"So, how'd you like dinner tonight?" Skroob asked his mistresses Charlene and Marlene as they lay on his presidential bed.
"It was stimulating, Mr. President," Marlene (or was it Charlene?) told him, sighing in a contented manor, "Tell me that dessert will be just as refreshing."
"Oh you know it will," Skroob started unbuttoning his pajama top, "Now if you ladies are ready, we'll serve it right now."
Both twins giggled in delight. Skroob cracked open a nearby bottle of champagne and poured them all glasses. The three of them crawled under the covers, ready for "dessert"…
"President Skroob," Zircon announced suddenly over the TeleWall. Skroob jumped in shock, spilling champagne everywhere. "What? he shouted scrambling to put his pajamas back on.
"Sir, Lord Helmet just sent notification that he located the last Melmacian," Zircon told him, "He was unable to capture it, but he detained the people harboring it."
"What do you mean he failed to detain it?" Skroob said in a hyper voice partially out of his lingering shock and partially because of his frustration at Helmet's incompetence.
"The law enforcement officials of the planet intervened, but as I mentioned earlier, he took hostages," Zircon continued matter-of-factually, "In the meantime, he says he collected enough hair to feed the fleet of T.A.R.G.E.T.s. We should be able to initiate the first full-scale test of the explosives when they arrive back at Planet Spaceball in about fourteen hours."
"All right, we'll have the welcoming party ready for them," Skroob said, "In the meantime, don't bother me again for the rest of the night, OK?"
"Yes sir," Zircon saluted and signed off. Disinterested, Skroob turned back to the bed. "Where were we?" he asked his women.
"We're millions of miles from home," Willie muttered softly from their detention cell as Spaceball 2 lumbered back across the cosmos, "We're in the clutches of psychopaths who came for our alien. We haven't eaten in a day and a half, we have no contact with the outside world, we may never get home again, and the lavatory facilities are appalling. And I thought that…yes?"
There had been a knocking at the air duct. A nervous set of eyes peered through. "Mister," he breathed, "Don't you feel strange here? I can't take it much more! I feel like the walls are closing in! I've got to get out of here!"
"Guard! Get back to work!" came Sandurz's voice from the hallway.
"Yes sir, Colonel Sandurz," the man next door said. There was a shuffling of feet as he left. Moments later the Tanners' cell door opened. "So, how have you liked our accommodations so far?" the colonel asked as he and Helmet walked in with a trio of guards.
"Well, to be honest, I'd like to complain to the manager," Willie rose to his feet, but the guards shoved him back down. "Listen, Lord Vader," he told Helmet, "Since Alf seems to be the issue here, you really don't need us anymore..."
"On the contrary, we need you to lure out Gordon Shumway," Helmet said, "In a few minutes you will make an intergalactic speech to that failed yukster telling him to come out in the open if he wants to see you again."
"Well, what would you say if I told you I've washed my hands of him and therefore refuse to do it?" Willie posed.
"I'll say that if you refuse, my apprentice Count Cuckoo…" Helmet paused while the hunchbacked creature strolled forward with a barbeque of hot coals before continuing, "will brand the word Helmet all over your pretty daughter's face!"
From seemingly out of nowhere, a dramatic piece of suspense music rang out from above. Everyone glanced upward until it stopped. "You wouldn't dare!" Kate gasped once it ended.
"Cuckoo," Helmet told his apprentice. Cuckoo shoved a branding iron into the coals. "Hot stuff coming in, and I'm not talking about myself!" he lisped, advancing toward Lynn. "Dad!" she protested, "is there really any question what to do here?"
"Uh, um, uh…" Willie wavered until Cuckoo was about five feet from his daughter. "All right, I'll do it!" he groaned, "But I hope you'd agree…"
"Thank you," Helmet took hold of Willie and dragged him out into the hall. "You'll be working with our special universal translator," the villain said, pointing to a mime standing up the corridor, "He'll be sending out your message loud and clear in case Shumway tries to play stupid. And don't think you can send him secret messages. Cuckoo, the collar."
Cuckoo produced an electric shock collar. "Uh, you don't need that," Willie gulped, "I won't be sending him any warnings."
"It doesn't matter," Helmet nodded to his apprentice, who dragged Willie away. Once they were gone, he raised his visor. "Was I too dark there, Sandurz?" he asked the colonel.
"Not at all sir, and you were in character," Sandurz told him, "We are a ruthless race of beings, after all."
"Right," Helmet nodded, "Well, we'd better get set to send that message. Jam all transmissions within twelve thousand parsecs."
"Absolutely; watch the door sir," Sandurz's warning came too late as the nearest sliding door closed on Helmet, trapping him.
