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Hello. My name is SonicBoy Wellbutrin and I come from the planet Ravulon. For those of you who do not already know, Ravulon is a small planet in the Kikinit System on the outer edge of the Capitola and Religio quadrants. This position has left us isolated for thousands of years from the oppressive influence of the dominant surrounding star systems. But as recent events have proven, it could not last forever. I am now on trial for corrupting the youth of the Capitola system. My testimony will attempt to prove my innocence.

Let me first briefly describe my planet. We have two suns, a giant red one called Kikinit Major and a small black one called Kikinit Minor. Our world rotates between these suns in perfect symmetry; when one sun is rising the other one is setting. Our bigger sun emits healthy tanning rays. Our smaller one emits a weaker black light which enhances nighttime activities without making things too bright. I think on other planets you would refer to this as “mood lighting.”

Water covers about 90% of the surface of Ravulon. We are not an aquatic or even an amphibious species, however. What land there is consists mostly of sandy beaches and snow capped mountains. For nourishment, we have fruit trees on the coastlines and vegetable gardens which grow in the plains between the mountains. Life is easy on Ravulon and we do not suffer a Capitolan work ethic or a Religio worship ritual.

Society on Ravulon is a tribal society, divided into clans of about 1,000 people each. A baby is born into a clan and raised by the community. The behavior of the clans differ from region to region, but typically, we wake up around noon and we try to be as natural and loving as possible. We eat fruit for breakfast, vegetables over rice or noodles for lunch, and of course a healthy assortment of the finest chemicals for dinner.

When we are properly intoxicated, we gather to groove our bodies to blissy beats until shortly after dawn when we pass out naked in puppy piles. It was the numerous aliens who visit our planet who dubbed us Ravers, which is the generic term for people from the planet Ravulon. It is a tag we have adopted with pride. We are not a sophisticated, space traveling race, but we are known for being cosmically happy. I am finally happy now, but for a long while I wasn’t happy at all. Why is that? And why do I claim to be innocent of these charges brought against me by Magnus Eucalyptus, the CEO of Capitola Alpha? I will attempt to answer these questions and more. The deck is stacked against me. These court transcripts may be all that remains of me in a few short days. This is my story…

Up until the age of adolescence, I think I was like every other person on my planet. I lived a joyous existence and felt completely happy and at peace with the universe. I played naked immature sex games in the morning. I frolicked with my friends in the afternoon sunshine: relaxing, swimming the surf, reading glossy magazines, painting, and spinning records. At night we danced in the discos, dutifully worshipping Dionysus before retiring.

Then one night at age 15, while tripping on powerful space Triptameenz, I had a revelation and started to become a very sick and tired little Ravulon being - a hummingbird suffocating in a jar of honey. I grew strangely inwards, unable to communicate my need for escape. The space pills, the month-long parties, and the inconsequential philosophies of the bubble-blowing Raver girls no longer fulfilled me spiritually. I started experiencing shortness of breath and serotonin, dopamine, and adrenaline depletion. I felt dizzy, cold, sickly, ugly, and worthless.

Since this was all so confusing and new to me, I decided to experience a different way of life. I took an extended chill-out from parties, dancing, and creating art. I undertook a study of Ravulon alternative lifestyles, but I did not like what I found, which was nothing. Everyone was similar. Everyone was happy except me. I felt I would do anything at all just to explore the universe and get away from my friends for a while.

My clan members laughed at me for this, refusing to take my whims seriously. They ignored my pleas for challenge, change and adventure. Adventure for them was debating which hair color was more natural looking.

“Green is way more natural because it is the same color as chlorophyll-based life forms and puke...”

“No, no, blue is more natural because it is the same shade as the sky...”

“No green because…”

“No purple because that's the color of peace, and peace is love and love is all…”

It was driving me to doldrums.

I was not ecstatic at the start of each new day. During sex, my cock would often go as limp as my mood and I would eventually become forlornly impotent no matter how many space pills I popped. I often found myself going home by nine o’clock to read books or play virtual reality games where I would build buildings or drive a truck. I was feeling worse than I could have ever imagined possible. Friends would smile strangely, feigning sympathy.

"Don't you want to stay with us and party until you die?"

