The apple of the planet, the brightest jewel of all, 7th in line from Tigriz the Terrible, and the blood descendant of the Olard family, Emperor Sweet-cheeks Moonpie Survinder Sahni had it enough.
He didn’t bat an eye when thousands of his subjects were slaughtered in the carnage at the Lal Qila L2, he didn’t lose sleep when the Saturninos destroyed satellites and plunged one entire hemisphere into communication blackout, he hardly broke a sweat when the avians made a mincemeat of his subjects when they tried to escape the planet.
But now, he was done. To be deprived of the sweet taste of anacondi noodles from Musk, the planet of smells and to stay away from the spicy ice lobsters of Sheesh Mahal, the smoky one – this siege had taken its toll. If you observe carefully, the royal round ass had shed some weight and to his majesty’s utter dismay – no amount of pilates would help him regain the glorious and capacious fundament that had the pride to represent the planet in the interzonal Galactic Royalty modelling competition.
Though he was resolute to escape or in official terms “seek a strategic alliance with Princess Zuri and her tribe of patlooni orcs”, he was sweating copiously. He would soon be reaching the lower orbit. Undoubtedly, he had his phalanx of pahadi boars to guard him, and his ship had the usual defenses of laser guns and torpedoes and two ill-advised atomic bombs to throw in the mix. But his majesty didn’t exactly follow the instructions of his space operatives who were executing this escape from the deep craters of the moon. When they saw the gold-plated, diamond-encrusted, fat-as-fuck space ship with living quarters for his majesty and the choicest few from his harem as well as his livery, not counting the security and his favorite pets – they just sighed and gave up. Even if not for the avians, the rocket simply couldn’t generate enough thrust to carry such a heavy payload to escape the planet’s gravity. All they had asked his majesty was to be as inconspicuous as possible. The operatives switched off their communication devices, shook hands and went to sleep.
Right on cue, the ship rattled. The chandelier threw wild lights on the wall of the living quarters. The king, sitting on his throne faced his durbar (don’t ask me how they fit a durbar in the rocket), his legs shaking and his fingers twisting loops in his beard. The rattle was followed by a screech.
His worst fears came true. The avians had arrived.
“Shutter the view-ports,” his majesty screeched. His teeth were chattering at this point. The servants were reluctant to go near the viewports. They were afraid of what lingered beyond.
But before they could make up their mind, huge eyes with needle like iris covered each of the view-port. There was a collective gasp and then silence took charge within the ship. Even the boars, who prided themselves for their foolhardy recklessness and manly hair exuding from every pore in their bodies, were ill at ease.
“Pigs, at the gun ports!” His royal highness managed to squeak despite the fear. His was a demeanor unlike any deer caught in the headlight. He would prefer a bull-headed charge at the car than being transfixed in the glare.
The boars grunted and took their position at their stations. Then his royal highness demanded “Panch Pakwan” from his chef, whipped his servants into action to shutter the viewport and offered his rubbery, hairless cock to his terrified concubine to keep her distracted from the surrounded danger. The sweet, delicate dusky beauty of one-and-twenty with a round derriere herself unzipped Sweet-cheeks Moon-pie’s pyjamas, strenuously kneaded his thighs and slurped down his limp cock.
Action speaks louder than words, a credo that the emperor firmly believed in – thus were the subjects of Emperor Moonpie engaged, unwittingly bringing upon their own deaths. You see, the saturninos were instructed to give just a slight nudge to the craft, so that it tumbles into the ocean and gets picked up by Emperor’s Earth-bound subjects. Few scrapes and a bruised ego – that was the extent of damage they all would have suffered had they not poked the flying dinosaurs’ eyes with lasers.
The boars followed their instructions to the T. Annoyed, the birds temporarily left the craft alone to consider their next move. The subjects cheered at the sagacity of their leader, his dick pricked up at this and his favorite concubine almost choked with pleasure.
Good spirits don’t last long. Calamity is always around the corner to flog your spirit to shit.
A large saturnino gripped the craft in his claws – it was like a large metal ball, shook it vigorously and tossed it at the other bird. The other bird gave the craft a sound kick with a large thwack and passed it on to the third.
His majesty’s fragile subjects couldn’t handle being inside a football. The concubine was impaled by the chandelier – the uprooted dick still inside her mouth, the chef was scalded by the hot oil, the servants became the prey for agitated boars’ blasters and the boars themselves began to poke themselves with their horns – fucking themselves in their asses like a mobius strip. The emperor Sweet cheeks died from excess blood loss.
But the birds a.k.a. Saturninos a.k.a. flying dinosaurs were enjoying themselves. They flung the craft high up in the sky, only to let it drop in a fiery red of the atmospheric resistance. Then they would all nose-dive to chase the falling clunk of raging inferno, one of them edging past the others, catching the craft in its beak and flinging it high back in the sky.
They did this for the better half of the day, till they tired out of the sport and tossed it on the ground. By now the craft was a smoking hunk of metal with fried souls within its hollowed body.
Thus, the embargo, siege or quarantine – was successfully reinforced on the planet. It would be a long time indeed somebody comes along who would defy the might of the avians.
In case you are still wondering whether the emperor Moonpie really did sigh before breathing his last – you would be disappointed, as he didn’t sigh, and it was meant to be a metaphor for the utter futility of their hare-brained scheme of escape.
Alienman 