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My Old Nemesis...So We Meet Again

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My Old Nemesis...So We Meet Again

Aha. There was indeed an explanation for shipboard oxygen consumption exceeding projections by a fraction of a percent: It seems a parasite has stowed away upon my Royal luxury vessel! Bring forth the miserable slime, that I may look him in the face as I sentence him to a slow and exceedingly painful demise. And make haste!

Gah! Do my eyes deceive me?! No!!!! It is none other than my lifelong arch-nemesis Crash Comet, Space Commander from the Year 2000!

How unexpected. And yet…fortuitous. For, the very day I return to my most exalted home-world of Tyrannia for planet-wide celebrations honoring my thousandth birthday, I do so with my greatest foe held at 20 electrified spear-points by my most elite robo-soldier shock troops! Indeed the ever-watchful stars of almighty fate smile upon my day of jubilee. Perhaps we shall reorganize the schedule to allow your most gruesome execution before hordes of cheering Tyrannians!

Yes! That would be entertaining indeed!!!!!

I see we have successfully entered the beautiful atmosphere of the planet. Look, worm, over the murky purple oceans into which your corpse shall soon be jettisoned. See the majestic polar mountain peaks of shimmering platinum, between which everything that breathes on this world shall mock your name.

Oh…and I think I shall amend my long- standing death edict against you on one detail: Before disposal, your head shall be severed from your body and shipped by Triple-Light-Speed courier to your fiancée, April Van August, accompanied by a single jet-black Tyrannian rose—a grim warning that to spurn the affections of Gorzo the Mighty is to doom oneself to a lifetime of ignominy and horror.

Your space-yacht, the Star of Freedom VI, shall be dismantled and forged into training weapons for the Tyrannian Youth Corps. The very deck-plates that once rescued and coddled my enemies shall serve my greater glory long past my two and three thousandth birthdays! The exquisite irony makes me to laugh heartily! Neh-heh-heh-heh-hehhhhh!

What?! By elbowing the end-most soldier, you have precipitated a domino effect whereby all 20 of them have fallen to the floor, giving you time to escape through a service duct? This is an outrage! I see I, Gorzo the Mighty, must take charge of this task myself if it is to be reliably completed. All for the better! How else to prove my physical vigor and reinforce my leadership, than by casting off my stifling robes and personally dispatching my longest-standing foe?

So! The duct has led directly to the ship's exterior. How sweet to again inhale the vapors of Tyrannia on the cusp of my greatest triumph! Make your stand, then, Crash Comet! Among the wispy green clouds of my home world, I shall at last take my vengeance on this most irritating Solarian buzz-fly!

Prepare to take your last breath!

I see you are well-trained on the Atomic Star-Rapier! Your fluid sweeps and playful feints remind me of myself at the Academy of Galactic Warfare on Xerxes IX, lo these many—

Aieeeeee!

Ha! I shall not plummet to my death this fine day, Comet! My steel-gripping Magna-Boots let me run nimbly across the surface of my ship's hull! And now, as you retreat in cowardice, I see I shall have to flush you out like a frightened rabbit. So be it, then!

Cornered at last, my nemesis, at the aft engine ports! Behold, as I fling an explosive charge which chemically bonds itself to the steel plating! Now you must stay there and face certain death, or come forth and perish honorably at my hands! Either way I shall happily incinerate you, and smell your charred atoms every time a breeze blows across the balcony of my vacation palace!

WHAT?! Rocket shoes? Carrying you within rescuing distance of the approaching Star of Freedom VI? You crafty imp! Fine, then, refuse an honorable death! Let the receding image of your cowardly back bear testament to your base puerility! It matters not. I have shooed a tiresome pest, and my yacht shall escape with nothing but a scorch mark upon its—

EXTERNAL FUEL TANK?!?!?

Curse you, Crash Comet, Space Commander from the Year 2000! You shall pay for this indignity if I must spend eternity combing the sodium jungles of Skorg-VII to locate you! My armies will pulverize worlds and sift nebulae until I seize your wretched hide! Though it take 20 generations of my spawnlings to do so, THE HOUSE OF GORZO SHALL BE AVEN—

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