"We're leaving the solar system now," Barf announced, "There go Alvin and Dave."
"There really are an Alvin and Dave?" Brian ran to the window, "Wow, it is true!"
"Well, sure, everybody in the galaxy knows about Alvin and Dave," Barf said. He leaned over and whispered to Lone Starr, "Boy, is their planet way behind the rest of the universe."
Lone Starr nodded softly as Brian hefted the camera he'd brought along and snapped pictures of the planets. "OK, everybody buckle up, we're going through the wormhole into the next sector of the galaxy," he announced over the loudspeaker.
"Say Lone Starr, how much further to that restaurant?" Alf asked from the intercom at the other end of the Winnebago, "This poor soul can't go on too much longer."
"Just about ten more minutes, keep your hair on," Lone Starr told him.
"That might be hard, since it's about this time of year that I start shedding the most, and since…"
Lone Starr disconnected. "I hate it when people take things literally," he told Barf, "And if he goes crazy at the diner, I'm tossing him out into space."
"Well you know Melmacians, boss, they can never control the urge to eat," Barf pointed out, holding on as the Winnebago started shaking as it made its way through the rough wormhole, "I'm surprised he hasn't started destroying our own kitchen yet."
"True, but I've got it on Orange Alert," Lone Starr said, "Good thing we have everything edible under lock and key."
They emerged unscathed from the wormhole. Ahead of them shone the lights of the space stop. "Great, another continuity error," Barf mumbled, "When will this guy realize ten minutes means ten minutes?"
"Well, better early than late," Alf shuffled into the cockpit, "As long as they at least have catfish, I'll be happy."
"What do they have to eat in space?" Brian joined his friend, "I'd like some white boiled potatoes. Or some ice cream."
"I'm sure they have some of those," Lone Starr said as he nosed the Winnebago down to a smooth landing, "But whatever you do, don't order the Special."
"Why not?"
"Trust us, you don't want to," Barf told him, "And try not to get to far away from us; there's some rough people in these diners."
They strolled into the diner. "Well, it's about time you showed up again, Lone Starr," came Tripley's voice from behind them, "First you run out on me without proposing, now you run out without paying the check."
"Well you see, Tripley, we had to save Gordon here from Dark Helmet," Lone Starr pointed to Alf.
"Oh great, Gordon Shumway," Tripley grimaced, "I've seen enough of him to last a lifetime."
"Thank you," Alf bowed, "In the meantime, babe, get me a roast Manx with gravy."
"We don't serve cats here, thank you very much," Tripley said sternly.
"How about catfish?" Alf plopped down at the counter.
"I'd like white boiled potatoes," Brian tugged at Tripley's dress, "And some milk, please."
Before Tripley could comment, the video screens stationed all throughout the restaurant started fritzing out. "What the hell?" she exclaimed tapping the nearest one.
"I think I know what the problem is," Alf said, glancing at the one next to him. Purple fluid was pouring out of the top of the screen. "It's been jammed," he informed the waitress. He licked it for good measure. "With grape."
"That's impossible," Tripley mused, "Our system is internal; it's jam-proof. There's no way…now what?"
The screen had settled down. Helmet was now on it. "Good evening Frankfurt Galaxy," he announced, "We've taken the liberty of jamming all your screens to get your undivided attention. We'd now like to introduce Mr. William Tanner, who will deliver our message to you."
He stepped aside to reveal Willie, now hooked up to a large vertical rack with a sign on top labeled SPACEBALLS THE TORTURE-O-MATIC 5,000, the translator mime on one side and a Spaceball trooper on his other side holding a laser gun to his head. "Hello," the beleaguered human said as the mime simultaneously began giving the hands gestures, "This message is for Alf, or Gordon Shumway as most of the rest of us know him. The great and powerful Lord Dark Helmet is holding Kate, Lynn, and myself prisoner. You have twenty-four hours to turn yourself in to Spaceball custody. You're to go to the memorial to Lord Helmet's father, Kerr Ash Helmet, near…Kerr Ash Helmet?" he gave a strange look off camera, "His father's name was Kerr Ash…?"
Behind him, Cuckoo simultaneously pressed the button for the shock collar and threw the switch for the Torture-O-Matic. Willie tensed up and vibrated as the electricity went through his system. "All right, all right!" he groaned, "As I was saying, Alf, meet us near the statue to Lord Helmet's father on Jupiter 2 sometime within the next twenty-four hours and surrender yourself to be shaved. Fail in this, and the three of us will be killed tomorrow night on Execution Tonight, the longest running and highest rated program in the history of the Spaceball Broadcasting Company, the biggest…what is that supposed to mean?" he was distracted by some of the mime's crazy gestures. Cuckoo shocked him again in response. "Anyway," Willie took deep breaths once the clown had finished, "You're to come alone; no help form Captain Lone Starr or anyone else. And try to be clean; we don't want dirty hair." He leaned forward and added, "On a personal note, Alf, let me just say, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?" he roared straight into the camera, "I HAVEN'T EATEN, I HAVEN'T SLEPT, YOU LOUSY…!"