I did not. I sought to be dull. I have no reason why.

"There is no fun in that!" my fellow Ravers would scream at me and attempt to spit ZeroGee Juice down my throat. Instead of playful retaliation, I would slink away and poke around the basement trying to find something to fix. I was weary of ZeroGee Juice anyway. It made me feel all sleepy and hungry and horny. Sex was boring. Sex was all too typical. You plopped yourself inside and wiggled about until you came. What a waste of time! What I wanted was a life filled with consequences. I needed some substance to offset the pleasure.

My mates unanimously decided that I needed to seek professional help. I finally relented and they had me committed to the mad pill scientists, also known as the alien mind doctors. They were of little aid. No one my age on my planet had ever had this problem before.

The mad pill scientists told me to take new MindFucker pills, find an older homosexual lover, write poetry, and most importantly, “try to recapture the vibe.” When I heard this advice, it was all I could not to hurl my lunch upon the floor. Recapture what vibe? To me, it was all a cruel charade. The only vibe I felt was telling me to slash my own throat open.

When I had lost all hope, I went to the local bridge to throw myself into the deep waters and unto my death. With tears of desperation in my eyes, I climbed the rusty, wrought iron construction and crawled out onto the ledge. A single tear dripped from my eye when I thought of the pain and suffering that I could not tolerate anymore. Just before I took that last step into oblivion, I noticed a man sitting not ten feet away from me.

He was wearing a light blue corduroy jacket and matching pants with a black patches on the elbows and knees. This was the mark of someone from the Klusteron system. He was humming softly and sweetly to himself, presumably from a pack or two of White Rabbit Eckeez. He was rather far into his thirties, yet looked remarkably healthy and well-adjusted. I wasn't surprised when he tried to talk me out of my fate.

"Don't jump boy, you have so much to live for!"

"How do you know? Are you psychic or something?"

"No, I just know it, that's all. I've read all the latest self-help books and shit."

"Those books are for space knobs. You lamer tourists are always telling us to read those. I used to devour fashion and music magazines like a good little Raver. Now I only read books that make me feel even more depressed, like history textbooks on intergalactic culture.”

"Ha ha. You're an odd little Raver. What's wrong, did someone steal your glow stick?"

Now normally I wouldn’t talk to aliens. They were always too in awe of our culture... or too comatose from our groovy chemical cocktails. They would normally just smile and say something like, “How’s it going space ranger... ” or “I'll give you a hundred credits for a blow job. But I felt bad for being mean to this particular lamer. He looked so calm and normal to me. There was something inside of him I wanted.

"No. Nobody stole my glow stick,” I replied. “I just keep it up my ass sometimes for safekeeping. What are you doing up here on this bridge? Are you going to hang yourself from that string?"

"No,” said the man. “I'm fishing."

"Fishing?” I asked. “Wow. What's that?"

"It's when you dip a baited string in water and try to catch a sea creature. Then you take that sea creature home, cook it, and eat it."

"Oh," I said feeling a bit foolish. “On Ravulon we don’t eat the sea creatures. There are some pretty big ones down there!”

"Yeah I know. Ravers are vegetarians. So what are you doing up here?"

"Ummm... fishing, maybe."

"But you don't have a pole!"

He was right. "Uh, well actually, you were right. I'm up here to kill myself."

"Suicide? But this bridge is not nearly high enough.”

"Yeah, but I can't swim. I decided that drowning was the most horrific way to die and so it will make the proper artistic statement and all."

"What? You live on a planet of sandy beaches and you can't swim?"

"No, none of us can. Ravers are terrified of water. We disappear down there sometimes. Plus, nobody ever taught us. We got lots of big fish in there... no kidding. We call them the Megalodons. Some people say they are quite intelligent. My philosophy is: if I don't eat them, they won't eat me."

"Ravers are so weird. I should have gone to some other planet. I haven't had the urge to dance or be stupid in years..."

This piqued my curiosity.

"Well why didn't you go somewhere else then?" I asked him.

The man scratched his head and responded.

"Ravulon is dirt cheap for a beach planet. And I wanted to be by myself. You are the only Raver I’ve even seen since I got here. Your planet is nearly empty compared to most of them."

