When writing bad literature, always remember: the rules of grammar and syntax are your enemy.

Yes, except that when you're blogging, at least I'm not required to run behind you with a red pen fixing everything. And if I don't know what the hell you're trying to say I can just ignore it, rather than re-read it 30 times in an attempt to glean out some glimmer of meaning and then re-write the passage so the meaning becomes evident the first time.

And we've gotta have anachronisms, like she treasures a watch given to her by Julius Ceasar and Hannibal trying to influence the Roman Senate to support Pompey.

"Great gigantic Ganymedian Guinea pigs!" Captain Pi-Meson sweared. "A malfunction that calamitous could only have happened due to some kind of sabotage!"

The new Chief Security Officer who had only recently joined the crew of the ISS Genghis Khan, Caligula Reinhardt, turned toward her on the bridge with an expression of surprise on his face that was somehow not fully convincing. "You really zink -- er, think so, my captain?" he asked her.

"Yes I do," Amelia replied. Inside she frowned to her self. There was something about Rinehardt that she found suspicius. Something suspicous about him. As if he was not quiet who he appeared to be.

It was not anything she could put her finger on however so she shrugged and forgot about her suspicouns for now. She turned to the computer for a damage report. "Computer! Damage report!" she ordered.

The computer reported, "Damage report: Calamtious malfunction in our hyperdrive manifold. Multiple explosions and hull breaches. Decks seven and eight have been opened to space. Both our life support systems and our propulsion systems have been severly damaged. Half of our oxygen supplies have been leaked out to space. We must land on a habitable planet and make repairs within three days or everyone aboard will die of suffocation."

Captain Amelia whistled to herself in alarm. "Smack my ass and call me Bettie!" she said. "Computer, is there any habitible planet within range that we could reach in the time that we have that's within range?"

The computer whirred and responded, "Our propulsion systems have been severely damaged and we can only travel about 50 light years before we run out of oxygen. The only habitable planet within range is Sauropon IV, a primitive jungle planet ruled by giant dinosaur-like lifeforms."

"Its is our only chance," Captain Mason said. "Navigator!" she said to the handsome navigator, Liutenant Mark West. "Set course for Sauropon Four! Full speed ahead!"

"Aye aye," Navigator Mark West acknowledged, as he set the course for Sauropon 4 and carefully engaged the damaged hyperdrive engines. Under his skillful hands the ship Genghis Khan throbbed as its damaged engines forced open a path in hyperspace and slid into it, enabling the damaged but still mighty starship to travel faster than light to it's destination. "We should arrive at Suaropon IV in approximately two days, 21 hours and eighteen minutes." He said.

They would reach at Saurapon Four in just barely enough time then, Captain Pi-Messon calculated to herself. This would be close, she thought. But they would make it. By the Five Blazing Suns of the Oroboron Nebula they would!

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought maybe she saw Chief Security Office Caligula Rienhart nodding slightly to himself with a strangely suspicious hint of a smile on his face, but then figured that probably she imagined it so she forgot about it.

Rheinhard thought silently to himself, "Soon, my pretty captain, all my carefully laid plans will be reached! Ha ha ha!" he laughed silently to himself.

Meanwhile, on Sauropon IV, Gsxtlnfti (the closest Amerikanish pronunciation was "Gas Station") turned one of his five eyes that could see four colors in the ultraviolet not seen by humans suspiciously upon Petronius Goering. "Vu arrre sssure vu will be avle to deliver ze Ghenisss Khan and Pi-Masson, to ussss?" He hissed in the way his contracted palate and forked tongue mangled Amerikanish.

Petronius laughed unpleasantly in the manner of someone who is about to play a cruel joke on a child. "Only slightly damaged, I assure you. Nothing your docks cannot repair." The mighty shipyards owned by Gsxtlnfti could take starships up to 40 parsecs long, but Gsxtlnfti had long coveted the hyperwarp technology kept secret by the Amerikanish Chrono-Empire since time immemorial and upon which the defense of the Chrono-Empire depended.

