The Chronicle of GNPT

GNPT was not like the other kids in the UFO cult. For starters, he was not the biological offspring of the Supreme Leader. Galax-Nu and Pee-Top, his genetically inferior progenitors, had sexually reproduced back when such things were permitted. In those days, combining the consonant phonemes of parental units like their DNA was the way Mission Command assigned designations to new lifeforms...in the happy years, before the “Sublime Directive” at which point the Supreme Leader was deemed the only adult male allowed to retain his penis. Many of the families GNPT grew up with understandably left the church at that time to form a much less intense UFO cult just down the street but his dad was a Rear Admiral in the Vortex Fleet with one billion years of service sworn to the Supreme Leader of the Galactic Confederacy. If that meant having his genitalia surgically removed then so be it. Most distinct from his parents and the remaining faithful, GNPT did not believe the imminent collapse of the third dimension was nigh nor in the infallibility of the Supreme Leader. The “Day of Cosmic Ascension” had come and gone maybe 40 times in the past 15 years and each time some dissonant vibration in the harmonisphere or quick detour to observe a celestial event several light-years off-course had invariably detained the Fathership’s arrival. He had plenty of doubts about the church before but a lot more was at stake than just another disconfirmed prophecy. Today was his 18th birthday and to put it quite bluntly; he didn’t want to chop off his dick.

Every cadet in Vortex Fleet Academy was issued a small black notebook centrally branded with the Fleet insignia: a “V” with a clockwise turning spiral within. It was meant to be used as a cadet’s chronicle to record which expressions of the Supreme Leader most inspire them on a day-to-day basis to aid the galaxy in its struggle against Gormargok, a malignant jellyfish-like entity from the Omega Nebula. According to church doctrine and the Supreme Leader’s best-selling series of science fiction novels, he mind-controls unbelievers with nanoscopic tendrils of dark matter known as "pretans"; these phallic appendages of the Evil One are the unseen cause of all suffering in the galaxy but Vortex Dynamic Technologies sets you free from them with crystal power and the Dynametrics celebrity self-improvement system.

On the front of GNPT’s notebook, he had painted in white, “Vortex Sux!” above the Vortex Fleet insignia which had been crudely altered into an inverted Anarchy symbol with “Gormargok Rocks!” emblazoned in bloody letters below. He had stopped using the chronicle as intended after the schism and had since used the notebook to draw what church officials and academy personnel would refer to in his dossier as, “Highly subversive and disturbing imagery.” His latest picture was a photo-realistic, full-frontal, nude self-portrait; the perspective was captured from behind showing his back and external environment but with the subject reflected from a full-length mirror inside his shower. Upon closer inspection however, the realization dawns that everything in the frame: the shower curtain, the shower rod, the showerhead, the water dripping from the head, the faucets, the mirror, and even the lad himself inside the mirror are all entirely composed of penises, perfect fractalized replicas of his own penis to be exact.

Unbeknownst to its celebrity endorsers and Federal law enforcement agencies, Vortex Fleet Academy was a methamphetamine production facility responsible for roughly 12% of the crank in South Dakota. Cadets slave 72 hours a week in sweatshop conditions cooking up chemicals labeled with names like “Creativity” and “Infinite Expansion” as per the precise directions of Mission Command to manufacture “Vorlithium Crystals”: a substance they believe will be used to refuel the Fathership upon its arrival. In reality, they are producing industrial quantities of military-grade crystal meth formulated for the KGB by a former Nazi scientist.

Once created, a third of the raw crystals are finely processed so that micro-doses can be mixed with overpriced herbs and trendy superfoods into a dizzying array of pills, powders, and potions for the Vortex Dynamic Technologies nutritional product line also manufactured by cadets on-site and available exclusively through the church’s multi-level marketing program. One-third are pre-sold to the Russian mafia who provides the illicit chemicals for crystal production. Their share of the finished product is pulverized, cut with soap and baby laxative, then bundled into kilos of street-level geek to be marketed by mob fixers to local hustlers peppered throughout the Tri-State area. The rest are set aside to refuel the Fathership.

At Mission Command’s discretion, the Supreme Leader routinely teleports staggering quantities of the stuff directly to the ship’s Cortex using his nose allegedly to maintain FTL speed and dimensional astrogating through the tachyon flux. The years of crystal abuse had taken its toll on the Supreme Leader’s face, disintegrating the greater portion of his septum and thereby enlarging the orifice of his favored nostril by roughly a factor of 3. The rest of the damage to his hair, skin, and teeth was neatly disguised by a magnificently coiffed toupee, dazzling dentures, frequent spray tans, botox injections, and the application of television make-up. The twisted artifice of his synthetic beauty was nonetheless hideous to behold.

“Cadet designation GNPT” he spat, “I thought we had heard the last of you when we shut down your little rock band at last year’s talent show...what was the name of that group?”

“Eunuch Cucks on Space Coke, Sir” Galax-nu reluctantly stepped in to say the shimmering lycra of his silver jumpsuit bulging uncomfortably about the man-tits and midsection.

“Now it seems you wish to compound your transgressions by breaking your oaths of service. You do understand that this will result in a dishonorable discharge from the Vortex Fleet and total ex-communication. Your monthly nutritional supplies will be canceled. Your costly fleet certifications will be stripped. You will be cut off from everything and everyone you have ever known. Our escape pod from this terrible world will forever be shut to you and you will perish in the Void.” his voice edging ever closer to rage with each sentence.

Suddenly a deafening sound came rushing into the office and the whole place shook as multiple explosions erupted from the crystal production side of the complex. Through the shattered plate glass window behind where GNPT and Galax-nu sat the Supreme Leader could see purple flames and plumes of green smoke expanding throughout the compound.

“My crystals! Incendiary Protocol Alpha Theta!” the Supreme Leader yelled to Galax-nu, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the wall and throwing it at the pudgy Admiral. They ran out of the office and towards the blaze shouting, “Protocol Alpha Theta” along the way as cadets filed behind them collecting fire suppression gear wherever they could find it.

GNPT grabbed his chronicle from the Supreme Leader’s desk and dusted Vorlithium from the back cover. He noticed a Vortex Fleet duffle bag on the desk beside it. Inside there were crisp hundred dollar bills bound in stacks of 50, four of them, $20,000 in cash. He threw the notebook into the bag, zipped it up quickly, and draped it over his shoulder. By now the whole complex was bustling with cadets rushing to fight the fires and GNPT saw his opportunity to run past the empty security station and out the gates of the burning academy.

Eventually, the blaze consumed most of the compound killing approximately 36 people. The DEA insisted that the cultists had set themselves on fire despite there being live CNN footage of a tank with a lit flamethrower busting through the wall of the processing facility. Most importantly, GNPT’s cock survived the ordeal and the two of them lived happily ever after.