When I saw an advertisement for a trip to the Beginning of Time, I knew I had to go, if only for the free booze on the plane. I graciously allowed Gus to come along as my carry-on slave, on the condition he shut his whiny gripehole as soon as I proved there was no God at the Big Bang.
The Timeport was full of Gus-like religious dipwits, security guards suffering from cranial-rectal infarctions and the usual would-be suicide bombers. The flight itself was full of the same old trippy time-travel crap until we hit some turbulence. (I did not wig out and scream like a prison bitch, and if Gus says otherwise I'll rip him apart and weld what's left into vibrators for T'Nuk.) Despite my inspirational coolness, however, the spineless wonders in the cockpit turned the plane around and flew us back to the Timeport.
Since our bet about the nonexistence of God remained unsettled, Gus and I had no choice but to steal the Timeplane and jaunt back to see the Creation ourselves. We hit one big-ass jolt, and then we landed. Outside, it was darker than the crack of T'Nuk's ass and emptier than Whip's skull. A few words from me, though, and the Big Bang lit up. (Can I get a party started or what?) Better yet, God was a no-show. Gus' deep religious faith, his only comfort in an otherwise miserable life, shriveled faster than a pair of testicles packed in dry ice. I basked in the girly-bot's pathetic despair, and then we flew home.
Back at the Timeport, all the religious nutjobs had vamoosed. On my ship, everything had changed. Six and T'Nuk were same-sex partners wearing piss-ugly tracksuits, Bob acted like he had cojones, and, most disturbing of all, Whip owned a parrot. My infallible command instincts told me it was time to announce, in an ominous, weighty tone, that something was royally frecking wrong here. (Frecking? What the...? I keep saying "frecking," but this stupid computer records it as "frecking." Don't ask me why. Guess the frecking thing's busted.)
It turned out that the jolt Gus and I had felt on our way to the Creation was our Timeplane running over God Himself. Apparently, His so-called omniscience didn't extend to oncoming traffic.
On the bright side, without God or Satan to mess things up, the universe was a relaxing, cash-filled, taboo-free resort — any position, any orifice, any time. A universe full of sweet bling-bling, all of it free for the taking. And I was taking all my ship could carry.
But when word leaked out about the coolness of being evil (thank you so much, Whip), every chump in the galaxy fell for the hot new trend. Soon I couldn't fart without hitting an evildoer. So Gus and I skipped back through time, to before the Creation. We saved God, who, being an ungrateful son-of-all-that's-holy, then tricked us into being crushed to death by our own Timeplane.
How we (or the earlier we that ran us over) survived that is another adrenaline-pumping story. But Six has finally wriggled out of that ugly tracksuit and into a bathtub full of chocolate syrup, so I'll let you figure out the temporal paradox for yourselves. I have better things to do with my time....
, so that'd be what I'm watching right now. 
? They sometimes creep me out, but I love 'em. 