^{Have to stop now before I puke.}

As any writer will tell you -- well, not any writer, but some writers... a few maybe... okay, actually, this guy I met in a bar one night -- you can iron out all these problems in the second draft. And then he had a second draft.

I think maybe about now there should be a scene where Captain Amelia turns over the bridge to someone else and goes off duty and goes to her quarters for her rest period, where she takes her clothing off in order to take a shower and then catches sight of herself in a full-length mirror and looks approvingly upon she sees there, and we get some kind of detailed description of what she sees, is what I think.

This would really help to advance the plot and provide insight into her character. Also full firm breasts.

Gazing at the full firm breasts, all three of them, I knew what I wanted, and I knew what I could have, but most of all I knew that I could never have what I wanted. Even though I wanted everything I had, but still I wanted more, but I couldn't have more than I wanted, or even as much as I wanted, beyond what I already had that is.

"I'll be in my bunk" I said matter of factly. Then I walked away. I didn't stop to turn around, but I was haunted by a deep inner yearning, as though I wanted something I couldn't have.

Maybe we should compromise and just refer to them as "damn fine breasts" or "achingly beautiful breasts" or even "breasts that invited desire as a finely prepared delicacy invites taste" or something. This plants a suggestion but leaves things open to the reader's own preferences, which is a superior writing technique used by many skilfull writers.

Oh, and whatever size they are, they should defy gravity.

Arkham Winters, the crewman in his scarlet duty-tunic, couldn't help flinching nervously at the Lt. Commander's unnerving gaze. Sitting at the table in briefing room 13-Omega on Deck 97, he squared his hunched shoulders.

Arkham initiated his report with, "Sir, you must understand, I did not see anything definite nor probitive in the tertiary time-thruster's iridium cowling-chamber. But there are circumstances and hints that lead me to believe that, alarming as the possibility is, and as pregnant with grim implications on this flagship-class vessel of the Chrono-Empire an endeavor of sabotage would be, we must consider."

Lt. Commander Chitter-Snap-Rustle crossed his antennas. Him being a Future-Beetloid, this meant that he was bemused, or perhaps amused. He was seen to do that when hungry, as well. Surely recognizing the uncertainty of the gesture after thinking, he rasped, "Go on!" in his beetloid voice.

Arkham flushed pale. "W-well, I was on EVA - extra-vehicle activity - tightening the time-bolts on the cowling. Crewman Jenkins was with me, a personable fellow with an excellent command of technical details. If only I'd know this was to be our last duty shift together - I would have warned him to stay in his bunk," he narrated.

THREE HOURS BEFORE

Arkham felt an indescribable sense of foreboding, like a prickly touch on the back of his neck. Certainly, the evidence of all possible perceptions - at least human perceptions! - gave no sign of dangers. Arkham was a sensitive sort, prey to many strange humors in the presence of malignant forces. But a moment's thinking indicated that strange foreboding-senses offered no evidence of danger or dangers, so he set his mind at ease while drifting at the end of his tether.

The iridium cowling of the time-thruster gleamed in the light of Sol, the sun of Earth. Closer and thus in front of the sun, Earth itself loomed full and vulpine by his left shoulder, while the full Moon sat near his right, unless he leaned his head over, changing the angle. He did not, as any unnecessary motion could send him spinning off into deepest space to die of starvation or old age, if not for his tether.

Suddenly, Arkham felt as if someone gazed coldly at the back of his head. It certainly wasn't Jenkins, who was just inside the time-thruster, scrubbing at it with a week-brush. No, nobody should be out here, he thought to himself. Unless someone - or something - could hear his thoughts...but he preferred not to think of such things where they could be heard.

A warning bell rang on the outside of the time-thruster. The warning bell was binging "Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding, DING", with the last BING in each cyclic sequence twice as loud as the others. This could only mean one thing - that the time-thruster Jenkins was inside was preparing to time-power up!