Empty? I thought. It didn’t seem empty to me.


"Yeah. You only have 100,000 people."

"Well, how many people does your planet have?"

"Almost one trillion.”

"Wow, that's a lot I guess. But I'm not very good with numbers."

"I bet you don't feel very good at anything right now," said the man.

I hated how he could read my emotions. I felt violated.

"No, I don't feel very good…. that's kinda why I want to kill myself. Nice talking to you, though. I never talked with an alien before, just danced and fucked. I'll have to make a point of it in my future lives."

I turned away from him and looked into water. I couldn’t see the bottom but I know bad things lurked there. Things with big white teeth and endless appetites. I was hoping they would get me quick.

"Look kid, I don't claim to know a lot about your culture, however I think before you kill yourself you should at least go talk with your parents."


"Your parents.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about.


“You know,” the man said, “the two people that fucked and then nine months later you popped out."

I smiled.

"Oh, them. Why should I talk to them?"

"Never mind," the man said and looked away.

I was intrigued.

"No, really. Why should I talk to them?"

"Listen, just go talk to them and get their opinion on the matter. That’s all..."

Confused, I said goodbye to the strange man and went home. Genuinely intrigued by this alien, the very next day I went to find my parents to ask their opinions on life and death. After considerable trouble I found them. I hadn’t seen either of them in ten years and at first it seemed like no big loss to me.

Luckily they were still alive and kicking it on a nearby retirement moon. Like many Ravers their age, they were on partial life support. Nonetheless, they didn't give me much solace. Word had it that Mom and Pop’s brains were crispy toasted, permanently spun out from bad space pills.

My dad was lying in bed wearing a red and white striped fuzzy top hat, as was fashionable in his heyday. My mom was walking around butt-naked and looking utterly like the living dead on holiday with her tits all sagging and wrinkly. I am so glad old people are separated from the young at age 25 on Ravulon. At the time, it was the only part of the culture I still had any respect for.

I asked them about my life and what to do with it. “Capitola Alpha,” my old man managed to speak to me before passing out from the effort, "Capitola Alpha has golden toilets. You must go there and shit upon them."

Eureka! Finally a challenge! At last an adventure! What could be more exciting than a great quest to see another planet? The man at the bridge was right. My parents seemed to hold the key to meaning in my life. I had suddenly found a way out from the meaningless cycle. But I didn’t know anything about Capitola Alpha. What might await me there?

I tried to get more details out of mom and dad but to no avail. Word on the street was that shortly after my birth my parents unwillingly fried their brains on some ultra dodgy experimental MindFuckerz. They were brought in from the alien labs. I hadn’t seen them in ten years since around when I turned five. This was not unusual on Ravulon. Kids just kind of raised themselves by looking after one another.

I must admit that looking at my parents lying there slavering all over themselves made me feel proud of them. “Scientists” is what they’d call them on other planets. Communists. Evolutionists. People open to new ideas. People who worked for the good of the future. My father had been an explorer of outer and inner space, a psychedelic neuro-naut. He had led a valiant life and taken his accidental overdose not just for himself but for all Raverkind as well.

Anyway, it was becoming increasingly apparent to me that if I continued to do nothing that I may potentially reside on Ravulon my whole life. I could not fathom that thought. I would rather die, I thought. Suicide is a couple steps down the Ravulon social ladder from overdose. I would not even end up as envied as my parents. This would negatively affect my dancing ability in a future life. Or maybe fate would have me born on a different planet with a different lifestyle. That’s what I was hoping for. But the more I thought about it... this end was equally unacceptable to me at so young an age. If I was to die, why not die trying to escape my fate? Why not die doing something that few, if any, Ravers had done before? Why not be enterprising?

It was around this time that I was beginning to feel what most people call vanity. I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to stand out from the rest. If my father had traveled as a youth, then I would follow in his footsteps. I too would go to Capitola Alpha and sing songs of joy and space travel.

Maybe, I thought, my old man had been to Capitola Alpha to sign a big recording contract. Or maybe he was a cultural Ambassador! Was there a Ravulon Ambassador? If not, maybe I could become the first one. SonicBoy Wellbutrin, Planet Ravulon Ambassador to Capitola Alpha. I liked that title. But how would I get it?