His next words, and many of those following, were bleeped out. Alf covered Brian's ears. "Willie, how could you!?" he said in surprise, "I didn't know you watched that much Richard Pryor!"
Willie received his most violent shock from the Torture-O-Matic to date. Helmet stepped back into frame. "I would also like to add that just in case Shumway chooses not to show at the time we just gave, I'm putting out a five million spacebuck bounty on his head, applicable to anyone who wishes to bring him in. Good luck in finding him. And now, we end this transmission with more gratuitous shocking."
He gave Cuckoo the thumbs-up, and his apprentice cranked the Torture-O-Matic's juice up full blast. Willie's hair jerked straight up, and smoke poured from his ears. Alongside him, the mime imitated the electrocution as the screens were returned to normal. "How could they do that to Dad?" Brian asked, horrified by what he'd just seen his father go through.
'Simple Brian, they're Spaceballs, nothing matters to…" Alf noticed that everyone else in the diner was now giving him strange looks. "What?" he asked.
"Oh nothing," one bearded space redneck said. Even so, there was no mistaking the clicking sounds of laser pistols being activated. "Uh, you really think Helmet's going to pay you five million big ones?" he pointed out.
"I don't care," said a space biker, hefting a sawed-off laser gun, "It's worth the potential payoff."
"How about if I give you some money out of my own bank…" Alf started to say, but a blast that just barely missed his head cut him off. "Uh, just remembered, I left my lights on," he said, inching toward the door.
There was a mad rush toward him. "Get the Melmacian!" somebody shouted. Alf dashed toward the kitchen. "Anytime you're ready, Lone Starr, you can started defending me!" he called out.
Lone Starr ran into the midst of the goons and started throwing haymakers. "Sorry boys, Yogurt says no hands on Mr. Shumway," he said.
"I already had yogurt this morning," a space trucker pummeled him in the chest and tossed him aside. Barf tried throwing a few left hooks, but a bottle to his head knocked him out as well. The trucker led the mob into the kitchen. "Come out come out wherever you are!" he called out.
Alf popped out of the nearest crock-pot. "Here's your pie sir," he said, throwing a coconut custard one into the trucker's face, "Keep the change," he said, heading for the rear exit. Unfortunately, a group of intergalactic postal workers blocked his way. They hefted submachine laser guns and opened fire. Alf turned and headed back into the restaurant itself. The chase went around and around the dining area and kitchen about seven times before Alf jumped behind the counter when he was in a blind spot. The mob foolishly kept running around in circles several times until one of them realized Alf was no longer in front of them. There he goes!" he shouted, pointing to the Melmacian as he and Brian dragged the two space heroes out onto the space stop pad.
"Block that door," Alf instructed Brian, who obligingly held the door shut as best he could as the mob pounded on the other side. Alf ran over to a nearby interstellar rig, climbed into the cab, bent down, hotwired the engine, and pulled it up to the front door, blocking it. "Do you think you're getting a little extreme, Alf?' Brian asked him.
"Better safe than sorry, I always say," Alf said, throwing the gearshift into park. There was angry pounding from the mob against the blocked door, but they proved helpless to force it open. Lone Starr and Barf groaned as they came to behind Alf. "What happened?" the mawg asked, rubbing his head where he'd been hit.
"Oh nothing, I almost got killed and just managed to escape, no thanks to either of you," Alf told him.
"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself," came Tripley's voice from behind her dazed ex-boyfriend, apparently having also slipped outside in the confusion, "You've managed to destroy my job in just under ten minutes."
"Well look at the good news," Alf told her, "You can still save a ton on your car insurance if you switch to Geico."
"How'd you get out here?" Lone Starr asked.
"I slipped out while they were chasing the Melmacian through the kitchen," Tripley explained, "When the customers start getting like a lynch mob, this diner's no place to be a woman. I'm going with you."
"Why?" Barf frowned.
"Because A, this story needs a strong woman, and B, there's not much left for me here," Tripley told him.
"Sure, why not?" Lone Starr shrugged, "Might as well taken in more guests."
"OK, you two work it out, I'll drive," Alf hopped into the Winnebago's cab, "Next stop, Spaceball City…I guess."