Bah. Bad grammar, malapropisms, technical and astronomical absurdities, incomplete run-on sentences, an "Eye of Argon" quote, and awful style only count for 20%?

No wonder L. Ron Hubbard was a published author.

I see no reason why the breasts can't be full and firm in some parts of the book, and small and perky in other parts. Some people like it one way, others like it the other, and some like it both. Is there some law that says that they have to always be consistent throughout the book? I think whimsically changeable breasts that suit the needs of the story could be highly advantageous in the shitty literature milieu.

What we really need are appropriately space-themed metaphors for everything. (This Penny Arcade is what I'm thinking of.) You know, like

He cupped one of her breasts in his hand. The skin was warm, soft and supple, reminiscent of the inside of a padded, heated space suit. He brushed his thumb over her nipple in careful circular strokes, like a pilot gently nudging his controls during a spaceport docking. The nipple stiffened under his touch, as though it were made of nanoplastique foam to which the hardening reagent had just been added.

Well, there are three of them; no reason we can't satisfy everybody's tastes at once. "Her breasts were large and firm like Earth grapefruits, except for the third one which nestled between the other two like a Venusian plum between two Earth grapefruits."

Pffft, you lack vision. TEN would be better, a "decabreast". Arranged sow like in two rows of descending size. It could be a side effect of GM foods.

I think if you want more than two breasts to enjoy, the real solution is to get more women in your bed at the same time. Aesthetically and erotically pleasing!

That's more like it.

I'll buy a ticket on that train.

I'll exchange 50 Galactic Credits for a ride on that nuclear-powered hypersonic monorail.

You know, I personally don't find "sow-like" to be all that sexy of a description either.

I say that in the naked mirror scene, we just mention "pert, enticing breasts that defied gravity" and "dark, erect and inviting nipples" and leave the size and exact number to the reader's imagination and preference.

Also: "She was built like a vanadium-clad shithouse." We need to work that in somehow. Even though I never understood how "shithouse" got to be evocative of "well proportioned" either.

All you ever wished to know is on the internet somewhere.
It may be total BS, but you can't have everything.

Ah. Thank you!

This topic is very likely to come up in a discussion in a bar where I plan to be tomorrow night.

Where?

There's no rule that says we can't kill off the good one too. Of course, then you'd have to be part of a set of good/evil/evil/good quadruplets to come back in the sequel.

I like "the Sub-Prime directive," (Don't interfere with the irrational exuberance of alien economies!) but I think it should be variously and inexplicably confused with the Primate Directive (always on Tuesdays and especially when dealing with hostiles from the Urkobold Sector) and the Primo Directive (Don't introduce better recreational drugs!)

And the Prine Directive -- "All the money goes in daddy's arm!"

Captain Amelia was very honored to be chosen for the very great honor of being a member of the very first crew of the first ship that would travel faster than light for the very first time. It was a great honor.

"I am so honored," she said out loud to herself as she sat on her bed in her quarters that had a sexy satin bedcover that was red satin that looked like silk. As she caught a glimpse of the mirror that had her reflection in it, she noticed how the uniform's cut emphasized the swell of her enormous, huge, firm, round, breasts that were very large and in zero gravity because they were beyond the Earth at this point. Suddenly she heard a voice speaking through the intercom that was on her wall about two and a half feet above her bed and the voice was the pilot that said "We are entering light speed in ten minutes. Everybody strap yourself down to your sleeping mats" which was the term they used for space beds, and then the pilot said "Memgran zungrolev z'enma'astrit. Bofalla pleflelm zangofunnix," which is how you say "We are entering light speed in ten minutes. Everybody strap yourself down to your sleeping mats," in the language of the Zargulons (Zar-gu-lons) who were the other alien species taking the voyage with the Earthers because the Zargulons (Zar-gu-lons) made first contact a couple weeks before.

