<strong>FNEECH'NGKT</strong><br/><em>A word on scale</em><br/>Time is relative to the speed of the observer, and the planet he or she comes from. Anyone can divide the rotation of their planet by 24 (or whatever other number is convenient - this can depend on the observer's number of fingers), then subdivide those division by 60 and 60 again, sixty being a nice, neatly divisible number. It makes a difference how huge the planet is though, and words like "day", "month" and "year" become worse than meaningless without such reference points. The Ningtiktik year is a complex cycle around a binary star system, for example, which can vary considerably. It makes celebrating your birthday tricky on our planet. Let us therefore begin by defining the second as the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom. Caesium 133, the atom the Universe sets its watch by.<br/><br/>The Ningtiktikling foot is a complex organ, which can vary considerably in size. Nevertheless, there is a traditional unit of measurement on Ningtiktik called a foot, equivalent to almost exactly one billionth of the distance traveled by visible light in a vacuum in one second, as defined above. (COMPUTER: That makes the metre around 1/300,000,000 of a light-second, primitive Earthlings.)<br/><br/>This allows me to begin our tale, without my head spinning so fast my mating dreadlocks become a blur.<br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>Time: The Present</strong></div>It is the year* of our Universe 20,000,000,010**. About eight weeks after leaving the sacred singing sands of Ningtiktik, we approached a modest yellow star on an outer arm of a spiral galaxy. Our search for mates on other planets involved cruising at our leisure through space and time, seeing if our sensors pick up anything interesting. This arm of the galaxy seemed particularly boring.<br/><br/>Suddenly, our Zabutron Omnireceiver crackled to life. Jackpot!<br/><br/><strong>"Gnongk!"</strong>I yelled across the bridge as an image was projected on the wall, turning my Astrothrone towards it.<strong>"The centibison has nibbled!"</strong>We'd received a radio image broadcast, much like our great great grandfathers used to watch. Even our ancestors weren't as primitive as the savages who must have made this, however.<br/><br/>The broadcast depicted two organisms, most likely similar to the makers of the programme, which proved beyond reasonable doubt that there was no intelligent life on their home planet. The built in dubbing system of the Zabutron translated for us:<br/><br/><strong>"Tattoos are cool."<br/>"Yeah, I wish I was born with one."<br/>"You're not born with tattoos, dumbass. You get them when you join the navy."</strong><br/><br/>Despite their woeful lack of intelligence, I felt there was some common ground between us and the unknown broadcaster's primitive excuse for a civilisation, as the yellow maned and brown maned creatures sniggered<strong>"Score! Score!"</strong>Judging by the voluptuous shape of the females with whom they hoped to do so, I actually found myself agreeing with them. And such a moronic species would be in no shape to stop us taking what we wanted.<br/><br/><strong>"Gnongk, we totally need to check out this MTV planet. Look! We have a target lock. Pale blue dot, ten light hours or so to the left!" </strong>Our Head Up Display helpfully marked the source of the cartoon for us on the cockpit canopy:<br/><br/>(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/71/PaleBlueDot.jpg/350px-PaleBlueDot.jpg)<br/><br/>I turned the big red knob on the console, and gazed in wonder as the Krakka Spacefolders deformed and squashed the universe between us and the planet. The view was like watching the end of the Universe in reverse, and as seasoned spacefarers Gnongktingunk and I had got so used to it that we only faced it with a very mild sense of awe and terror.<br/><br/>Our ship swung around the planet's moon on its abduction approach, and our sensors detected the wreckage of a small blue space probe near its South pole. It had obviously crashed not too long ago. Not bad for a bunch of sniggering primitives. As we descended closer towards the planet's atmosphere, I pulled open the cooler underneath the dashboard and produced two sealed vials of ice cold Noxila, handing Gnongtingunk one with the toast:<br/><br/><strong>"To new horizons, and mating ducts as yet undiscovered!"</strong>I cracked open the volcanic glass seal and closed my mouth around it, savouring the sweet, dizzying refreshment as it vaporised  in contact with oxygen and bubbled down my gullet. The complex alcohols of Noxila provide relaxation for hours, and make your mating dreads grow thick, strong and lustrous.<strong>"Have a Ouangk?"</strong>I offered my shipmate, popping on of the tiny purple grains on my yellow tongue from a nifty handheld dispenser. As the drug dissolved in my mouth, I felt my tail swish with excitement beneath my seat as my body started grooving to the Electronic Beat of the Spheres. That's one thing that makes Ouangk such a pleasure: you get a different buzz in every solar system.<br/><br/>With a tug on two of the Captive Pod toggles, I sent up our two captives for light entertainment. It was always fun to see abductees welcome a new arrival, and I was sure we'd find a suitable target.<strong>"Hi there, Hroon and Nystl-Squidgirl!"</strong>I beamed, as their cylindrical, transparent captive pods popped through the floor in front of us and swung open. It was hilarious how dizzy those things made the stargirls. I got up and spun the cephalopod female around, slapping her fondly upon her grabbable hindquarters and giving those sexy short tentacles a tug. There were two features we mainly selected our victims for: boobage and ass. And not having rotating cutting teeth in their cunts.<br/><br/>(http://www.renderosity.com/mod/forumpro/media/folder_6/file_264303.jpg)<br/><br/>Our good ship<em>Wrath of Hrung</em>extended its landing stilts and landed in a rocky desert, late at local night. Never land your battlecruiser in a planet's capital if you want to avoid a lynch mob, is what they taught us in the Imperial Cadets. The ship extended its pheromone sniffing probe to detect the nearest female primitive in heat. When that happens, you just say bingo. My package throbbed excitedly in my loinskull.<br/><br/><strong>"Reel her in!"</strong>I laughed as our short range tractor beam picked up the detected victim. Then I looked on the control panel, and frowned.<strong>"Mass: 2.6 kronks? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TRAL, NO FAT CHICKS!"</strong>I yelled angrily at our on board computer TRacker of Alien Life forms, or TRAL for short. Then I realized the female we'd caught was still inside some kind of box on wheels. That would be interesting for Gnongtingunk to take apart; alien hydrocarbon-iron age technology could be fascinating.<br/><br/>The metal box of poontang was zapped on board, and materialized with a puff of smoke from its tail inside the designated circle in front of us. Luckily we had a spacious commanders lounge. I casually strolled over to the metal box, pulled off a side panel and flung it aside, and firmly but carefully extracted its inhabitant by her soft yellow mane.<strong>"TRAL, translate,"</strong>I ordered, and addressed our new passenger:<br/><br/><strong>"You're the same species as Beavis are you? My, my, look at those funbags!"</strong><br/><br/><br/><br/>_____________________________________________________________________________________<br/>* Let 1 year equal 31,556,926 seconds, the average number of seconds in one Ningtiktik year, 1/17 of our planet's complicated orbital square dance around our suns.<br/>** The Universe has been scientifically proven by our people to be<em>exactly</em>this number of years old, since its excretion by Lord Hrung, who lifted His Tail and Farted the cosmos into being. This age was calculated recently by sawing in half three pulsars in three different galaxies, counting the growth rings, and measuring the distance between them by looking through black holes to the opposite end of spacetime. Needless to say, none of our victims' civilisations will be capable of such a feat for the next million years or so.<br/>