Since Ravulon has never manufactured its own space travel vehicles, I thought most likely I would have to hitch a ride with a visiting alien. I racked my brain. Perhaps a missionary from Religio Praya, or some Klusteron aliens like the guy I met at the bridge. Ravulon typically had more visiting aliens than proper citizens! That gave me hope.

Auslamerz, (a derogatory slang term for anyone from outside the Ravulon system), visited Ravulon mainly to do business deals and party with the locals. If the payment was ample, we can be extremely accommodating. In fact, the better part of our economy is based on dance music, space pills, and escorting the tourists around to our parties.

We are known in the galaxy as a planet of Dionysian artists. The auslamerz bought our dance tracks and space pills in exchange for such necessities as food, local transports, disco balls, laser lights, and the like.

We Ravers are not a lazy people; we are actually quite good at what we do. Our dance clubs are reputed to be the finest in the galaxy. Many of our deejays refuse to leave our planet due to our extremely vibey parties. I was looking for any excuse to get out. I talked to every auslamer I met. I got many offers for sex but no offers to take me to another planet.

Finally one day I had a conversation that changed my life. Just when I was about to give up hope and accept my fate as the number one unhappy child of the universe, I heard about this one planet called Capitola Iota. It was a Capitolan planet colony with a large population of neo-Ravers.

The Capitola system, they told me, was the biggest and richest colony of planets in the whole galaxy. The people worked all their lives in the name of profit. Although they had the same Gods that we did, they always prayed for money instead of sex and drugs. And they got it big time just like we got it big time.

The cooler kids on Capitola Iota daydreamt of traveling to Ravulon and starting a rave clan. This gave me a sense of hope in my desperate inner being. There were other people like me who wanted to be different. And they would understand my dream of going to Capitola and starting a business!

I found out more about Capitola Iota one day while I was slumming around the resort beaches with some vacationing members of Capitola Iota on the party island of Eos. They were hipper than most of the others tourists I had guided before. They knew all the latest record releases. They seemed smarter, more confident, and generally more soul-satisfied than most aliens. What’s more they seemed useful.

There were three boys named Jazz, Tofer, and Pseudo. They were accompanied by three unfamiliar Raver girls so high on space pills I didn't catch their names. These gentlemen were different from the rest. No doubt they were future leaders of their planet. I asked them if I could assist them, perhaps showing them the Ravulon attractions or serving them food.

Most aliens bored me, but this group impressed me with their loquacious nature. They spoke of their schools and universities… and all with business-like erudition. It was mostly stuff about the Laws of the Marketplace. It was fun to hear them speak like that. I had never heard this kind of talk before. It was the everyday parlance of the Capitolans, where everything revolved around money instead of sex, drugs, and music. Astrographically speaking, these Capitolans were our neighbors. And they flocked to the shores of Ravulon on vacation. More and more of them seemed to come every year.

We passed around an Opeeyum hookah and took turns massaging the writhingly ecstatic Ravulon girls to full body orgasms and slurped up the sweet intoxicating vaginal secretions. Meanwhile, we discussed the cities of Capitola Iota. It was a planet of ten billion people. Jazz told me many of the cities had more banks than discos, which intrigued me. On Ravulon we only had one bank and it was mostly for import/export crowd. These aliens also had computer control panels embedded in their arms and a heads-up display embedded in their retinas.

Later that morning, after the party, they told me everyone on their planet had a microchip implanted in their brains. The microchip contained all their vital statistics. Anyone with proper clearance could instantly look-up everything about anybody without ever even talking to them, just by looking up their serial number in a central database or waving a wand in front of their forehead and reading data off the chip. The microchip also gave them superior memory retention and could be used to look up every minor detail they ever experienced.

I thought that was great fun. On Ravulon we didn’t have fancy microchips implanted in us that recorded everything that we did. It sounded like a good idea to me at the time, because there were many times on too many pills when I was so wasted I could not remember what I did, but I did know I had fun. I needed to recall the innocent times of my youth, back when everything seemed natural and I didn’t have so many unquenchable existential ideas in my head and a fear of dying without really adding anything to my culture.

