The Bizarre Is Open

"Penelope! Fasten your fat ass seat belt, and hold on to your thinking cap. We're blasting off this primeval hell hole." From the blackness of night, a dense shadow moves slowly across the desert landscape towards the rocket-shaped silver ship.
"What the bloody hell. Look!" Pointing a shaking finger at the yellow view screen, the overlay web-grid flashes several times and blinks out.
"Didn't I tell you to fix that when we first landed? Didn't I?"
"Don't get your spandex in a wad mama. It's not like we don't know how to blast off blind." With a gloating glance at his brassy bimbo, Bruce Boston flips several agamic FDL switches into action.
"Okay Mr. Machismo." she says in his ear, "But just in case you haven't notced, that mordacious slithering thing has just coiled its self around our ships landing gear."
"It's time to Rock and Roll! Pump-up the electromagnetic magneto Baby, outrageous charcoal barbecue is on the menu. We'll show our Chitauri friend out there, his old space bucket still has a rare trick or two up her skirt fins."
Thumping the console twice with the back of his sausage sized knuckles, Bruce Boston watches the viewing screen explode in raw waves of flesh.
"Oh My! That had to have hurt." Penelope Boston adjusts her shoulders back and forth in her overstuffed chair, her zippered space suit showing the full extent of her full-noon cleavage. Looking at the back of her hand, highly polished plum-coloured fingernails reflect Bruce's toothy grin.
"Where to Baby Cakes?"
In a whorl of gray smoke, dust, and chard cinders, a silver cylinder lifts up.
"I hear close encounters of fifth dimension are playing in Alpha Draconis."
Against the backdrop of black velvet, the darkness swallowed them.