Captain's log, stardate 030806.38 special. I've never been to this piss-up which was aptly described by a camp mate as "the gathering of the Parktown prawns of humanity". Naturally, my pale pallor does not respond favourably to extreme heat, but since this was the coldest week in the history of South Africa, I think I shall fare quite well considering. Also, being a Boere and an ex-Voor Trekkie made things easier. Give me cold beer, give me victory or give me death!
The Enterprise hosted Chancellor Greekorian and company to dinner on the first night. Our manners weren't exactly Emily Post. Aye, a few native substances of dubious origins and even lesser known destinations were to blame. Captain's note: The Funnelagon is not to be utilised at Enterprise functions any longer. Well, at least not in front of a friendly species you want to stay friendly with much longer.
Chancellor Greekorian was stationed on the premises for a scouting expedition to ensure that we blend in better. The natives speak an incoherent mumble and seem to like repeating the name of their planet in an alternating fashion. Like me, their favour ( and sometimes favours har har) are easily won over by giving them cold beer, giving them victory, or in extreme cases, giving them symbolic death.
We embarked on an expedition to find the purest Metal the planet has to offer. Since they had Architectorians of Aggressionius in abundance, this was easy to come by. Captain fears his friendly courtship with the natives resulted in a sprained thumb. At least the natives were easy and free with the cold beer, the victory and not that easy on the deaths, symbolic or otherwise. We found a sign that translates roughly as no pass outs!. Passing out is not facilitated by the layout of the planet, which is in a word er.. sketchy. Passing out is attempted roughly three times, but alas the captain can't find The Enterprise again and circles the vicinity like an asteroid around Uranus. No pun intended. Come on, that was old in the twentieth century already. After removing enough of the local thorn saplings from his jean pant to feed a bovine farm on the home planet, the captain walks into The Enteprise with an uncompromising and rather unceremonious thud. Victory for Morpheus, at last!
Captain's log , stardate 040806.22.
We have established that Chancellor Greekorian has started his own band to blend in with the locals better. He has been hiding this fact from us, and considering the amount of Funnelagon and dubious substances him and his crew have been consuming, we still don't believe him. We meet the Fellowship and they laugh at the Captain for his lack of navigation skills. The Captain decides he is hungry and leads a hunting expedition in a misguided attempt to settle this dispute over his navigation skills once and for all. Commander Wernerian goes on a hunting expedition of a different kind and returns with 2 native females. Groovy!
There is a camp ( very camp camp) next to us. They made their presence known by wandering blindly into our village one by one shouting: I am the only gay in this village!. Chancellor Greekorian, in his diplomatic genius, decided that the correct response is the salute of the YMCA. This results in an elaborate ceremony from the home planet known as Pig-Out. The neighbours like their Metal so we had much to discuss and trade. More groovy!
One of the native females tries to involve me in a mating ceremony by putting handcuffs on me. Way, way groovy! After this it gets a bit blurry. I think some controls were jammed. That or the local shrubbery had its evil ways with me. Again. Finding The Enterprise proves less challenging this time around, since being led by the cuff, as it were. Who gets the last laugh now, fellowship?
The captian eventually escapes unscathed, once bitten and twice shy. One of our female commanders is fed a roofy Cola. Not groovy!! Somebody does not deserve ownage of his genitals. The captian goes into graphical mode and describes the various ways in which his genitalia should be removed from his person and shoved down his throat, the sick fuck.
A native female with awesome mammaries passes the captain. Captain uses his navigation skills in a command and conquer scenario for the remainder of the evening. Or morning. Or whatever. The captain's navigation kills.
Back at the Enerprise again, chancellor Greekorian informs us that we should be on the deck at high noon since him and his band will be playing. We secretly take bets as to their success, considering once again the copious amounts of Funnelagon and dubious substances they had in their systems. Local currency. Groovy!
Captain's log, stardate 06-08-06. The captain is getting confused with the dates on this strange planet. The captain and Chancellor Greekorian embark on a tentative relatively sober expedition to replenish our water supply. The captain meets an old friend but is still too wasted to recognise him off the bat. Fortunately, the old friend is just as wasted and apologies are accepted almost as readily as cold beer, victory or the death of hangover. Chancellor Greekorian leaves us to make ready his band. Old friend and the captain arrive roughly t 1200 seconds too late for the start of the gig. The captian loses his remainder of local currency in the bet since the gig kicks the seven hinds of one of the wildebeest of Jupiter.
Judging by the amount of red bushveld dust in his nostrils, the captain fears it is habit forming. The clear lines traced in the dust on The Enteprise is not really helping to dispose of this theory. We meet up with the fellowship again and general mayhem ensues.
Captain's note: When meeting female bandmembers, do not kiss their feet or try to hump their legs. It is bad for the morale of the men. Especially since the terrain only lends itself to dry humping. Nuff said.
The captain tries to return to the Enterprise but meets up with the camp camp for more pig-out ceremonies. General Mayhem ensues once again. It is men like he who make the fleet proud!
Captain's note: Festivals like these need more Metal! Judging by the music blasting from other cruizers, it is the preferred element for the Parktown prawn of humanity. That and Fokofpolisiecruizor ( yawn ).
Captain's log, stardate 06-08-06. This is the final cruise of the starship Enterprise under my command. This ship, and her history, will shortly become the care of another crew. To them and their posterity will we commit our future. They will continue the voyages we have begun, and journey to all the undiscovered countries, boldly going where no man, where no one... has gone before. At least not officially. The captain leaves such expeditions to Corne and Twakkie - besides, what happens in the tent, stays in the tent!
If you have been reading all of these entries, I thank you for putting up with the muddled state of affairs this third person nonsense causes. I just thought I'd give you all a glimpse of the trail of events and no doubt destruction typical of them, since the Alternative crowd does not like attending these events lately probably due to the commercial crap that takes up most of the festivities. However, a few die hards were spotted and did us proud by claiming none but cold beer, victory and death!!