Lieutenant Shiny Sides

This was the tale that was spun to me many years ago, when I was old enough to understand: I Born at a young age, emerging from the depths of Morrisons carpark, an uneducated oaf. I was taken in by 4 small 'ManChaffs' (Human/Chaffinch hybrids, the result of a controversial lab procedure) and I was swiftly tought the art of 'thriftmongering'. I went on to twock such valuable possesions as: The novelty Mick Hucknall wig worn by the disciple Matthew at the last supper, Hitler's 'Brio' train set, Noel Edmond's first ever beard trimmings and Panthro's spikey rubber braces. (the kinky swine!) I became tired of the trivial concept of language after hearing Neil 'Smack Attack' Buchanan declare his love for a wristband during one of his pre-show smack binges. This led me to pursue an aletnative means of communication and I developed a system using only elbow gestures. I found this worked wonders in a club when you couldnt really hear what folk were saying anyway, I found a subtle elbow manouvre spoke a thousand words. I continued as a child of the elbow until my love of language was rekindled many years later on a truly landmark day. I was one of the half-dozen in attendance when the bloke out of Pugwall gave his historic 'Crayola Equality' speech on the steps of Buckingam Palace. As the glorious imagery, kenning and hyperbole flowed through Trafalgar Square like shimmering lexiconic ballet dancers, painting a rich tapestry of crayola dreams I was moved to tears. On that epic day something touched me deep inside, his words had reached in to my heart and re-lit the candle that had been so abruptly snuffed out by that smacked up scouse PVA basher many years earlier.

The last few years have not looked upon young Steve Sudecreme in a gracious manner. A failed marriage and numerous public smearings had left me a broken shell of a man. 2004 in particular, marked a very dark period in my life. Desperate and broke, I took a job working for Fullwell Fire Department. I was the fire engine. Sweaty bruisers rode me everyday and foul mouthed children etched slanderous insults in to my pitiful paintwork. However low my status sunk though, I actually managed to salvage an ounce of pride. I took pride in getting the fireman to the scene of the blaze as quicly as possible and elimating the constant threat of fire. Just before christmas I was awarded with a sparkling new paint job with funding from Sadie the Bra Lady, oh how I gleamed like the proud father of a double breasted halfpipe. Money was still tight around home, I was currently living in a flat above the Fullwell Fry Fry after Ruth threw me out of the house. It is fair to say that I was haunted by demons for many years and our marriage suffered as a result, culminating in a shambolic public incident involving a bottle of Jack Daniels, a copy of the Gruffallo and a small forklift truck outside Fullwell Mill. I still see my 2 children, Charmaine and Cloud, on the 1st and 3rd Wednesday of each month, except in September when I fly super savers class. I do miss them but to be brutally honest Charmaine smelt of wet flannels and Cloud was beginning to resemble Annie Lennox-perhaps it was best that I cut the ties there and then and avoid future embarresment.

So there I was, lodging with a teacher called Blossom and a dancer called Kelly. Blossom taught special needs children down at Dame Dot using a technique she called 'Star Channeling'. Kelly worked as a dancer at Bud Bigalows in town, she was always practising her moves in her hotpants when I get home-proper bastard it was! One week, in a rush to get to the station, I threw on her assless chaps by accident-oh how the boys ribbed me over that, chortle chortle! Grrr. The previous lodger Simian had left mysteriously one day, leaving a small suitcase behind and his pet oscillot, Willberforce. God it was chuffing annoying, it kept dragging in Voles.

It was at this point in my life that I realised what a flacid, wet fart my life had become. I decided to put a stop to this spiralling web of gloom and get my life back on track. In order to learn from my mistakes I returned to the source and began examing my life. It was during this period of self discovery that everything changed. It was during this time that Steve Sudecreme died...and Captain Steve Pucehawk was born!! I rediscovered a small trinket box, richly decorated with images of sexually perverse Oxo Cubes, that I remembered owning as a small jam eater. For a time it was one of my most treasured possessions but I was forbidden to open it. The novelty of this mystique soon wore off when I was but a boy, and it was relegated to the murky depths of my antique cave, gathering dust along with my copy of Another level's Greatest Hits and Daniel Bedingfield's credibility.