Captain Amelia layed down on the silken satiny softness of the satin that her bedcover was made of, and tightened the straps tightly under her huge, round, firm, enormous, zero-gravity, breasts which looked even bigger when the straps were tightly tightened under them, besides her uniform top was tight already. Then she felt everything get really, really, REALLY weird when they entered light-speed because it was like she was in another dimension, and she looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw that her breasts looked different in this dimension, Captain Amelia said out loud to herself "In hyperspace which is where I am now that the speed of light is less than what the ship's traveling at for the first time which is a historic event, spacetime stretches so that my breasts which used to be large and firm are instead small and perky because they'll be different sizes at different parts of the story depending on how fast I am going because they're apparently small and perky when we exceed light speed, which is different from the large, enormous, firm, round, big, breasts I have when we're traveling below the speed of light."

Meanwhile, deep withing the bowls of the ship, way way into it's interior where the too too pretty and pompous Captain couldn't find with a three-dimensional space map and turn by turn computron navigation let alone ever actually set foot in, the drum drum drum heartbeat emanating from the market reactor which was the heart of the Grylliade drummed as Chief Engineer Warren listened to the drum drum drumming. Chief Engineer Warren needed no map to find his way to the ships reactor. He knew the bowls of the ship as well as he knew the way to the men's room at the starlight lounge. And he knew from the vibrations in his little toe that everything was working within normal operational parameters. Maybe the liquidity injectors were opening too far. But there would be plenty of time to deal with that... later.

Chief Engineer Warren caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the chrome paneling (which he had installed last time the Grylliade was in spacedock. "My zog" he thought, was he the only member of the crew with any sense of style?). He noted how his hair was trimmed short and looked groomed even straight out of spacebed, and his uniform (to which he had tailored alterations including a sash and epaulettes) cut precisely to disguise his ever expanding waist. "I'm a damned fine looking man" he noted to himself.

"Petty officer Seshquirem (Sesh quir em)" he addressed the young crewmaid. PO Seshquirem obediently presented herself, her inviting breasts defied the gravity of several nearby planets, and she awaited Chief Engineer Warren to command her. Chief Engineer Warren extend his riding crop and opened his mouth. But before he could speak a series of orders involving his hair, both their uniforms, and her breasts, the ships intercom interrupted; "Memgran zungrolev z'enma'astrit. Bofalla pleflelm zangofunnix" spake the pilot's voice. Allowing only the slightest of pauses to elapse, Chief Engineer Warren continued simply and matter of factly, "I'll be in my bunk". Then returned his crop the the crook of his arm and strode off. "Very good sir", replied Seshquirem eager to obey.

I think it's past the bounds of even the worst writing to assume that bus station announcers are going to be starship pilots.

L-DAR, Intergalactic Man of Mystery, extracted yet another cigarette from his pack of Gauloises, lighting it with the still smoldering tip of his last before extinguishing the butt in the overflowing antique ashtray sitting on his regular table in the corner of The Besotted Betelgeusean, one of the ship's many cafes, taverns, bars, saloons, lounges and similar recreational areas for its enormous and endlessly shifting crew and passenger manifest.

Irascible as ever, L-DAR sipped his Tuluvian Brandy flavored espresso. "Hey, Old Timer!" a Zeroxian, his face and body festooned with 21st century Earth retro tattoos and piercings, shouted from across the room, "are you trying to kill everyone with that wretched smelling second-hand smoke?"

"No," riposted the erudite genius as he scribbled a pearl shaped epigram brimming with penetrating wit and insight about woefully lax immigration law enforcement into his journal. "Just you."

For the love of god, no use of the name "Amelia."

I can offer no improvement save: marble shitorium, shurely?

Oh, I kind of like the ... I forget what you call it, but it's not alliteration or consonance, but it's the repeated vowel thing ... of brIck shItorim.

Ah, but you have persuaded me.