We were on a heading towards the Garangas System. It had been years since we had made contact with intelligent life forms. We had about given up on there ever being any intelligent life in the galaxy. The last species we encountered, the Rhinovirans, were so large that when we tried to communicate with them, they stomped on our away party and put an end to them without ever knowing that they were there.
"Sir, there is a planet ahead that is capable of supporting whatever kind of life might have evolved on it."
"Very good, Calapchia. Take us in closer. And make some of those different color lights blink. I like those."
"They don't do anything, sir."
"Doesn't matter, Calapchia. Make it happen."
And so a meme was born.
We got closer to the planet. Calapchia had more information.
"Intelligent life forms present on planet's surface. They seem to be fully evolved sponges with itinerant fists. Shall we attempt to establish contact?"
"Calapchia, we are micro-fleas wandering around looking for food on the surface of a testicle that is flying through space. Life forms have trouble understanding us. They see no reason to welcome a flying testicle into their dinner party."
"Flesh is fast. Flesh is good."
"Mirth is better. Laughter is best."
We smacked our bodies together, not for play, but for professional reasons (needs to be noded). The mirth and laughter poured forth from our pores and the sap of heaven came down through the mists. We grouched the lamdan and arrested the quail. It was a gleeful experience, but alas, it was fleeting. Alas, just a memory, dear friends.
"Attempt to establish contact, but do not let the testicle fall upon any footpaths."
"Aye, sir! Steering ball-mast to the stern, sir!"
The ship made a drueing sound as we steered in and attempted to communicate with the beings who existed on this planet. We found ourselves on a dirt path that meandered through the woods. Large steeds were coming with proud ladies with the heads of squirrels on their back. They turned to look at what they suspected was a delicious nut.
"No! Take us starboard! Take us out of here!"
The squirrel ladies turned their steeds and began coming at us, riding at a ramshackle pace. The testicle could only fly so fast through the thick, murky atmosphere of this newly discovered planet that we would unfortunately not being colonizing because we could see no way to subdue the squirrel ladies and make them perform for us in some kind of sideshow act. We could not do this because we are micro-fleas on the surface of a space testicle. We were likely to end up in the circus of the squirrel people (needs to be noded).
"Their leader is fast on her mighty steed! The steed is also the lover! They are sexual partners!"
"How can you tell?"
"Sometimes a testicle-dwelling microflea develops certain skills and abilities."
"I see. We shall have to talk about this sometime... if we survive, old buddy!"
"She's about to snatch us in her mighty clamp-jaw! I will attempt evasive manuevers!"
"Oh, so mighty! Oh, so bitey!"
"Let us be saved, oh praise us, Lord! Oh, let us be saved! Saved from the mighty clamp-jaw!"
Prayer failed us. We were caught in the mighty clamp-jaw. The squirrel lady was about to bite down. She had us. We no longer had mirth and merriment flowing out of our pores. We had fear and loathing dripping from those pores. We had reached the Las Vegas level of destitution.
She spit us out. The space testicle flew a hundred dead clicks and landed in an area thick with plants with big leaves. She had rejected us. She did not identify us as a food source. We had lucked out! The squirrel ladies were lesbians!
"How are the navigational controls, Calapchia?"
"All jonesed up, sir. We're going to have a dilly of a time getting back into space."
"Should we try to contact other life forms on the planet? What about the sponges with the itinerant fists?"
"No, we are similar in nature to a food source common to these squirrel people. We must make haste to leave! How long to fix navigational controls?"
"There is no way to estimate time on a repair to space testicle navigational controls, sir. No one has ever attempted to do this before. It is unnatural!"
"Do it anyway!"
It took seven years and three months to repair the navigational controls. During this time, Calapchia and I mated many times, as did our offspring. We left many of our kind on the planet to be an invasive species. This was our vengeance. The squirrel people would pay for rejecting space testicle as a potential food source. There are plenty of nutrients in testicles. Nutrients that should be endured by all through the masticating and swallowing of human testicle meat. Look for it in questionable stores in alleyways in areas of town where no one pays any attention to missing girls.
We made our way back into space. It was again going to be a long, lonely voyage. Perhaps one day we will discover a species that understands and respects our kind. We are hopeful.