THREE

Inside his large residence on Spaceball City, President Skroob was lounging in his bathtub enjoying a nice hot bubble bath. "Quarter to three, no one in the place," he was humming, squeezing his toy frog, "The people are nothing but a charity case. I say Skroob the people any day. Taxes get higher, insurance…"

Suddenly the TeleWall lit up. "President Skroob," Commanderette Zircon announced imperatively.

"YOUGGHHH!!!" Skroob jumped in shock—then dove as far down in the bubbles as he could. "Zircon, how many times have I told you never to disturb me when I'm bathing!!??" he screamed at her.

"I'm sorry sir, but I have vital news reports for you," Zircon told him, "Lord Helmet called to tell you he's headed for that yellow star as fast as he can. He expects to reach it within a solar day."

"And that's the vital report you have for me?" Skroob said sarcastically, "Boy, you must be starved for news over there."

"I'd also like to report, sir, that expeditions to other systems with Melmacians have proven successful," Zircon went on, "We have close to a dozen specimens in custody and should begin shaving them shortly. Plus, I just received word from General Mills that our droid army should be up and running any minute now, so if you have a spare moment, he requests you be present for the ceremony."

"Okay, okay, I'll get down there A.S.A.P.," Skroob said, "Continue with whatever you were doing before."

"Yes sir," Zircon saluted him as she signed off. Skroob hopped out of the tub and dried himself off with the Pizza the Hutt version of Spaceballs the Towel that was on the hangers at the moment. It was only then that he realized the servant druids had removed his clothes for cleaning before he stepped in the tub. "Stupid druids!" he groaned, rushing into his bedroom. Digging through his drawers, he came up with a pair of pajamas that would probably suit his function well enough. Throwing a smoking jacket over them, he raced barefoot up the hall. Unfortunately, the janitorial staff was mopping the floor around the far corner, so Skroob slipped and fell right on his backside. "Can't this wait until later!?" he yelled at the workmen. Not giving them a chance to answer, he picked himself up and continued running until he reached the observation balcony overlooking the courtyard below. "President Skroob salute!" ordered the commander of the troops on the balcony.

"HAIL SKROOB!!!" his men shouted, giving the salute. Skroob returned it. "So, where's General Mills?" he asked no one in particular.

"Right here, Skroob," came the eerie voice of General Mills from his left. The half-droid, half orange-hued alien came clanking toward him, a noise made all the louder by the rattling of the captured weapons from Mills's fallen foes that he always carried with him. "I take it you only got the news just now?" Mills asked him.

"Uh, no," Skroob lied. He scanned the courtyard. The sleek black prototype battle druids, ten thousand in all, lay inactive below, waiting for their first orders. "Finally, my lifelong dream realized," Skroob announced grandly, "Warfare without a human factor. They obey orders without a qualm and can take a severe beating our guardsmen can't. Not to mention that once we're at full capacity, they'll serve our manpower question well. We send them in for the first wave of attacks. Once our enemies expend all their power and energy destroying them, we send in the human troops to massacre all in sight. It'll be a…"

"Would you stop rambling on the plot details and just activate them!?" General Mills thrust a large red button into Skroob's hands, "I'm not a general without a command, you know!"

"All right, keep your bionic limbs on!" Skroob huffed. He took his place by the railing. "I dedicate these soldiers to the future military success of Planet Spaceball," he announced grandly, pressing the button.

There was a low hum as the druids below were activated. They rose up in unison and hummed out, "President Skroob salute!", giving it to their commander in chief. Skroob returned it again. "Okay boys," he told the druids over the loudspeaker next to him, "I hope you loved your christening just now. In a little bit we'll turn you loose on the innocent Druidians and let you kill them left and right. Until then, just do whatever General Mills here tells you. Now let's roll out."

"I give the order to roll out!" General Mills reprimanded him, "I am the general here!"

"Fine, have it your way," Skroob handed the megaphone to him. He walked out of the way and let Mills address the druids. "So, Ringrinch, how long will it take to get the droid factories up to peak capacity?" he asked one of his top ministers.

"If we make the workers go on a twenty-two hour shift like we suggested, probably within a week," Nute Ringrinch, Skroob's top economic advisor, told him. "To be honest, Mr. President, I'm still unsure of the logic in building an army of battle druids when we have one of the best militaries in the Frankfurt Galaxy."

"Ringrinch, one of the bad things about our planet is that we have a finite number of guys fit for Spaceball military service, even with involuntary conscription in effect," Skroob told him, "With these druids we increase our numbers to infinite levels, plus we now have the intimidation factor in our corner. And don't worry about paying for all of it. Since the Constitution clearly says that I'm by default the CEO of every company on the planet, we'll just skim funds from the public works departments if we need it."

"Well Lord Helmet doesn't think it's the best of ideas," Ringrinch admitted," I just talked with him the other week and he thinks the human factor is fine just the way it is. And I can't…"

"Ringrinch, since when has Lord Helmet ever known what he's talking about?" Skroob posed, "Now unless you've got something else important to tell me, I can't miss tonight's episode of Execution Tonight. They're killing off the three ringleaders of that arson gang I personally sentenced to death two weeks ago."