When I expressed this extreme desire to return to my innocence the next day, they took me to their spaceship and let me try a machine called the Vitaxplore that let me go back inside my memories without even having a microchip there in the first place. The hooked me up and the session got underway.

It took me back to earliest childhood. I re-experienced my birth. The look on my parents face through blurry eyes, the nursery where I was raised, my first rave at age 5, my first White Rabbit Eckee at age 5, my first girlfriend at age 8. It all came back to me. It helped me put my present suffering in context. I was not in pain, I was suffering from boredom. I craved new things. I sought adventure. These new feelings were not something I should be ashamed of. These feelings were simply a maturing extension of my own permanent personality from day one.

The Vitaxplore was better than most of the drugs I had tried. I was so tripped out by it. It was perfectly normal for them though. They remembered and analyzed everything they ever did and felt with perfect twenty-twenty hindsight. I suppose that’s what allowed them to be such savvy businessmen.

When the sun was coming up on a new day we popped some more White Rabbit Eckeez and blasted lines of StarTrail Mix. My new Capitola Iotan friends told me this was everything they had ever hoped for in a vacation and it made their whole lives worthwhile. They told me how great it was to turn off their thought recorders and “live like animals” like we did on Ravulon. I never even realized we lived like animals before they told me. Later on, we hired a deejay for a private party and went out to the woods with some Space Slutz from Minor Moralis who I knew were looking for their next meal. Me, I normally preferred the normal Raver girls... but they don’t like Capitolan tourists too much unless the pay was good and/or they were really high. The Space Slutz will latch on to just about anyone male and humanoid.

My newfound friend Tofer couldn’t stop staring at the Space Slutz’s exposed breasts and pert nipples.

“Tell me, SonicBoy, so far we have met the delectable Raver girls and now these fine specimens. You have some groovy space slutz on this planet all right. Are there any more different kinds of them?”

I took offense that he referred to all female creatures on Ravulon as space slutz. I corrected him and told him that “space slutz” was not really a generic term for all girls on the planet. Just the girls from Minor Moralis were called the “Space Slutz.” It was a specific species, not a general term.

Tofer said that last night was amazing and he thought it was just a rumor that Raver girls secreted intoxicating juice out of their pussies. I told him the Space Slutz from Minor Moralis had their own peculiar traits as well. Besides their blue skin, they emitted an invigorating, banana tasting milk from their breasts, which made them quite different, if not almost as fuckable as the Ravulon girls.

Tofer agreed with my sentiments and climbed aboard a big breasted, blue skinned Space Slut. He took his blood engorged member in his hand and asked, “Which hole should I put it in?”

“You choose. The front one is wet and slippery. The back one is tight like a butthole.”

“Thanks,” said Tofer, getting busy. “I’ll start with the front one, then. This stuff that comes out of their tits is amazing. What is it?”

“I dunno. I think it’s their version of shit.”

Jazz looked a little sorry to ask and muttered between thrusts “I guess it’s okay if it tastes this good.”

Next Jazz asked me if there were any other kinds of girls on the planet.

“Well we have visiting aliens just like any other planet. You’ve met the Raver girls and the Space Slutz, and so the only other girls found with any regularity are the “Prayers”. Prayers are mostly runaways from the strict Religio Prayan system. They often come here and stay between the ages of 14 and 17 to party before returning to their lives on their home planets. They make a living entertaining the tourists and put out more easily than the Ravulon girls, who mainly prefer deejays and dashing young poet/adventurers like myself, but they are not as easy as the Space Slutz. Prayers look a lot like the Raver girls, but they are somewhat less lickable. They do not have intoxicating pussy juice like the Raver girls. Some of them wear glasses and read a lot of books without pictures as well. I don’t know why they see in that.”

Pseudo, who was a bit taken aback by the whole affair, took the hand of an approaching space slut. She giggled, knelt in front of him, and started to suck on his quickly rising boner. “So what are these things? They sure are beautiful in a blue kind of way, but don’t you have to ask them or buy them flowers or anything?”

“No. No flowers are necessary.”

“What about talking? Don’t they talk?”

“They communicate through giggling and dancing,” I said.