Throwing caution to the wind, I opened the box and was faced with a stunning holographic effigy. I was blown away, what presented itself before me was the image of my real father with a harrowing message. The contents of thus said message simply left me aghast and, in an instant, turned my world upside down. He revealed that I did not belong to this world and that I was really a child of a distant planet, a peaceful, puce coloured planet named Moonbootopia. I had been sent to Earth with 2 others as cryogenically frozen infants, to retrieve the last living blood descendant of the forefathers of Moonboot. He was apparently living an unassuming life on Earth, blissfully unaware of his true destiny. However sinister 'Udders' ('Others' to you and I) had also been sent to Earth, possibly from the neighbouring, rival planet 'Chinball'. They had somehow set in motion a plan to divert us from our true mission. It was revealed that it wasnt the mutant Manchaffs who had raised me at all, but the devious Udders, the evil Chinballians. They raised me as a human, clouding my mind with chinballian hogwash, brainwashing me to forget my true herritage and my rightful home. Why they didnt just kill me is a mystery, perhaps they had other plans for me further down the road...

Still reeling from these fantastic revelations, I slowly began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I sought out the other members of my crew, who had also been living earth lives under the pretence of Chinballian lies. These men were Warmaster Unit of Love and Lieutenant Elektro Mike. Together we were able to slowly force the Chinballian programming from our minds and our true memories began to return. We went in search of our ship, the small pod that had transported us from Moonbootopia to Earth all of them years ago. We discovered it now lay dormant, buried underground, underneath what had once stood spectacularly as 'Geordie Jeans' in Blandford Street. Upon reaching the pod we were amazed to find that it had evolved in a beautiful, glistening mothership. In memory of our home planet and in honour of our true origins we christened the vessell...'The Starship Moonboot'

This brings us neatly up to speed. We decided that together, we would honour our original mission and seek out the last descendent of the mythical forefathers of Moonboot. We discovered that he may, infact, be a small bald boy in a yellow dress going by the name of 'Bod', a renowned TV personality from the 1970s. During one of our valiant missions we picked up a renegade freedom fighter known as Dirty Wild Toes and he soon became an honourary 1st Mate aboard the Starship. Due to a drug scandal and the subsequent cancellation of his show, the being known as Bod is now a recluse and our mission still stands to this day. Rest assured though, we WILL find him, we will search the entire globe and navigate the furthest star until we have recovered the last Sion, until the day we can finally return to our beloved home planet of Moonbootopia!

Other than the mysterious dissapearance of Bod and the ongoing menace of the Chinballians, there is one other factor that threatens the success of our mission...and my life! Due to a chronic form of 'Clone Degeneration' (allegedly cloned from 'Boy Meets World' star Corey Matthews, another decendent of Moonbootopia) my DNA cell structure is proper off its tits and could inevitably lead to one of the following natural deaths:
-My body will turn in to that of Mischa Barton and I will simply fade away
-My ankles will swell to the size of BB Lea's 'oileys' and gravity will suck me down to the centre of the earth
-The lyrics of Blue DabaDee DabaDa will break out all over my skin until I am forced to violently peel off my own skin to escape its monotony
-My ballbags will hatch, giving birth to 32 tapdancing, flourescent crabs which will proceed to feed on my eyes, toes, nipples and pancreas
Its disheartening knowing that any day could be my last but what is my curse is also my gift. The alterations to my DNA brought on by the cloning process also gives me hightened senses and advanced abilities. I can comunicate with manatees and can summon their presence in my hour of need, I can smell hashbrowns from 75 miles away and I can swap around my eyes for my nipples, always a handy trick the ol' nipple eyes. For now though I will continue to heroically captain my crew and continue my research in to the crippling disease 'Paul O Gradythermia' which has already wiped out half of Brazil and threatens to destroy the population of Alabama. I have just recieved funding from the euro dance act 'Inferno' who donated all the profits from their Asian sales of 'Paris To Berlin'. With this money I have been able to set up a new, shiney lab with my research partner, The Coosalagoopagoop (from Dexter's Lab) and we plan to take our research to Scarborough next month.