or I'll go get it mySELF."

If Docta D had, had a tail, it would have fallen off from wagging so much. "J-Dawg don't have it, baby girl."

"Then where tha hell IS it!?"

"In my pantz, biotch, so why don't y'all come over an' git it, yo?"

"Chuh, please. Ain't NUTHIN' in -yo'- pantz TO git, Docta."

J-Dawg busted up. "Aw man, girl, that wuz--"

"Shut up an' hand me tha map!"

"Alright, alright! Shut yo' trap, woman, an' stop hollerin' at me!!" Scowling, J-Dawg shoved a hand into his pants, an' fished around til he pulled out the g-string. "Here you go, bitch. Enjoy," he added, sarcastically.

Mizz Bitch purred, clutching the still-warm sequined g-string in her claws. "Mm...I will." Then she closed it up in a safe behind her cheap liquor cabinet.

"Well, guess there ain't nuthin' left ta do now 'cept ta break it on down wit our bad selfz." J-Dawg shook his bootay in the tradional 'I'm a big bad Treasure Huntin' Homeboy' dance.

"On the contrary, Dawg. For tha duration of this trip, yo' ass'll be workin' fo' yo' fare. This ain't no free ride, homedawg. You is gonna be tha new cabin boyee." She gave him an eyebrow. "Down wit dat?"

"Awwww MAAAAN..."

"Mista Arra, take these boyz down ta meet tha Pimp Daddy."

Mista Arra nodded. "Yes, Bitch.