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Inch Widetie and the Extremely Annoying Planet
Chapter 1
On a planet some 10 million light years from the Watford Gap lieutenant Inch Widetie stretched languorously and surveyed the scene. The crimson sky the deep green sand and the chromium yellow ocean. His planet went in for bright, eye numbing colours in a big way, mainly because it had picked up a rather old copy of What Planet when it made itself. Inch often yearned for more pastel shades. Yellow ochre, cobalt blue a nice soft green. Strangely Jessica Headlong, who sat stirring what the service station at the Watford Gap called coffee, longed for the opposite. Such are the mysteries of the multi-verse.
Inch yawned and took stock. First lieutenant of an intergalactic mega-death ship, enough credit on his card to buy a small planet and that priceless Wegon artefact he had plundered now safely stowed away in his Dwiss deposit box. Yes he concluded life was good especially here at THE most exclusive and hideously expensive resort of Bondage Beach. RICH ENOUGH? Then do Bondage, was the resorts slogan. There was only one unguent in Wideties flies. That bloody fool Captain Troon Slimtrouser had informed him, that morning, that they were off “for a jolly jaunt” to survey (plunder) some Vart forsaken planet that most sentient beings had never heard of. In fact he had on good authority that the retards that inhabited the place had only just got to their moon!
Well Inch thought, if they are THAT primitive it should be a pushover. But what will there be to loot? A spasm of worry with a hint of fear passed across Wideties horse-like visage. His credit was fraudulent and he’d heard that the listening bank didn’t listen; it broke your arms and legs. Never mind he could always challenge the banks chairman to a game of splatball to settle the matter; if it came to that. Widetie smiled cruelly, at least the smile wasn’t cruel but Widetie most definitely was!
Splatball is a traditional, if highly illegal, method of solving disputes on Wideties
Home-world. The game is similar to squash, but much, much nastier. It involves whacking a small hedgehog like creature against any available wall. The hedgehog like creature finds this somewhat annoying as it usually ends being splattered, hence the name. The winner is he (mostly he) who splatters more of the hedgehog like creatures against any available wall. It is highly illegal because the traditional winner’s prize is the right to surgically remove any part of the anatomy of the looser.
Traditionally without the aid of a general anaesthetic or a qualified surgeon. This Widetie felt was sufficient grounds for some compliancy; regarding the debt.
A large and beautifully coloured butterfly landed on Wideties’ chest he promptly swatted and ate it. This I think gives you an insight into the morals and general demeanour of the inhabitants of the planet THUG.
Widetie relaxed, sure that his master plan was sound. However the music from a small seaside bar was about to UN-relax him. A loud, horribly repetitive and moronic sound assaulted his ears. Widetie reached for his trusty bad music eliminator which was in fact a mark II kill anything if you want to laser gun. To purchase one you can order it at www. Kill.Co.TH.
Widetie eased himself slowly from his deck-chair and checked his weapon. He squinted, lighted a cheroot and arranged his poncho. Oddly the music from the offending bar took on a distinctly Latino flavour. Widetie approached the bar a steely glint in his eyes. A number of vulture like creatures suddenly rose into the sky and began to circle.
‘You mind turning that music off partner’. Widetie growled.
The barman, a large overweight cretin gave Widetie the stare then reached under the counter. It was the last thing he ever did. The bar the barman and a lot of the surrounding area was instantly vaporised by Wideties’ weapon.
‘I won’t be back punk’. Widetie whispered. The vulture like creatures looked decidedly miffed. He could have left some kind of carcass they muttered.
Widetie holstered his gun and his eyes squinted a bit more. ‘Bad music, he rasped, has to be dealt with’. His personnel communicator binged at him.
‘Yes’. He shouted.
‘Ah Widetie, Slimtrouser here we are off in forty minutes. I trust that you will be onboard’! This in a somewhat threatening tone, or at least the most threatening tone that an overweight middle aged incompetent captain could muster.
‘Certainly Captain, would not miss it for the world’.
Widetie scowled, then scowled some more. He glanced at the smouldering remains of the beach bar then pressed a button that would summon his personal transport.
His personal transport or car was the latest Firrarino. A sixty quigowaht engine, nought to very, very fast in no time at all and a life times subscription to WHICH something or other.
The car settled beside Widetie and shivered slightly. It wasn’t that it particularly disliked Widetie; its former owner had also been an idiot.
But Widetie would insist on turning off its failsafe, get you there without loosing part of your anatomy, guidance system.
Widetie got in; the car waited. Whoosh bang scream. “Here we go again, the car thought, all this bloody technology and what does he do! Drive it himself”!
A large number of the lower life forms inhabiting Bondage Beach, including an exceptionally pretty if deadly poisonous crab agreed with the car. Many of them had been deafened by Wideties’ departure. The crab made a mental note to attack Widetie at the next convenient moment. Crabs have long memories and very bad tempers.
Widetie entered the captain’s cabin and gave the salute. Which meant he held his genitals and hoped for the best?

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