Unnamed Porno Fanfic From Shep, Falkenhorst, and Fanboy

[Falkenhorst]

Prepare yourselves for another installment of UPF, again with recognition to MKSheppard and Darth Fanboy, without whom this story would not be possible.

I wish to warn readers that this chapter contains very dark themes and violent sexual degeneracy possibly worse than the crimes of Jeffery Dahmer. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.




Prelude...

[Assosciated Press Release]

Lord of the rings director Peter Jackson announced today the postponement of filming on the Lord of the Rings trilogy, saying a leading actor involved in the multimillion dollar remake of the classic literary trilogy had suffered an accident and was hospitalized. Sources close to the LOTR cast members and British authorities confirmed that Sir Ian McKellen had been flown to an undisclosed hospital in New Zealand after an incident in which the actor suffered severe injuries to his colon following what local witnesses described as a wild liquor drenched orgy involving several prominent members of the local Gay community and a large sheep.

[Entertainment Tonight]

Following actor Ian McKellen's sordid accident in New Zealand, the aging english actor has been hospitalized in intensive care as he battles complications arising from acts of homosexual abuse committed on him by what conflicting reports by witnesses describe as a PCP crazed male sheep. The sheep remains at large following the incident. LOTR director Peter Jackson expressed his sorrow at the condition of the actor, and said he plans to visit him. Jackson also announced that he was making a list of potential replacements for McKellen, as continued delays could cause potentially serious setbacks to his project.

[MOVIES Section, New York Times]

As english actor Ian McKellen continues his long and slow recovery from septicemia following his attack by a male sheep on the set of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, his agent announced that his contract for the role of Gandalf the Wizard had been cancelled, and he had been paid a severance. Director Peter Jackson said that although it was his "sincerest wish" to keep McKellen as Gandalf, he was forced by time and money constraints as well as his shooting schedule to recast the role. Tapped to play the character was American comedian and actor George Carlin.







(TERMINATOR theme song plays)

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UPF

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Chapter 22

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LORD

OF

THE

COCKRINGS



The scorched life pod tumbled end over end through space. For 6 weeks it had travelled through the void, it's course drawing a line back towards the asteroid field where, if one looked closely, they would find the wreckage of the Gnomish asteroid base, and that of the USS Enterprise. Inside the escape pod, if you were to float up and peek in through the blood spattered viewport, you would see a grisly abbatoir. And if the void of space could carry sound, then the dear reader might just hear the weak, raspy voice from within repeating the same insane mantra over and over again...

One-Two RayCav's coming for you

Three-Four gonna kill a whore

Five-Six he's cutting up chicks

Seven-Eight watch him mas-tur-bate

Nine-Ten RayCav lives again...


But before there was the deranged occupant in his lonely escape pod; before there was the transformation of Lt. Commander Data into a deranged sex criminal by the machinations of the notorious mobsters Sheppard and Falkenhorst, before the birth of the Federation or even the United States, there was the man called Raymond Wilson Cavendish.

Born of a prostitute mother and a cruel, red eyed halfbreed bounty hunter, this child of woe grew up in Salem Massachusets in the middle 17th Century. He grew up hard and he grew up mean and learned the woods and how to kill from his father, and the way of the streets from his mother. He grew up into a skinny but quick-witted and sharp eyed man, always chiseling the last shilling out of everyone he dealt with, drinking hard and fighting harder in the inns and seaports of the coastal towns. He became a modest trader of marginal success in Boston. Needless to say, like any criminal, Raymond Cavendish started out with a fantasy, and bit by bit, little by little he started turning it into a reality. First some hookers were found floating under the piers. Then the woman he had taken for his wife in Boston city turned up dead, seemingly mauled to death by wild dogs. Cavendish went to trial on the word of a girl who said she had witnessed him perpetrate the crime upon his wife, but the girl went insane before she could testify. Ostracized in the Boston community, he returned to the town of his birth and his father's life of the woods and trapping again.

Only it didn't end there. His lust and his rage grew and grew, and just like staring into the abyss, the abyss stares back. An old Indian told his grandson on his deathbed that one night in a dark cold swamp west of Salem, Satan sought out Ray Cavendish. It was there, the Indian said as he died, that he became RayCav, and from Satan that he recieved the power; to feed his pleasure on the blood of virgin womanhood. From there on, no-one knows how much is true, and how much is a nightmare. Soon after that came the incidents leading to the Salem witch trials. We in the modern age have our whitewashed historical renditions, those of Miller and the silver screen Hollywood treatment, but the truth, the mark of the guiding hand behind those dark events was so terrifying that just like a person whose innocence is destroyed by the hand of their father as a child, the memory of it was willfully erased from our consciousness.

