S2-ENF-008 - WRONG SIZE

“Hey,” said the Zorblaxian from Planet Greeb, tweaking Carol Song’s left nipple with one of his nine hundred twitching tentacles to make sure she was paying attention. The fuming, curvaceous security officer was currently employed as a waitress in the Alpha Centauri All-Nite Interstellar Truck Stop, a position which she disliked extremely. “I ordered the extra-large Super-Slime Saturn Shake, not the extra-extra large!”

Carol, wearing nothing but a lime green thong and combat boots, bit back the impulse to slap him in the face and tell him exactly where he could shove it. Over the last few cosmic cycles, she’d learned the hard way just what happened when you told a Zorblaxian to shove it. Also, he didn’t have a face, and she wasn’t actually sure exactly where he could shove it, or if he even had anything to shove.

“I’m very very sorry, sir,” she ground out, robotically. “Here at the Alpha Centauri All-Nite Interstellar Truck Stop, the customer is always right. Please let me know if there’s any way I can make it up to you.”

The Zorblaxian upended the shiny chrome milkshake cup, containing about a liter of extra-gooey lime green slime from the slime mines of Aldebaran Five, a half-pint of blue ooze from the ooze tubes of Beteleguese Four, a scoop of yellow gunge from the gunge tunnels of Arcturus Three, a dash of tardigrade essence from the microbiome fields of Orion Eight, and a dollop of whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles from Earth, over Carol’s head. “I want another one,” he said, watching the goo trickle down Carol’s face and across the slopes of her breasts as she struggled not to change her expression. “And I want a yummy little treat.”

“Right away, sir,” said Carol, woodenly, doing her best to ignore the giggling space aliens all around her. “What would you like as your yummy little treat?”

“That,” said the Zorblaxian, pointing to the only other lime green thing in the room. “Hand it over, please. Right now.”