Jabba the Hutt (Star Wars) & James Tiberius Kirk (Star Trek)

Being the galaxy’s frontmost space adventurer and all-around stud, captain James T Kirk was pretty used to being taken prisoner by aliens. So waking up in the slimy dungeon of the slimiest space gangster ever known felt surprisingly familiar. Still, something was definitely new…

Kirk pulled out his communicator from its clever hiding space (under his tupée) and signaled the Enterprise.
“Kirk to Mr Spock…com in…Mr Spock.”
To his relief, the Vulcan immideatly responded.
“Captain, you have regained conciusness.”
“Yes Spock, it seems like our… diplomatic mission didn’t go as…planned. All the redsh- I mean brave security personel were fed to the pet of this… Jabba… the… Hutt, and I was taken prisoner.”
“Captain, you are too deep under the planet’s surface to be safely transported out. You must use your tricorder to…”
“But that’s the thing… Spock! They have… taken my uniform, including my… phaser and tricorder!”
Kirk could practically hear the vulcan’s eyebrow rise on the other end the line.
“Your uniform, captain?”
“Yes, Spock. All I’m wearing is this… metal… bikini!”
The communicator went silent for a moment.
“And were you wearing that under your uniform when you left the Enterprise, captain?”
“Damn it, Spock! They put it on me when I was… unconscious! The only good thing is that my… masculine, hairy torso is on full display now. I didn’t even need to take of my… shirt. Saves valuable time.
“That is more information than I required, Captain.”
Before Kirk could respond, a trap door suddenly opened under his feet, and he fell down into a chamber below. As he got back up on his feet, he found himself surrounded by a cackling, cheering crowd of bizarre aliens. All of them looking at him. Right in front of him was the vast, bloated space slug known as Jabba the Hutt. The huge alien opened his wide, slimy mouth and laughed loudly.
“Bwa haw haw! Eesa kena voolo, kaba Kirk! Molto togo bolah! Haw haw!”
“Spock, it seems my… universal translator is… malfunctioning!”
“Conveniently, captain, I happen to be fluent in three hundred different fictitious science fiction languages. He is saying you are now his prisoner, and you must dance for him.”
“Booka kela lamah! Gola peesa! Haw haw!”
“Your body is most alluring in its hairy beauty, captain.”
“Thank you Mr Spock. I didn’t know you… felt this way.”
“This is an unsuitable time for human humour, captain. We can beam you up in ten hours.”
“Ten hours!?”
“These are delicate calibrations, captain. Meanwhile, I suggest you comply with Jabba’s demands.”
Kirk looked at the slimy gangster, who was now drooling with lust.
“It seems I have no… other choice then, fortunately I’ve… learned some moves from the many strip- I mean, exotic dancers I’ve met on… diplomatic missions.”
“Again captain, too much information.”
Kirk turned to Jabba and struck his most erotic pose.
“Okay… Jabba. Get ready for… the show of your… life!

Skriven 26 juli 2014