["Turn it Up SOANT spatial
Hey yo truckers and buckers, it's Grump McGillins here, blasting out salty tunes on your smooth
sail through the inky cosmos.
Coming at you live from an undisclosed location somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy.
Couple quick announcements before we get started.
A payload full of squirbos overturned on the Klipton Run today.
Better take a detour unless you want to be picking fur out of your reactor for a month.
Speaking of pests, the local authorities on Axiom 5 reported that all signs of extramorphs
have been eradicated with extreme prejudice, so it should be safe to add that stop back
on your route.
Quick moment of silence for all those poor asteroid miners.
Getting impregnated by an extramorph?
Not a fun way to go.
Can you dig it?
Finally, I'm legally and contractually obligated to remind you that Omnicorp is your rightful
and only overlord out here on the far reaches of the cosmos, and anyone who says otherwise
should be immediately reported to your local human resources department for processing.
I'm Grump McGillins, you are contractually owned by Omnicorp and its proprietary partners,
and this is the sweet sound of Omnijazz.
Unit 0518, this is Taskins.
Can you read me?
Taskins, this is Unit 0518.
Reading you loud and clear.
We got an updated schedule for you, 0518.
You're to report to Sector 7, a small asteroid colony named Algix 9.
Special delivery for one Chumash Legarde.
You'll also be dropping it off at Cosmos, so it'll just be a small detour.
And what is the size of this package?
My current cargo is nearing capacity.
Small.
You can keep it in the cab.
Well, that is highly irregular.
Protocol dictates that-
Protocol?
Protocol can eat my ass, 0518.
Talk back to me again and I'll schedule for decommish.
Copy?
Y-yes, Mr. Taskins.
I copy.
Good.
Shooting you the cords now.
Taskins over and out.
Please proceed to customs.
An officer will be with you shortly.
Your thoughts are being scanned for malicious intent.
Please think slowly and clearly.
If you are automated, please state any malicious thoughts out loud.
Please proceed to customs.
An officer will be with you shortly.
Your thoughts are being scanned for-
Name and occupation?
Unit 0518.
Intrahauler for the Truckers Alliance.
One of them Robit Truckers for Omnicorp, huh?
Inhuman piece of space trash.
Reason for visit?
E-excuse me?
I said reason for visit?
Don't play deaf with me.
We both know you got subsonic hearing.
Special delivery.
I am supposed to meet with a Mr. Chumash Legarde.
Fine, fine.
Got any malicious intent to state?
No.
Alright, move along then.
Do anything out of line and I'll use your head as a toaster.
Got it, Robit?
Fucking Robit's taking my job, taking my wife, taking my kids.
Excuse me, Mr. 0518?
Over here!
My apologies for the introduction.
I would like to assure you that not all of us here on Algix 9 are knuckle-dragging organic
supremacists.
My name is Esther Zilch.
You're here to pick up Mr. Chumash Legarde?
It's 0-518, but I digress.
A pick-up for Mr. Legarde was the instruction.
Ah, I see.
Well, right this way.
Enjoying your time on Algix 9 so far?
What am I saying?
Of course you aren't.
Um.
Fucking backwater asteroid in the middle of bumfuck.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I spaced out there a bit.
You were saying?
Um, yes, madam.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
Do you know our main export here, Unit 0518?
I believe it is Refined Xalox, madam.
Yes, Xalox.
Would you believe it?
This stupid little blue crystal that could only be found in the middle of a godforsaken
void.
And it just so happens to also get you high when you snort it.
Yes, madam.
Do you know what godforsaken means, 0518?
Madam, it's unit 0-518.
It means that no matter how hard you pray, the cold kiss of space will still suck the
air right out of your lungs.
No matter how many good deeds you do, how much ass kissing and networking and portfolio
building, no matter how much you stroke his little ego and tell him how smart he is or
how you don't mind his weird little toenails, none of it fucking matters and it all goes
to shit in the face of oblivion because you'll be stuck on a fucking rock hurling through
space for the rest of your life because your ticket out of here is now a fucking baby.
Um, Miss Zilch?
Oops, sorry.
Must have blacked out again.
Where were we?
Right, Mr. Chumash Legarde.
Sign here.
Right, you'll have to feed him daily, change his diapers once in a while.
He's a full grown ass man in there.
At least that's what the doctors told me, so treat him with respect.
Intra-dimensional infundibulum really did a number on him.
Excuse me?
You signed for it.
He's your responsibility now.
Who's the cutest little quintillionaire this side of the andromeda?
That's right, you are, you are, coo coo coo coo.
A baby?
I am to transport a baby?
Baby is a loose term.
Like I said, he's 67 years old in there.
He just, well, looks like a baby right now.
Ugh, and smells like one too.
Good thing you can't smell.
Actually, madam, I can, but I assure you this was not a part of the deal.
And I assure you it was.
You signed the damn papers.
This little guy isn't my problem anymore.
You're to deliver him to a doctor's Zendatta on Cosmo Station Sector 1.
I was told you would know where that was.
Aw, did someone lose their binky?
Mr. Taskins will not stand for this.
The contract was-
Who do you think agreed to all this?
Mr. Taskins is getting his cut, don't you worry.
