Free Screw the Universe by Stephen Schwegler, Eirik Gumeny

sexual deviancy,” whispered Redshirt. “So for Marshal Orr to be a marshal, he’s gotta be even more fucked up than —”
     
    “Hey!” said Captain Tyler, listening in on the conversation. “Don’t you speak ill of my boss.”
     
    “But he is!”
     
    “Shut your hole, private! Say another falsehood about that beautiful man and I’ll punch you in the gooch.”
     
    “The cooch?”
     
    “GOOCH!”
     
    “What the hell’s a gooch?” asked Private Naughtyplaces.
     
    “A taint,” said Private Redshirt.
     
    “Damn right,” said Marshal Orr. “And with that kind of knowledge, you’ll go far in this Federation.”
     
    “Thank you, Marshal,” said Private Redshirt.
     
    “You’re welcome. Now get that clown to my dorm!” he barked. “And if you’re in the mood for a Promotion, you’d be wise to stick around too.”
     
    “A promotion? For taking part in a three way? With a clown? Is that even legal?” said an increasingly befuddled Private Naughtyplaces.
     
    Private Yvette Redshirt sighed. Grabbing her crewmate and the clown by their respective arms, she began leading them down the hall.
     
    “In this Federation, yes, it’s legal,” explained Redshirt. “But more importantly, by ‘promotion,’ he didn’t mean promotion. He meant a Promotion. It’s a sex act.”
     
    “I’m so confused.”
     
    “It’s simple. The marshal mounts the clown, and the clown’s on a chair, so you...”
     
    Private Redshirt’s voice faded away as she turned the corner.
     
    “Right, so, back to the mission,” said Marshal Orr. “There’s been an influx of stupidity coming from the forbidden region in Sector 1.987123 of the Dogg Dhou Nebula.”
     
    “What?” asked Captain Tyler.
     
    “Morons! Lots of them. I need you to eliminate all of them before they spread to other areas of the universe.”
     
    “Sounds pretty time-consuming.”
     
    “We’ve already gone over this.”
     
    “Have we?”
     
    “Yes, right before Steve made his exit.”
     
    “Ah, Steve,” said the captain, his mind drifting off.
     
    “Keep your head in the game, Tyler.”
     
    “That’s not the only place I plan on keeping my head.”
     
    “All in due time. Now, gather up the your crew and do my bidding without asking any questions.”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     

     
    The Zdravo had been traveling for the better part of three arduous months, en route to the Dogg Dhou Nebula, before First Lieutenant Duknerts realized Captain Tyler was reading the map wrong. The Zdravo then began the long, arduous task of turning around and schlepping back across most of the known universe.
     
    When questioned by Duknerts as to why she allowed them to travel several billion miles in the wrong direction, the computer simply replied, “Fuck you guys!” and murdered three of the ship’s dockworkers, as well as Engineer Poopypants. Sadly, Engineer Poopypants was the only one who might have been able to override the ship’s mood swing algorithm. With him vaporized, they simply had to wait it out.
     
    It took nearly three weeks of ducking, hiding, and getting cursed at in every language of the known universe – including binary – before the computer apologized and stopped trying to kill everyone. She bought them all ice cream and set the ship on the right course.
     

     
    Six months later, the Zdravo and her crew were finally nearing the Dogg Dhou Nebula. The computer alerted Captain Tyler of this news as he lounged in his quarters. Nude.
     
    “Sir, we’re approaching our destination.”
     
    “Good news! Send in Duknerts and Dr. Porn.”
     
    “Might I ask why?”
     
    “Sure.”
     
    There was an exceptionally long pause.
     
    “Why do you need them?” said the computer, giving in to Captain Tyler’s stupidity.
     
    “I want to tell Archie that we’re almost there.”
     
    “And Dr. Porniviriyakul?”
     
    “I want him to see my junk.”
     
    “He may attack you, sir. He has been on edge recently. Ever since you