Topper Harley stepped inside Admiral Benson's office. He sat down in a chair after hastily moving a duck out of the way and waited for the Admiral to speak.
"Quite the amazing facsimile, isn't it?" Benson said, stepping out from behind a curtain.
Topper looked between the Benson behind the curtain and the Benson behind the desk. "Yes, it is, sir. Where'd you get the lace curtains?"
"That's not important." Benson sat down on the desk. "Topper, I need to know if you're a hundred and ten percent committed to the Navy!"
"I am in spirit, although traditionally it's only possible to be a hundred percent committed..."
"That's exactly the kind of negative thinking we can't afford!" Benson gave his duplicate bunny-ears. "I realize you've been taking Ramada's departure hard, but you've got to pull yourself together!"
"I'm trying, sir..." The shadows seemed to fall darker over Topper as his voice turned even more somber. "But I'm like that cartoon duck after getting hit with a mallet. Sure, you'd think I'd get right up, me being a cartoon duck and all, but now I've fallen into itty-bitty puzzle pieces and I'm just the eyes on top of the pile, blinking."
*For Your Consideration* flashed across the bottom of the screen before the lighting stopped being melodramatic.
"Topper, a new program has opened up," Benson said. "Best of the best. You'll do. We're trying to develop artificial people to pilot jets in place of real people."
"Robots flying jet fighters?" Topper looked uncertain. "I'm not sure about that..."
"Come now, Topper, if George Bush can do it, anyone can! Even robots!" Benson stopped to look into Topper's eyes. "But before I send your nomination in, I need to know one thing. As you know, the Navy has a strict don't ask, don't tell policy. So I'm not asking you to not tell me if you're in a homosexual relationship?"
"You know! Anal intercourse! Teabagging! Blowjobs! Glory holes! Golden showers! P..."
"I get the picture, sir, and no, I'm not. There is no truth to me or Kent being gay whatsoever."
Just then, Wash-Out poked his head through the door and handed Topper a bag of fast food.
"Topper, here's your hamburger. A big piece of meat slipped between two buns, just like you asked for."
"Thanks, Wash-Out." Topper turned to Benson. "Now if you'll excuse me, me and Kent are going on a fishing trip. Alone."
"Will you need a second sleeping bag?" Wash-Out asked.
"No thanks, Wash-Out."
Majestic music played as a mountain soared into the clouds. A herd of sheep ran past camera, which then panned up to show Topper Harley and Kent Gregory fishing.
"One thing I hate about fishing here," Kent said, "is all the goddamn sheep."
"And that pretentious music."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, it's kinda a guitar twangy thing, but real soft..."
"You know, Topper..." Kent cast his line out. Glass could be heard shattering in the background. "It could be like this forever..."
"No, it couldn't." Topper made his own cast. A cat yowled. "If I eat too much fish, I get gassy."
"Why won't you open up to me?" Kent asked, reeling in his line. He came up with an old boot. He poured it out into the icebox, dumping the fish that had been inside the boot onto the ice.
"Open up to you?" Topper made another cast. A whale song was abruptly cut off. "Become emotionally available? Is that what you really want? Can you imagine what the feedback will say? `Oh, you turned Topper into the woman.' `You shuffled Ramona aside, you must be anti-het.' `You're a homophobe because you won't write a slashy sex scene.'"
"That's not true!" Kent cried, throwing his fishing rod aside.
"My eye!" some anonymous extra cried offscreen.
"We can have hot sex onscreen! Right now, in fact!"
"Wow, that was some incredibly hot sex we just had," Kent said, eating some bacon.
Topper took a bite of egg. "You said it."
"Hey, look up there! There's no sex, just three asterisks."
Topper took out binoculars. "You're right. Hey, I can see the summary from here! Hey, quit copying me! Quit it!"
Kent rolled up his sleeves. "I have half a mind to go up there and show that summary a thing or two. Look at it! It doesn't even try to summarize the plot!"
Kent had just launched when a crazed-looking man in a shirt and tie ran onto the aircraft carrier's bridge.
"Sir, you're in a restricted area!" a guard said.
"Take this man away," Lieutenant Commander Winshire ordered. "And for God's sake, get him a pair of pants!"
"Wait, I know this man!" Benson said, taking a step forward. "His name is on the tip of my tongue... Keith, Mulder, Fitzpatrick... Striker!
Following orders, Topper struck a passing female officer, knocking her out cold.
"That's me," Striker confirmed. "And you must be... Topper!"
"Belay that order," Benson said, "we don't have time for mushy stuff. Now, what's this about the HAL project being a disaster waiting to happen?"
"Well, it's a disaster waiting to happen," Striker said.
"Goddamnit, why didn't anyone warn me about this!?"
"The robot jet is being operated by an abnormal brain."
"Of course, Abby Normal," Benson fondly reminisced. "A good pilot and a good man. I flew with him against the Brits in the big one."
"Sir," Topper said gently. "The English were our allies in World War 2."
"That would explain why all those limeys wanted an apology."
"I'm going up there!" Topper said.
"Kent, ol' buddy, do you read me?" Topper said into his radio as his jet pulled up alongside Kent's.
"Yes I do, pal o' mine, but the computer's taken complete control of the aircraft! I have no control!"
"Don't worry, friend of friends, we're gonna get you down from there."
Gently nudging the joystick, Topper bumped Kent's jet with his own.
"What the hell's wrong with you, snookums?" Kent demanded.
"Just trying to get its attention, honeybunny."
"Goddamnit, schmoopsy, stop gambling with my life!"
"It's the only way, sugar bear, so stop being an ass and get with the program! This story needs at least a thousand words, so there needs to be some padding before the robot blows up!"
"Actually," Kent said, looking up, "we passed the thousand word mark at `snookums'."
Just then, the robot conveniently exploded.
"What the hell was that?" Kent asked as he regained control.
"Deus ex machina. C'mon, I'm sure some exposition will clear everything up once we land."
"As it turns out," Striker said, checking his watch. "The robot has a vulnerability to saccharine sentiments. We were hoping to bolster its immunity with Hallmark greeting cards and episodes of Touched By An Angel, but it looks like we'll never get the chance now."
"Why did you program me to feel pain?" Abby Normal moaned.
"Whoa, it's amazing how much sense that explanation makes," Topper said.
"Yes," Kent nodded. "It really does explain everything. Well, I guess now we just have to figure out how to end this story."
"I don't know about you schlubs," Benson said, stepping onboard a nearby train. "But I'm taking the Back To The Future ending."
"Where you going now?" Topper asked. "Back to the future?"
"Nope." Benson put on an engineer's cap. "Already been there."
The steam engine hovered in the air for a moment before taking off and journeying to the distant past, cutting off the TARDIS in the process.
"Great Scott!" Kent gasped.
"I know, this is heavy," Topper replied.
"Well, I guess that about wraps it up. I suppose all we have to do now is earn this fic its NC-17 rating."
"But this fic is rated P..." Topper started to say before Kent interrupted him with a big, wet