The unspeakable molestations that occured, the demonic orgies of old women and little girls, the subliminal victory of RayCav, won in his master Satan's name in breaking the will of the good and righteous John Proctor, the incitement of the authorities to sentence the innocent to hang, the virulent black insanity that gripped Salem, all this was the work of RayCav. A careful investigation of the records of the time by the modern scholar will reveal serious inconsistencies in the population figures for Salem and the surrounding villages in the years leading up to and following the events of the Salem Witch trials. One will find evidence of both the reduction of the female population and tampering and doctoring of the records later.

Just as a coward dies a thousand deaths, so the legend goes, a hero only dies once. No-one knows for sure who among the townspeople finally found the courage in his soul to confront RayCav, but in all probability it was John Proctor. In a terrible struggle one cold autumn night following the conclusion of the trials and the petering out of the insanity for lack of fresh blood to slake it's dark thirst, the two battled to the death. John Proctor's body was found, the man dead of terrible injuries, human bite marks showing the wounds that killed him. Nearby his corpse, amid signs of a struggle, a puddle of blood soaked the ground around the base of a broad Oak Tree. Upon the Eastern face of the tree itself was the smoldering, charred imprint of a man, with a burnt pitchfork rammed several inches deep into the hardwood of the tree in the heart of the burnt shadow of him who had died there.


For years it was thought by those few whose souls are burdened with such dark lore that RayCav had passed back into the grasping arms of his master in the lake of fire, but this was not to be. One more time RayCav returned to the world of men to take his pleasure. In another small Massachussets town, not so long after the memory of Salem had scabbed over and begun to fade, the hand of RayCav steered the fate of 2 people towards a coupling that would spell terrible suffering for uncounted souls yet to be born.

That Reverend Dimmesdale and Hester Prynne fornicated and produced a child one night in the late 1600s is dramatized in Hawthorne's book, The Scarlet Letter. The book is thought to be fictitious, but this ignores the grain of horrible truth that lies buried in it, the truth that stares mockingly into the faces of all who see it, blissfully unaware of the creeping fate that stalks them. For the truth is that RayCav's spirit rose from Hell that night to inhabit a man's body once more, and on that night, Reverend Dimmesdale's will was not his own. The seed of RayCav was planted in the soil of mankind once again. Down through the ages, the seed slept dormant in the bloodline of Hester Prynne's daughter Pearl and all her children. In the 1800s, one of Pearl's granddaughters married a filing clerk for the railroad named Ebenezer Barclay, and they lived happily together, siring many children, all of whom unknowingly carried the seed of darkness wrapped unassumingly in their genetic code, waiting for the right moment.

A Barclay lost an arm in Burnside's bungled assault on the Crater at Petersburg, leading his brave black soldiers in that futile attack. His son caught syphillis in a brothel working as a horse groomer for Roosevelt's Rough Riders in the Spanish American war. One of his sons was a stock trader on wall street on black friday in 1929. A brother of his was one of only 3 survivors of a US Submarine in World War 2 that sank when a crew member carelessly jammed the exhaust valve on the pressurized latrine open when the boat dived.

And so it went, through the years, that members of that particular bloodline, while smart and ambitious, suffered extremely bad luck.

The latest member of the Barclay family suffered probably the worst stroke of bad luck in his life when he Ejected from the doomed USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E as it exploded near the secret Gnomish Asteroid base. He and 4 other survivors had been adrift for 2 weeks in the escape pod when the rations gave out. As hunger and desperation began to set in, the seed of RayCav saw that at last the time was right, and the other survivors in the escape pod noticed that the eccentric Lieutenant Commander seemed to be looking at them like he was... Hungry.

4 Weeks later, the escape pod still tumbled through space, by now filled with the remnants of 4 occupants, recently deceased, and one very much alive and newly cannibalistic survivor. The change was almost complete now, and the man who had been known as Reginald Barclay gnawed scraps of flesh off Ensign Therese Sanchez's thigh bone as he jerked himself off furiously with his other hand. The man who had once been Reginald Barclay was gone. The seed had transformed him into an exact likeness of his long dead ancestor, RayCav; and RayCav had in turn transformed the escape pod into his own natural enviroment, the bulkheads splattered with the blood of his victims and his own dried cum. He threw his head back, blood and gristle dripping from his lips, and laughed in a squealing, almost inhuman voice as an idyllic planet began to loom in the single viewport.

