Hah! I have to admit, I cheated slightly and read the prompt before reading this story (sorry RULES STALIN!). The story is delightful and funny and a bit icky, but what I love most about it is that it almost uses the prompt as a finishing point, rather than a starting point. If that’s not too much of a spoilerish thing to say! If it is, then sorry again, and I’m sure RULES STALIN will punish me appropriately. With Battle Toads.


STORY NUMBER: 41

PROMPT PROVIDER: Anonymous

AUTHOR: @edjeff

TITLE: Untitled


“Balls,” muttered Greg, who’d just lost his 8th game of Space Tetris
since breakfast. There wasn’t actually a lot to do as a junior space
diplomat other than wait for the senior space diplomat to get back and
maybe make him a cup of tea.

“What’s pink and gloopy and there’s 78 jars of it the travel pod?”
Sam, the other junior space diplomat, wandered into their shared
quarters, and put a jar of unpleasant substance on the table.

“Space Ambassador Babcock’s back?” Greg was relieved. They’d probably
get to go home now. He didn’t really like being a junior space
diplomat but his Space Dad had told him he needed to train in a
respectable profession in case becoming a professional Space Tetris
player didn’t work out.

“Well, no. But he seems to have sent us some jars of… stuff?” Sam
unscrewed the lid of the jar and gave it a sniff. It smelled a bit
like pork scratchings. “Maybe it was a present from the… uh?” She
attempted to form some sounds with her mouth, before setting on
“Aliens?”. Neither of them had worked out how you were supposed to
pronounce the name of the species they’d been assigned to do junior
diplomacy on, which is just one reason why it was quite a good thing
Babcock was in charge.

“Well that’s good. If they’ve sent us a present they probably don’t
want to go to war.”

“Do we need to send them one back? I’ve got a book of poetry. And a
banana.” Sam stuck a finger into the jar of pink stuff, and hesitantly
tasted it. “Some sort of sandwich spread? Space sandwich spread?”

“Look, let’s call Babcock and see what’s going on.”

Greg walked over to the space radio and tapped out Babcock’s
frequency. No response. He tried again. No respo… wait. He could
hear the soft beeping of a standard issue Space Communication Device.
Sam was happily working her way through the jar of pink substance with
a space spoon, so he left her to get on with it and headed in the
direction of the beeping.

It was coming from the travel pod – the door was still open, revealing
a neatly stacked set of jars. The noise was being emitted by one of
the jars. It didn’t look any different from the others, but when Greg
held it to his ear it was definitely beeping. He opened it and poked
around a bit, until, sure enough, he found the device, neatly labelled
“Space Ambassador Babcock’s space radio. DO NOT USE.”

Puzzled, Greg looked at the radio, then at the jars, then at the
radio, then back at the jars. Something occurred to him about what was
in the jars, and he puked everywhere. Then he remembered what Sam was
doing and he puked everywhere again, before running back along the
corridor yelling a lot of different things.

Behind the jars, as yet unnoticed, was a small cardboard box with a
note attached. Roughly translated, it read: “Monsieur, with these
Rocher, you’re really spoiling us,” but in a really sarcastic tone.
Greg and Sam were both too busy puking everywhere to notice it and
within 24 hours the aliens had reduced the entire human race to a thin
paste and basically if the ambassador had brought a Terry’s Chocolate
Orange with him instead everyone would have had a much better time.


PROMPT: A group of trainee diplomats have less than 24hrs to avert an intergalactic war.