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This is Phillip Norbert Årp’s spaceship

Diseased prior to October 7, 2007.

As the ship sailed past Mars, I realized my eigenslave helmsman was an idiot, and beat him thoroughly. “I said the closest planet, you unga-bungler!” I howled as blow after blow rained down upon him, courtesy of yours truly.

As the ship zoomed through the asteroid belt, I realized that my eigenslave helmsman was truly an idiot, so I beat him even more thoroughly than when we had passed Mars. “Why didn’t you turn this ship around!?” I demanded to know as I caved in his cranium with my fists. He answered with a sort of choked burbling sound, so I beat him all the more.

As the ship zipped by Jupiter and nearly collided with one of its many moons, I tossed my eigenslave helmsman out of an airlock and tried to turn the ship around myself. “I said, ‘Turn this turd-bored ship around!’ I screamed at myself, slamming myself into the bulkheads in an effort to beat myself into following my own instructions. The ship continued toward Neptune.

Then realizing that I had forgotten to give the ship a name, I quickly gave myself another beating to motivate me to do so. Having become properly motivated, I thought for a while, then decided upon the name Alyssa Milano’s Feet. Remembering I had already had a ship named the Alyssa Milano’s Feet, I set upon myself with fists and truncheons again, for longer this time, to make sure I didn’t do anything else stupid. I thought and thought, and finally arrived at a decision: The ship would be christened the Alyssa Milano’s Toes.

Climbing out into the æther in order to stencil the name in six places on the hull proved to be as arduous a task as building the ship in the first place. Once again, the Universe seemed intent on proving that the æther didn’t exist, and that space was truly a vacuum—as soon as I exited the ship, I began gasping for breath and my eyes exploded from my head. Blinded, I climbed back in, groped around for my spare cornea set, and went about building myself a “space suit” so I could safely crawl along the hull of the ship and paint it’s name all over it.

Then it struck me: I had already had a ship named the Alyssa Milano’s Toes, too. I once again punished myself for stupidity by banging my head against a bulkhead until my skull split open. Quickly gathering up my brains, pouring them back into my shattered skull, and stitching up the mess, I again resumed conjuring up a name from the dark, empty void that was my mind.

Then it struck me again: “It” being a micro-meteoroid, but traveling fast enough to blow part of my torso off. Ah, well… you win some, you lose some… and I just happened to lose the part of my torso containing my heart and lungs.

“A-ha! I’ve got it!” I leapt to my feet and quickly donned my “space suit,” then slipped out the airlock and began crawling across the hull, painting the name in as many places as it would fit. After six hours, satisfied that the ship was prominently labeled as Phillip Norbert Årp’s spaceship, I returned to the airlock, crawled inside, slew a legion of gnomes waiting to ambush me, then once again galloped up to the bridge and flopped down in the command chair. As the eigenslaves slaved away powering the Soles of Loquisha, I dozed quietly in my chair and dreamed of the soles of Loquisha…