The Pod bearing RayCav was finally dragged into the gravity well of the planet, which it's inhabitants knew as Middle Earth.

[Frank Hipper]

Sooo.....

RayCav's going to skull fuck Sauron to death?

[Ace Pace]

I don't know wether to laugh or cry.

But chapter 20 was GOLD, GOLD!

[Darth Fanboy]

Is it still technically cannibalism though, If RayCav is a degenerate spawn of Satan and no longer human then its more like simple predation isn't it?

Very well done Falk, looking forward to seeing "Buddy Gandalf"

[Darth Fanboy]

Spent all the money on props and effects? Bullshit! More like booze and Hookers!

Which both happen to be props in this particular story thank you very much!

[Darth Fanboy]

EPILOGUE TO CHAPTER 21:

Fanboy awoke in the completely unfamiliar place, SHep had told him that there was a way they could make a lot fo money for UPF. Shep and Falk had taken Fanboy to the west side of town in an old abandoned apartment. As soon as they reached the door though he was knocked unconscious, his head hitting the ground hard.

Upon awaking he tried to raise his arm and look at his watch, it was gone, along with his wallet and several other items on his person. He lifted his arm and he realized he was in a large bathub full of ice, there was a note sitting near him that read:

Dear Fanboy,
We're sorry we had to tell you liek this, but this way we figured you'd cooperate a little easier. The Bachelor auction got us shit but we pawned your watch and some of your other stuff and we'll be able to continue production as usual.

Fanboy clutched his aching side, wondering what he had eaten the night before to upset his belly so, he continued reading the message.

Also, it turns out that your blood type is the same as the Great Leader's, an extremely rare Z type. So just in case he ends up suffering from massive renal failure, we're keeping a spare kidney in cryogenic storage just in case. We used some of the cash we made to buy you some Pez, but Falk ate it all. Once again, thanks.

Sincerely,
Shep and Falk

P.S. CALL A HOSPTIAL!

[darthdavid]

I think I may have suggested the LOTCR chapter, but for another story. Or not. I remember I was in a convo with falk when it came up but it was waaaaay back.

[Singular Quartet]

This fic reminds me of Gangreene. It spreads, and only stops if you hack it off.

Fortunately, I didn't buy an axe today.

[MKSheppard]

This fic reminds me of Gangreene. It spreads, and only stops if you hack it off.

That reminds me, we need to have "they all died of gangrene" line somewhere, FOR ASVS!

[Singular Quartet]

This fic reminds me of Gangreene. It spreads, and only stops if you hack it off.

That reminds me, we need to have "they all died of gangrene" line somewhere, FOR ASVS!

Yeah, I figured I should mention that.

[Illuminatus Primus]

Please do not use my name in a fanfiction in such a manner without my permission.

"Fast Times..." is a rare exception, but in this case I am not at all amused.

Don't be such a whiner.

[Zaia]

Please do not use my name in a fanfiction in such a manner without my permission.

"Fast Times..." is a rare exception, but in this case I am not at all amused.

Don't be such a whiner.

Don't fan the flames, IP. This was already dealt with, so leave it alone.

[Darth Fanboy]

UPF Chapter 23: LOGIC DICK-TATES

STARFLEET VETERANS RETIREMENT HOME, ON DA MOON

"Logic dictates that I visit the washroom, I will return shortly after 'talking to Harry Mudd'."

Spock turned off the comm and began walking calmly, unlike most species, who had to agonizingly shuffle their way in the event of a brown carrot cooking, Vulcans and half vulcans were able to maintain their strong as steel poise for the entire march, although in the case of extreme gastric stress, it was not uncommon to see a beet red Vulcan sweating profusely but acting as if nothing bothered him.

He laughed to himself for the use of his colloquialism. HE remembered Dr. McCoy coining that particular phrase after the Enterprise abandoned him with those androids. From that point on whenever one of the crew had to go take a dump, they politely excused themselves to go speak to Harry Mudd. The mirthful expression turned to one of pain though, as spot let out a typical repressed anal retenetive Vulcan dump. The Vulcan act of defecation rivaled only Pon Farr in that of Vulcan emotional display, the grimace on Spock's face would have been priceless had it not been in private.