“You mean they don’t bitch and yell like normal females?”

I answered, “Not really. The Space Slutz from Minor Moralis are biologically designed for orgies. They live off the semen of male humanoids like us. It is in their interest to be as accommodating as possible. They are originally from the Puttanesca Galaxy where such things are normal I am told. They have four tits and two nice tight pussies to fuck. This makes them very easy to please but very hard to satisfy. The convenient thing about them for groups of males is that you don’t need as many of them around if they want to have an orgy at the end of a party. Plus, the juice that lubricates their vagina-like orifice cures all known sexually transmitted diseases on contact.

“Wow I wish we had these things back on Capitola Iota!”

“They are not things!” I corrected them. “They are Space Slutz.” The Capitola Iotan aliens didn’t seem to understand the concept of interstellar empathy very well.

When I was peaking on the next round of space eckeez, I borrowed Pseudo’s neural transformer again and replayed my whole life on fast forward, which took seven full hours while the Capitolan Iotans had their fill of drugs and uninhibited sex with the Space Slutz. They didn’t miss me at all and I hardly noticed them either except for the epiphanies of orgasmic sexual ecstasy I heard. I kept replaying the part of my life when I started my perverse longing for something else besides sex and drugs.

Pseudo asked me what I thought of the computer. I told him I loved it. On Ravulon, we didn’t have any personal computers except for beat generators and synth modules. Of course we had a supercomputer for a government and left everything financial to it. But on the whole were not a technologically savvy race. I think the Capitolan word is “outsource.” We outsourced all that stuff and stuck to what we were good at. Since I knew nothing about Capitola Iota, I asked them to tell me a little more about it.

The aliens said that Capitola Iota was a hundred and fifteen thousand-year-old experimental Capitolan commercial arts colony. It sounded alluring. They told me it had a reputation as a party planet throughout the entire Capitalist system. On Iota it was legal to take certain low strength space pills if used for commercial art purposes, as well as space triptameenz, which although altogether illegal to the general public, were available by prescription to impressionistic painters and musicians. However, despite these advantages, it is one of the only Capitolan colonies that has never gained tremendous wealth.

Jazz told me that almost all the aliens from the Capitolan system who visited Ravulon were from Capitola Iota. It was basically the only Ravulon groupie planet in the whole system. The rest of the Capitola System was supposedly too into its own finances to take the time to travel here. But even they too visited occasionally. I had remembered even meeting someone from Capitola Gamma before. It was all understandable however. To be truthful, Ravulon was cosmically speaking “out of the way.” Few people want to travel two whole weeks for a vacation.

"On Capitola Iota," Tofer told me, "There are positions opening every day for new disc jockey apprentices and lighting specialists."

I could not determine the extent of their technical knowledge of turntablism, but their taste in recently produced dance tracks and popular deejay linguistics was exquisite and well trained. I became so intent on showing them a good time I forgot about suicide and almost started enjoying my life again. At every opportunity I probed my new friends with questions relating to Capitolan culture.

“What are the core beliefs of the Capitolan culture?” I asked.

“Capitolans believe in free enterprise and might makes right,” Pseudo said.

”What about discos and fucking?” I asked.

“Most of us Capitolans don’t have proper time for that between analyzing stock reports.”

“What’s stock?”

They laughed at me and told me they did not come to Ravulon to talk about stocks. They wanted to party some more because they only had a week left. I knew just the club to take them to. But first we had to go to the drug store.

The next morning, after dancing all night and many beatitudes, we all ended up naked on the carpet while snorting bumps of StarTrail Mix. I asked them if they believed in rave as way of life.

"No, we believe in rave as a way of fun and profit," they answered back.

It was then I came out of my rave closet.

"I believe life on Ravulon is boring me to death... I believe better things, or at least different things, lie beyond the stars. I want to explore. I would, in fact, give anything to get off this planet."

They were stunned at my confession.

"You should stay here and party until you die," Pseudo told me. "We have seen the universe and it is full of uptight and money-hungry aliens like us. You should count your lucky stars that your leaders are all spun out and don't care if you take drugs all day and fuck each other. That is what we all have brains and genitals for, no? Why question Zeus’s will?”

"Who is Zeus?" I asked them.