"Sir, it's unhealthy to watch that show as much as you do," Ringrinch called after Skroob as he strolled away.

"Well when I end up sick I'll call…" Skroob was interrupted as he slipped and fell on the slippery floor again. "You didn't see that!" he called back to his advisors as he squirmed embarrassed out of sight.


"Ya know Boss, I just realized something," Bard said as the Winnebago began its descent toward the Moon of Vega, "We never did pinpoint exactly where Yogurt's place is on this moon. We could search for days and not find him, especially when he keeps it so well hidden."

"Don't worry Barf, that won't be a problem at all," Lone Starr pointed out the window. Directly below them in the desert the words THIS WAY LONE STARR were spelled out in large stones, with an arrow pointing toward a bullseye of stone in the distance. "Prepare for landing," the hero said, throwing the necessary controls.

"Preparing for landing," Barf needlessly repeated, activating several more. They touched down in the center of the bullseye, where the Dinks, Yogurt's miniature assistants, ran out to meet them. "Hi little guys," Barf greeted them as he climbed down from the Winnebago, "How've you been since we last saw each other?"

"Dink, dink dink dink," one of them responded, trying to high-five the mawg. Unfortunately, Barf was too big and he was too small, and the result was that he fell flat on his face in the sand. His fellow Dinks couldn't help chuckling at this. "Dink, dink dink dink dink dink," one laugh out loud.

"Dink dink dink dink!" the first Dink shouted as he jumped back up.

"Dink dink dink dink, dink," the second Dink leered. The first one lunged out him and a fight ensued among all the Dinks until Yogurt's voice boomed out, "ENOUGH!!"

Everyone turned. The miniscule golden being was trudging toward them, looking quite upset, although it may have been because of the intense desert heat. "What in the name of Yitzhak Rabin is going on here!?" he demanded.

"Dink dink dink dink!!" the first Dink pointed accusingly at the second.

"Dink dink!!" the second yelled in protest.

"I don't want to hear any excuses, we're here on business!" Yogurt reprimanded them both. Then he turned to his disciple. "Hello Lone Starr, how's it been since the first film ended?" he asked.

"Uh, well, it's a long story, Yogurt," Lone Starr said, "You wanted me?"

"Yeah, the future of Druidia and maybe the galaxy's at stake," Yogurt said, "Walk this way and I'll tell you all about it."

He walked toward his lair in a very bizarre manner, swinging his arms crazily from side to side. Lone Starr and Barf exchanged befuddled glances, then shrugged and walked after Yogurt in the exact same way. Soon they and the Dinks were safely underground and out of the heat. "So Lone Starr," Yogurt told him, "The Spaceballs are planning to destroy Druidia again, and they're hunting down the Melmacians to get the weaponry needed for it."

"But I thought Melmac blew up?" Barf asked.

"It did," Yogurt said, "But as usual not everyone died. What I'd like you guys to do is go protect one lone Melmacian who's on this planet they call Earth in the Milky Way, better known as Reality. Dark Helmet's going after him next, and if he gets his hair, it's sayonara Druidia. I'd burn rubber if I were you, they're already halfway there."

"How do you know all this?" Lone Starr asked.

"Please, all us Dead-Eye Knights can see these things through the Schwartz," Yogurt said, "By the way, Lone Starr, here's another ring."

"But Yogurt," Lone Starr protested as the wizened being slipped it onto his finger, "You told me the Schwartz was in me."

"It is, but there's nothing that says we can't have a little insurance, is there?" Yogurt posed, "Well, no need to stay around here; get going. Helmet's on the warpath."

"Right, thanks Yogurt," Barf headed back outside. Lone Starr, however, held back. "Is there something wrong, Lone Starr?" Yogurt asked him.

"Actually, yeah, Yogurt," Lone Starr sighed, "It's me and Vespa. I…well, we….happily ever after wasn't exactly…"

"You're not happy with your relationship?" Yogurt asked, his eyebrows raised knowingly.

"Yeah," Lone Starr nodded, "I miss the thrill of being a hero for hire. And, to be honest she's better in doses. Too much and you feel…."

"OK, enough of the details, this is a spoof, not a soap opera," Yogurt waved him off, "In the meantime, I suggest you give her this when you get back to Druidia after the mission."

He handed the hero a long pink box. "Spaceballs the Love Restorer," Lone Starr read off it, "What exactly does this do to restore love?"

"I could tell you, but then we'd lose the younger audience reading this story," Yogurt said, "Now get a move on; you're dragging out the scene unnecessarily by staying this long."

"Right, bye Yogurt," Lone Starr said, putting the box under his arm as he left, "Hope I get another scene with you before it's over with."


Dot Matrix wheeled her way up the castle hallway. "Darling," she called out to Vespa, "Is something wrong?"

"Lone Starr's been in here for over a half hour," Vespa pointed to the bathroom, "I think he's got a serious constipation problem."

"Well, he has been eating a lot of dairy lately," Dot theorized. She knocked on the door. "Captain Lone Starr, you OK in there?" she called in. When she got no response, she shrugged and said, "I guess it's really that bad. He'd be more talkative if it wasn't."

"Can't be too much longer though," Vespa said, glancing up at the nearest clock, "No one can go much longer than this."