After completeing the evening-long bi-annual ritual Spock emerged rejuvenated, strong. Logic dictated to him that he roll a joint of the finest Orion Spaceweed he had. After rolling the massive cigar-sized blunt he placed himself into a meditative state, which was soon interupted by a knock at the door. Spock inhaled a large puff and then stashed the blunt behind his ears and casually walked to the door.

(Authors Note: Spock comes from an era where everyone in the Federation was obsessed much over substances and casual sex. The 24th century federation is far more perverse and depraved despite being overly critical of their previous generation's lack of inhibition. 24th century feds are so repressed that they feel guilty and that guilt leads to shame and a further need for sick pleasure, sort of like why Hitler had Eva Braun poop on his chest and call him the Bitchfuhrer)

"Ummm Ambassador Spock sir?"

"What is it Ensign Newland?"

For years Spock had ben living at a retirement home on Starfleet's Luna bases, after his work with the Romulans and surviving a horrible novelization attempt to be killed in a William Shatner novel, Spock was finally given the chance to relax for once. The Luna base was staffed largely with incompetent ensigns unfit for starship duty. enisgn Newland had served onboard the USS "Battle of Britain" for some time before his duties began to catch up with him, and he finaly conceded that he was unfit for preserving the Federation.

"Ambassador Spock you might want to uhhh, yknow, behind your ear?"

"Logic dictates that you cease asking questions, do you think a Starfleet MP is going to believe you over me? I would recommend ensign that you quit being a 'square' and get to the point."

"Ummm uhhh Right, ok, well there's a visitor for you waiting in the reception area."

"I was detained by my duties, can you tell me who this visitor is?"

"Its Montgomery Scott sir, says he's come to visit you to discuss old times."

Spock quizzically looked at Newland, and reached forward with his hand, initiating the Vulcan mind meld. After establishing the connection he pulled the joint from behind his ear and took a big rip off of it. The elated feelings of euphoria began to transfer from spocks mind to the young officer.

"You seem to be hungry Ensign, send Mr. Scott in and thenperhaps you should bring some pizzas, and tortilla chips to my quarters immediately."

"It feels like i've had the munchies all day. I'll get on it right away ambassador."

Montgomery Scott's corpus frame squeezed through Spock's door, the funny sounding human still had that bright red expression of inebriation on his face even after all these years.

"Mistair Spock its gud ta see ya!"

"Likewise Mr. Scott, is there any specific reason for your sudden appearance?"

"Oh noa, Stahrfleetz still keepin' me busy trying to figger out why the old Interprize nevair seemed to bloa up as much as these new ones they got. But thair is one thing I wanted ta give you."

Mr scott held out a small holographic projecting device.

"Captain Kairk wanted you to have this. It was recarded aftair he was pulled out of tha nexus by Picard's croo. They passed it on ta me in the hopes I give it ta you."

"Then why haven't you done so already."

"You've been on fricking Romulus for yeers now, I couldn't haif jes wahltzed in past the nootrul zoan and handed it ta ya."

"An excellent point, your logic is almost Vulcan in nature."

"Ya haven't chaynged a bloody bit haif ya, I see you still keep a phatty rulled up behaind yer ear."

"You should try a hit of this Mr. Scott, but be warned that it is quite potent."

"I think I will, i'll just sit hair while you goan lissen to that, the password should be your old service numbair, whatever that is."

Mr. Scott sat down and began smoking, a hundred years of additional science since Dr. McCoy had first prescribed this stuff for his arthritis and still Federation medicine hadn't concieved anything better than a good old fashioned herbal remedy. Spock walked into the other room to play the message in private. He activiated with his old service number, "Authorization Spock Service number 420". The advantage to serving in the early days of Starfleet was having one of the smaller service numbers. The recording began to play, Spock thumbed on his old broken sentence translator as he did back in the day, to better understand Kirkspeak.

(Authors note: To see the translator in action youd better read UPF Cahopter 18: 'This Chapter Sucks')

"Mr. Spock, if you are recieving this message then I must be dead, of course you already thought I was dead but I really wasn't. But that's not important, I bring you this message from beyond the grave to tell you something important."

Spock's eyes narrowed.

"They have the video. I can't say more right now, but if I'm not killed by the crazy mad scientist I will tell you more. Kirk out."

Spock stomped into the living room and snatched the joint away from Mr. Scott, inhaling deeply.

"What's tha mattair Spock, you look like you just got a brown stahr thumb up yoor butt."

"Indeed, in fact that's precisely the problem. It seems that this posthumous message from the late Captain is more than just a final testament."