They laughed at me. “How can you know about Dionysus and not about Zeus?” they ridiculed.

I felt stupid. So over a few lines of Orange Sunblast and a few frosty mugs of PoppyPus soda they told me of their gods, Zeus and Apollo. And they talked of Capitola Alpha, the golden planet of forbidden wealth.

"I have heard of that place," I told them. "My father was there as a youth to sign a record deal."

“Space bollocks,” Said Jazz doubtingly. It was plain my new friends flat out didn't believe me. “Not even Capitola Iotans are allowed to visit Capitola Alpha.”

“Why not?” I asked them.

“Iotans would be considered as vagrants and beggars,” cried Tofer.

“Yeah and plus we don’t even have the special gold lamé underwear required to go there!” laughed Pseudo.

I restated my story now only half believing the tale myself. “My dad told me he was there! He told me to go there and shit on golden toilets!”

"A Raver on Capitola Alpha shitting on golden toilets?” Tofer laughed. “Speaking of shit, you are so full of it that if I fucked your ass it would start shooting out of your mouth."

The word poop made the Space Slutz laugh. Unlike most races, the Space Slutz of Minor Moralis didn’t shit out their bums. They just processed this thick green milk that came out of their titties that tasted like bananas and made males sexually aroused. The subject of poop seemed to amuse them highly.

Jazz confirmed Tofer’s credo. "No Raver has ever been to Capitalist Alpha. It’s impossible to even imagine such a thing."

I felt violated. I felt stupid. Maybe my dad was just a sad mental case who swallowed one too many space pills.

“So where does Ravulon fit in the greater scheme of things?” I asked them.

“Popular theory on Capitola Iota is that Ravulon is actually unlikely branch of Pathetika Rho,” Jazz told me. “It is technically an area disputed by the Capitolans and the Religio Prayans... but not disputed very highly as there in nothing of value to either society there. It is more like a no man’s land… a total cultural vacuum.”

It was my chance not to believe them for a change.

"You are so full of shit that your brown eyes used to be blue,” I joked.

"How's that?"

"My people were not originally from a industrialized world," I corrected them. "My people are useless at stuff like that. It's not in our gene pool or something. Rumor has it we sprung from supersillysiben space mushrooms."

Tofer conferred to me chuckling. "Well, I am pretty sure humanoid races don’t just magically spring from mushrooms, supersillysiben or otherwise. And Pathetika Rho is not exactly an industrialized world."

Jazz elaborated. "Pathetika Rho is actually the most backwards planet in the whole galaxy. Astrographically, Pathetika Rho is located somewhere between the two Systems, sort of a backwater of space, but they never really got going. Everyone felt sorry for them, like a retarded cousin. We tried to help them a few times... cloning a few of our really smart people and transplanting them there as a kick start... but nothing seemed to do the trick. The people there have the capacity... but they just don’t catch on. They are too petty, distrustful, and warlike. So we don’t even bother too much anymore. There is little hope now that the planet will ever evolve into proper a properly running import/export business community.”

I was intrigued.

“If we are a lost colony of Pathetika Rho... well then what ever happened to it, then?" I asked. “Is it still there?”

“No one knows. The last contact was almost fifty years ago. It used to be fashionable to study their culture from afar back when they had giant reptiles. Now I bet there are a few good restaurants and a few good pubs. That hardly makes for a designated profit zone. Plus, the chicks are ugly there. Some of them are fat and others even grow hair under their armpits.”

“Hair under their armpits?” I questioned. “That’s kinky!”

Tofer interrupted. “But now we are on to better things... like the Ravulon colony. the Ravulon colony is big news on Capitola Iota. Youth love it and parents hate it. It is only our leader’s general indifference that keeps us from war with you. That and a lot of our leaders are occasionally involved in scandals here and quite like the place.”

“War!” I couldn’t believe it. War? Why would someone want to go to war with us? All we do is sit here and mind our own business and party and make art. Why would anyone attack Ravulon?”

“Well,” mused Jazz, “you are technically in our space so we do have the right to conquer you after all. War equals profits. That much can’t be denied. But don’t worry. It might never happen. There are probably not enough minerals on this planet to make it worthwhile. That’s probably your one saving grace.”

