Captain Slag's Beer Belly

"BBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLCH!"

Captain Slag patted his massive gut with pleasure.

"Who knew such a fine lad like you could whip up such a storm!"

Life was good for the greedy space pirate, especially when there was nothing to do. So all he did was sit in his quarters with barrels of grog by his side to guzzle down and see how big of a belch he can give out. He had beaten his record many times. But he did other things. He had never told the crew his (personal) secrets about his affection towards his gut. How he tended towards that mountain of metal, that tank of steel, that two ton barrel of unprocessed grog! He had worked hard to get it in the condition it was in now. His loyalty to it was equal to the loyalty of his crew.

The captain leaned back in his chair (that did not have much more space to lean back into), closed his eyes, and massaged his belly. His fingers dug into every groove that ran around it like a skeleton. He could hear the gallons of grog sloshing around in his metal frame. It was pure ecstasy. When he opened his eyes, he took a good long look at the tank of metal. It was so smooth, so well crafted, yet it could hold a sea of liquids and give anyone the most fatal belly slam. Once more, Slag leaned his head back and summoned from the depths of the metallic cavern a mighty belch.

"BBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLCH! Aye, not quite the longest I've had. Still, you've worked hard!" At that point, he now began to do his secret favorite thing; belly play! He shoved his hands under the fold of cold, polished metal, lifted it up and jiggled it back and forth. Since the surface wasn't skin, it couldn't ripple, but it sure could move! The bulbous belly swayed just like the waves he sailed on, the juices contained in it now sloshing like the sea.

"Ah, my pet, you never fail to calm my nerves, and my addiction to grog!" He slowed down the force and gradually brung it down to a slow rhythm. After a few seconds, he let go and let the gut do its magic. It swayed by itself quite a while thanks to the beer, like it had a mind of its own (if it didn't have one already)! Eventually, it slowed to a halt. Slag sat back up and slammed his gut down on the table. It gave a little, but he built the table to support such weight (for these reasons in particular). The collision of the slam shook the entire ship and sounded like a cannon going off.

Suddenly, Rusty Pete rushed through the door, huffing and having his usual hiccup attacks. "Capan! Hic! I heard something... whoa! Hic!" Pete surveyed the scene. The barrels of grog, the crooked table, but mostly the thing sitting on top of the table that was the captain's belly. The thing was ginormous! It reflected the light from the lone lamp on the ceiling. Even from thirteen feet, he could hear the sloshing and gurgling erupting from the cold paunch.

"Err, capan. Hic! Why do you have your stomach up on your desk? Hic!"

"Aye Pete, it's just somethin' I do to relax. Did you need somethen?"

"Uh. Hic! Nothin'. I just wanted to, hic! remind you to take your pills."

"Argh! I hate the pill! All right. If that is it Pete then you may leave."

"Aye, aye capan! Hic!" He quickly ran out and shut the door.

Now, we all know that robots rust. But they not only rust on the outside, they also rust on the inside, so they must take special pills that get rid of the rust. What's worse is the fact that since Slag and all of the other space pirates drink grog, the rust rapidly grows, so they must take it more frequently.

Slag opened a drawer that was to his left, rummaged through it till he found a small bottle of tablets. They were about the size of your thumb nail. He did not agree with the size, but the box said that they also clean the rest of the body when digested. He took two out, popped them into his mouth, and washed them down with more grog. With a powerful gulp, he swallowed them down into his gullet. The horrible taste was muted thanks to the beer, but he still had the after taste. Now feeling that it was getting late, he decided to get some shut eye. He, once again, leaned back in the chair, folded his hands over his belly, and closed his eyes, soon in a deep slumber.

But then, about fifteen minutes later, something was beginning to happen in Slag's gut. The pill dissolved into the unprocessed grog and started a chemical reaction. Bubbles began to form and pop. The liquids were disturbed and trembled from the irritation. Meanwhile, Slag woke up to the sound of deep gurgles and realized that they came from his belly. He leaned into the heavy metal and put his ear to it. He could hear bubbles popping and fluids sloshing around. Now he started to feel sick to his stomach. "Aye, what's happenin'?" He found the pills lying on his desk and read the back label. WARNING: Do not take when drinking alcohol. Will cause acid reflex. "Argh, I've got to start readin' them labels!" He dropped the pills, the storm in his stomach was so painful now that his belly was beginning to tremble with the boiling of juices. He tried pushing it down to calm the bubbling grog down, but it just got worse. Now, the gurgles were replaced with howls of air. What was once a big beer gut was now turning into a beer-filled balloon. And since metal doesn't expand very much, the pressure was immense. Slag held in his cries of pain (it is silly in his mind for a captain to express pain). Suddenly, he felt a tremor rising up his esophagus. The gurgles were echoing up the tube. "Uh, oh. Urrp!" It was bad. He knew what was coming. A type of toilet humor that could never be accomplished by any species in the galaxy. Slag knew what the results were, but to save himself from a horrible death, he knew what he had to do. He had to do "the procedure". In a hurry, he got up, knocking the chair over and went to the middle of the room. He bent his knees and got into a squat position. His beer belly pressed hard against his legs. He could feel his gut's vibrations up against them. The screws holding the puny legs together were beginning to loosen. So much was happening at once. The roar of the belly of the beast filled the cabin, the grumbling shook the entire room. The captain raised his back to form good posture. The procedure had to be done perfectly in order for it to work. He spread his arms out as if he was calling to the gods, which, in a way, he was going to. Slag concentrated on his breathing pattern, taking in slow, steady breaths. Then, he lifted his gut and started to shake it. The juices were now burning the inside of Slag's stomach, not to mention all of that unprocessed grog made the sensation even worse. The wails echoed in the steel cavern. "Lad, this might be our last duet, but we sure did put up one heck of a fight! I shall remember your cries forever!" Finally, he lifted his head up high, took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks, and let the gas out.



Now comes the result. You see Slag, when he was in his teen years, was a part of a gang in his school known as "The Punishers". Well one day, all of the members were challenged to drink the most beer, then eat at least three Mentos at once. Slag cheated and only put one in. It was a good thing he did, because every single one of them except him expelled a belch that had a shockwave powerful enough to rip their bodies to shreds. In an attempt to prevent the problem from happening again, he studied the physics of the combination of beer and Mentos, the physics of the digestive system, and the effect the body had on the result of the deadly combination. Slag discovered that beer (or grog) actually increases the amount of carbon dioxide that was released from the Mentos (or certain pills). With the information he gathered, he created a special technique that would allow the gas to leave the body without having to blow up the body containing it. Slag had never tried the procedure, for he was too afraid it wouldn't work. But he learned it by heart in case if it would ever happen. It was this technique that saved Captain Slag's life that night. Of course, that didn't mean that everything turned out to be a happy ending. The shockwave that emitted from that fatal belch nearly destroyed the ship that he was residing at, a couple of his men that were within a few yards of his cabin were severely injured by the flying debris, the sound was strong enough to crack most of his shipmates' eardrums, and Slag nearly lost all of his breath since the burp took all of his strength and energy to omit. One thing was certain from that experience however. No one in the entire galaxy, maybe even the universe would ever be able to keep a belch going for a whole minute and cause life threatening injuries!