Spock set down the recording and played it again for Scotty, who cringed.

"I thought that cursed thing was destrooyed with the fairst Intairprize."

Scott and Spock were referring to an adult video made during the Enterprises five year mission. Back then communications were limited between starships and thei rhome ports and there was no such thing as the recreational holodeck. Captain Kirk had taken it upon himself to create the first Intergalactic adult film company, however they come up with only one title, stored in the databanks of the Connie's computer, never to be seen without maximum security clearance. The name of this film, was "Rock Spock's Cock", unfortunately the sight of his hideous hybrid penis made the film nearly unwatchable, event though the nurses and Captain Kirk seemed to enjoy it. Spock silently lamented, perhaps they had done too many hallucinogens back then.

"Apparently it wasn't, we have to find this video and ensure that it is destroyed once and for all."

"But who is going to help us Spock, we doont even have a ship to sairch with."

Spock picked up a set of keys and tossed them to Scotty.

"One of the benefits of a century of civil service, the Vulcan government granted upon me an old Constitution-class as a retirement gift. Its parked out front."

"Aye thats good and all, but what will we doo for croo?"

"I believe Mr. Chekov and Mr. Sulu finally gave into their passions for each other and have an apartment together not far from Starfleet headquarters, and I know for sure that Lieutenant Uhurua became so frustrated at the old glass cieling that she retired and now runs the only senior citizens burlesque show in New Orleans. The five if us should suffice for a command crew, all we need now are cannon fodder."

"Doont ya mean raidshairts?"

"Precisely. The ensigns at this facility consist largely of those people needing a second chance at redemption, i'm sure we can salvage a crew from this particular mess."

"Mistair Spock. Yoo got yahrself a deel! When to we stahrt!"

"As soon as Ensign Newland brings us our pizzas."

[Singular Quartet]

Logic dictates this fic is teh funny. Other comments: Dear god, how many plot lines are going through this unholy mess of a fic? Like, twenty?

[consequences]

All Hail the Invincible Connie!

The irony being that they just handed Spock a ship about three times as combat effective for its cost as anything in Next Gen. Death to the infidel cruise liners!

[Zaia]

Dear god, how many plot lines are going through this unholy mess of a fic? Like, twenty?

You think those are lines? No, silly, that's literary pointillism!

[darthdavid]

Lovin this fic more and more...

[Darth Fanboy]

All Hail the Invincible Connie!

The irony being that they just handed Spock a ship about three times as combat effective for its cost as anything in Next Gen. Death to the infidel cruise liners!

Ever driven behind a old old lady in her Cadillac, top of her head bearely peeking over the dash?

Lets just say you dont want to be stuck on the freeway behind this Connie....

Addendum:

May it suffice to say that UPF has transcended a simple fiction, and is now a full fledged universe. A universe in which we authors are the unholy mericless gods.

[MKSheppard]

Dear god, how many plot lines are going through this unholy mess of a fic? Like, twenty?

And soon more to be added! MWHAH AHAHHAHAHAHHAHA!

[Falkenhorst]

All that has transpired... has done so according to MY DESIGN, blahahahahahha

[Singular Quartet]

May it suffice to say that UPF has transcended a simple fiction, and is now a full fledged universe. A universe in which we authors are the unholy mericless gods.

Now all you need is a forth member so that you can compete with the Chaos Gods for most deranged.

[Darth Fanboy]

Triumverates are more sinister.

[darthdavid]

I wrote something and sent it to falk but It kinda sucked. Hard. So I doubt that this is gonna degenerate into the fourseome from hell anytime soon.

[Darth Fanboy]

Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck: (slang, vulgar)

Jem'Hadar usually Clusterfuck in groups of three or four, but it can include up to one hundred different scaly spiked bodies, witht he spikes causing great injury. The slang applies to a situation that has gone from bad to worse.

Example: Shit, I was already late for work but then my car broke down and suddenly I was in a Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck.

[Mayabird]

Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck: (slang, vulgar)

Jem'Hadar usually Clusterfuck in groups of three or four, but it can include up to one hundred different scaly spiked bodies, witht he spikes causing great injury. The slang applies to a situation that has gone from bad to worse.

Example: Shit, I was already late for work but then my car broke down and suddenly I was in a Jem'Hadar Clusterfuck.

This can't be good, and I mean that in the best possible way. Or maybe the worst, considering what I'm talking about. Or maybe best bad way. Worst good way? Ah forget it.

*Awaits the next horrifying chapter*