“Gee,” I said sarcastically, “how lucky do I feel to be born on such a worthless planet.”

“Worthless is all relative. Like Pathetika Rho. They have all kinds of minerals there. If anyone is going to get it, it’s those creeps.”

“Wait! That might be the perfect place for me to explore!” I announced. “If it’s a colony... then our accents would be similar. I could get a disguise and blend right in with them, eh?”

“You would leave Ravulon to go to Pathetika Rho? You are really desperate.”

I would go anywhere right now,” I announced. “It just cannot be that bad...”

“Yes it could be. No one has bothered documenting any recent evidence about the people at all, except in ridicule. It was after all the worst planet in the galaxy. Maybe even the worst planet in ANY galaxy. The people there are strange and completely useless. Pathetika is the third planet from an ugly yellow star. They have the worst of everything imaginable. It is unbelievably bad… run by brainless cops and fundamentalists. We have a saying on Capitalist Iota that the only good thing that ever came out of Pathetika Rho was the Ravulon Party colony. The rest of that planet wasn’t worth a transport load of bloody hog balls."

Tofer had a different opinion.

“Oh, Rho is probably still out there, I bet. But it's likely all radioactive, filled with disease, misery, and government processed cheese food. All the cities have probably been shelled with megaton nuclear warheads and most of the people are either dead or mutated into black and green spotted arachnids. That’s what eventually happens to most planets with no bloody economy or culture to speak of – they kill each other in a fit of greed. And then we blow up the planet and mine it for its resources. But enough about that place. As you know, Ravulon does not have a long history. It only goes back twenty thousand years.”

“Yeah I know,” I replied. “And it’s beginning to bore me. I like need a challenge or something. Taking drugs and dancing all day just doesn’t cut it any more. I know that may not sound possible to auslamerz like you but its true.”

“Yeah that seems pretty unlikely, and no one else here seems to be complaining.”

“I guess inside I feel I just have something to do!” I said.

I hung out with the Capitola Iotans for weeks until they ran out of time and had to get home. We spent most of the time in the clubs, where we went through packets and packets of blue nebulas and Zero-G-Juice. When we didn’t talk about music we talked about Capitola Iota. I was beginning to learn a lot. It made me want to go there so badly.

The Iotans taught me about industrialized societies and tariff agreements. They told me of planets with very low club to dancer ratios, and about industrialized cities with clubs that were empty on weekdays. This only confirmed my will to do something with my life besides party and pander to the whims of the lamer tourists for spending money. I felt I had much to experience.

"This is all so intriguing," I announced after a club night one morning. "I must accompany you back to Capitola Iota."

But they laughed at me again. They told me I wouldn't last a week there on my own. They told me not only wouldn't I be welcome, but that I would probably get picked up and thrown in something called “juvenile detention.” They told me I wasn't even old enough to get into the good clubs. And they told me a single space pill would cost a whole week's salary at a minimum wage job.

I couldn't believe it. It sounded so intriguing. I didn't care. I wanted to see it anyway. I figured they underestimated my will to adapt and to explore. Sure it sounded strange, but that was part of the allure.

"You must take me back with you or I will die!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Jazz laughed at me. "Do you even know how much a round-trip ticket costs to Iota? Forty thousand neodrachmas! I had to work two shifts for a whole year to pay for this ride. Sorry SonicBoy, no can do."

After hearing this news I was mentally bass-spun and felt doubly reassured that I needed to experience this other way of life. I immediately started thinking about the bridge again and eagerly anticipating the salty taste in the back of my throat as the seawater started to fill my lungs and the rows of ivory teeth of the man-eaters crunched my bones.

“Listen up!” I yelled. “Now I know that my people do not have a reputation as being independent hard workers. Yes, we rarely do anything unless motivated by the muses of Art. But I rationalize that delving into another culture is in fact a type of Art, err, Anthropology. It’s the universal quest to see where one comes from.”

They weren’t impressed by my speech. “Maybe you should go to the fucking library and read some more about the universe...then you won’t want to see it so much anymore,” Jazz told me just before he and his friends left to go back home.

“Library?” I asked them. “What the fuck is a library?”