Now here's his baby food, his extra diapers, his favorite toy, and his briefcase.
He likes to watch the stock exchange at 6, the Omnicorp news at 7, and he gets one cigar
before bedtime.
This is all highly irregular.
Remember, 0518's quintillionaire.
Guys like him were petty when they had fully developed brains.
Who knows what he'll do to you now if you fuck this up.
So don't.
Why us?
Why is Mr. Legarde using the Truckers Alliance to travel?
He's a 67-year-old businessman who turned himself into a vomiting, shitting little runt
because of the infundibulum.
He has an image to uphold.
And I have an image to uphold.
We trust you'll be... discreet.
Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have some Xalox to snort.
Much heavier than I anticipated.
Well then, I would like to inform you, Mr. Legarde, that you are now under the care of
the Truckers Alliance.
I will need to make special arrangements for your safe transport, but I will do everything
in my ability to ensure your time with me is both efficient and...
Oh dear.
I was not programmed for this.
And now, a word from my sponsors.
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Tonight on OmniNews, what does your purchase history say about your mental health?
OmniScience has discovered a groundbreaking new link that a healthy, mentally stable adult
will make at least 16 purchases every week.
Any less?
You may become disagreeable and begin to experience derealization.
Oof, that does not sound good.
We break down the facts and give you the scoop so you can be the best consumer you can possibly
be.
But first, we speak with leading lighthouse technician Andre Bolkin and learn the ins
and outs of how the lighthouse's guide ships through the dangerous intra-dimensional
infundibulum fluxes that affect our organic intra-haulers every day.
I'm Flexious Lockheed and this is OmniNews.
Taskants, this is 0-518.
Come in Taskins.
Taskins, this is Unit 0-518 requesting immediate reassignment.
It is possible the antenna is misaligned.
I will have to manually adjust it.
Mr. Legarde, I must ask that you wear your pressurized suit.
I know you had a little accident last time but I promise it will only be for a moment.
Oh dear.
Aww, does someone want to chew on their favorite cigar?
I will be about to moment, Mr. Lagarde.
Breaker 67, this is Lighthouse Delta.
We have an incoming intra-dimensional infundibulum flux.
All units are advised, clear the hyperlight lane.
I repeat, incoming IDI flux.
Please clear immediately or risk reality destabilization.
All units are advised to clear the hyperlight lane.
I repeat, incoming IDI flux.
Please get off.
Get out of it.
Trust me.
You know what I told you.
I told you.
Get off the lane.
Get off of them.
Odd.
The antenna seemed to be working fine.
I wonder why Mr. Taskins can't receive us.
There must be a malfunction on his end.
Now shall we take that suit off, Mr. Lagarde?
Hold still.
There.
That was not so bad, was it?
What would you do in my shoes, Mr. Legarde?
Taskins, Ms. Zilch.
They have some kind of deal, and I am just their babysitter.
At least you are not the worst thing I have had to haul.
Not by a long shot.
I once had to haul a truck of ovulating Zerbons.
Now that, well, the noise they make while in heat is... excruciating.
I suppose we must make the most of it.
That is what I was programmed to do, after all.
I will get you too doctor Zendatta, and I will put this whole business behind... me?
Do you feel strange, Mr. Legarde?
I do more than talk, Astro-Nuts.
The weather!
Different degrees.
Different temperatures.
Remember that you were buttdust and into buttdust your return.
Now the truth came out of you like a leaf comes out of a tree.
Sorry, I, uh, shit on you.
Whoever has the gold, makes the rules.
I have never experienced an infundibulum before.
Are you alright, Mr. Legarde? Do I need to change your diaper?
No, I'm not alright, you bozo. And yeah, the drawers are full.
Oh my, you can talk?
You got that right, buddy. And good thing too.
Boy, are you stingy with those cigars.
Must have been that flux. Do you feel any more abnormal side effects?
Yeah, my dick is tiny and my hands are so chubby they look like baseball mitts.
Now listen up, robot. Some things are gonna change from here on out.
First off, cigar.
But, Ms. Zilch said-
I don't give a damn what the broad said. She's half the reason I'm in this mess.
Cigar me, tin can.
Right away, Mr. Legarde.
That's more like it.
Second order of biz, we're swinging by the nearest outpost and getting me a booster seat.
I'm sick and tired of starring at the dashboard.
Also, maybe some tunes.
And maybe something besides nutrient paste and some better diapers.
These ones give my ass a rash.
What are you looking at, robot? Your wires get fried in that flux?
Oh dear, I'm in need of serious diagnostics.
That's all the time we have today, folks.
Join us next time as we continue our smooth sail through this wacky little corner of the universe.
Before I let you go, I'm instructed to thank our corporate collaborators.
This episode of Cosmic Riff, a Lighthouse Community production, was written by Michael Demmendaal,
directed and edited by Sarah Magno,
with music by Matt McDermott and art by Joey Papalia.
Voice acting was provided by, in no particular order,
Sarah Magno, Matt McDermott, Andrea Solis, Spencer Press, Joey Papalia,
David Maldonado, Michael Demmendaal, and myself, Marshall Price. No relation.
I've been your host, Grump Mgillins, reminding you to fly fast and take chances. Good night!