Rick Sobo was stirred from hyper sleep by the vehement shaking of his space fighter, the Esclipse. "What the..." he exclaimed in his low baritone voice, "Mahatma, what's happening?"
Mahatma walked in, his steel life support body clanking the distinct sound of metal against metal. Sobo looked into the fish-bowl atop the life support body's shoulders, and saw the goldfish's poor attempt at puppy dog eyes.
Sobo didn't say a word as he lept towards the cockpit, followed shortly by Mahatma.
"Crimany, Sobo! We've dropped out of Quasi-space in the middle of an asteroid field." Sobo took only the time to fix his hair and wipe the drool from his two days stubble, before jumping into action. "I've got to stop sleeping with my mouth open, " -even his thought sounded manly.
He grabbed the controls with such skill they seemed only to be an extension of his mind, at least that's how it was supposed to happen. To Sobo's dismay, his fighter stalled. "What the..." He said as he reached for the ignition again... nothing. "Uh, Mahatma... Want to get out and push?"
Just as Mahatma was about to come back- with his witty, but not as witty as Sobo had made remark, it became all to evident that what they thought was only a giant asteroid flying towards them at just underlight-sped, was in fact the spaceship of Sobo's arch nemesis, the most evil, most treacherous, most heinous, most vile, most conniving, most obstreperous, most deranged, most naughty space hick who ever lived, Garth. Sobo tried in vain to start the Eclipse one last time, but it was too late. They were caught in the behemoths gravity ray.
A light began blinking on Sobo's console, curious Sobo pressed it. An operator appeared on screen saying "Will you accept a collect call from your Ma?" Sobo and Mahatma glanced at each other "Ma?" Suddenly a man in an extremely large cowboy hat with a small plastic badge that said "Sherrif" on it took over the screen "Ha ha ha hee! Y'all thought I's your Ma' din'ya'? Ha ha ha hee! Well I ain't!" He said growing suddenly serious "I got here the princess Kareena. You know what I'm gon' do to 'er?" Sobo gasped out a "..no.." though he knew perfectly well that Garth would probably duct tape her eyelids open, and make her watch as he blew up small unimportant countries, all to the background of country music. "That's right Sobo, " said Garth, unraveling a roll of duct tape "starting with Switzerland. Ha ha ha Hee!" Sobo could make out a few of the princesses screams before he ended the transmission.
Sobo's hand rubbed the three days growth of facial hair on his chin instinctively as he thought. Then as if possed by the spirit of Don Juan, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two tiny sponge pellets and tossed them into Mahatma's bowl. Instantly they grew into life-size replicas of Sobo and Mahatma. While Mahatma arranged the decoys Rick barely had time to start the escape pod countdown. "Quick into the pod." He shouted to Mahatma, his right hand flew over the launch codes, his left transferred his Swiss bank accounts. He smashed the enter key as he ran for the escape pod. Locked safe inside all they had to do was wait...
"Is it supposed to take this long?" Mahatma asked as he heard the ship entyer the docking bay. "Yes of course." Sobo answered. In his mind he went over everything that could have gone wrong. Then it hit him like discus thrown by Olympic hopeful, Jack Kirby. He must have entered his PIN number in place of the countdown time. "Holy Zues, Sobo, what have you..."
The escape pod launched through the walls of two bedrooms, the caferetia, the main bathroom, a broom closet, and came to stop just inside Garth's chamber. Sobo arose from the crash with no scratches, no hair out of place, but a thin layer of dust had settled over his face.
Garth slowly stood up so as to appear menaching, and said "You, Rick Sobo, are a Ninny!" Rick did the most manly thin he could think of, he spat of Garth's floor, then replied "Hard to believe all this hatred over an unfortunate play ground mishap." "You don't know what it's like waitin' and waitin'. Wantin's om'un so bad you'd give your entire box of crayons just To touch it. Then to have some mean, old bully take it way... It's... it's un-American is wha' it is." "I know where your coming from, we've had to taste the imported stuff at some point in our life, but we keep comingback. That's all that matters." "Shet up Rick, it was my turn to swing, and you know it. I had waited all recess fer it an you... you took it from me. Now DIE!!!! Bwah ha ha hee!"
Garth turned his radio on to full blast. "Ah, country music my weakness!" Sobo said as he fel to one knee, coughing. He began clawing at his ears, and just when it seemed like he could survive no longer, they paused for station identification.
Sobo wiped the sweat from his weeks worth of facial hair, and jumped at Garth, tickling him violently. "I've wanted to do this to you since the second grade" Rick said enraged, "but misses O'Leary said no rough-housing in scool." Sobo felt the sweet taste of victory flowing through his veins, when the music started again. Sobo's hopes sunk as his powers wavered. All he could think about was everything he still wanted to do, wash a pair of his own clothes, catch a bullet with his teeth, wear every scent of cologne and aftershave at once, make a hotdog from scratch, but all those dreams seemed gone now... forgotten.
Suddenly Mahatma leapt out of the charred wreckage of the escape pod, over Rick and Garth, and smashed the radio with the fish-bowl that was his forehead. This was all the chance Sobo needed, he tackled Garth and started tickling him with the strength of twenty men, his arms barely visible at the speed they were moving. Then out of gut instinct Sobo jumped out of the area. There was a silence so thick you could cut it like a cheap deack of cards. The dust settled and Sobo saw what he had been looking for. Garth's unconscious body lay there pants completely soaked. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Sobo turned to the princess, perfect in every way, but it wasn't her he was looking for. Where was Mahatma? Sobo did a double take nothing. Then he saw it, by the radio, a trail of water lead from the shattered pieces of metal, and on closer look shattered pieces of glass too. Rick followed the trail running desperately until he found him. There was Mahatma lying next to the toilet flopping quietly in his cracked, water drained bowl. He seemed to be saying "Help me Rick, I can't make it." Rick looked at the flopping of what had always been his best friend... His only friend. Trying to get into the toilet where he could die with honor. "I can't... Mahatma, I can't lose you." Now Sobo's eyes were wet and the goldfish's dry. He hears Mahatmas voice now in a pleading whisper "Ple.a.s..e...!" As the fishes movement slows, so does Sobo's world, and he knows what he must do. He closes his eyes as he does what he feels he must.
When he opens them everything is different, everything is gone. No more Rick Sobo, no more Mahatma. Just a small boy in an empty room weeping beside an empty goldfish bowl.