Part II Prologue in Space

(*Yellow text scrolling vertically up a space backdrop to non-copyrighted music because Ralphy and Randy don't want to be sued by a certain corporation with a mouse mascot.)

It's been three months since Randy and Ralphy's epic burger showdown with Donald MarkDonald, the former face of the MarkDonald's fast food chain.

Despite Space Burgers LLC still being in the red financially, the two brothers continue their quest, traveling the galaxy and serving the greatest burgers in the universe.

Ralphy, still plagued from his red meat allergy, is desperate for a cure. Potentially having their first lead in months, the two brothers have landed on the crime ridden desert planet of Crapooine...

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"You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy... Oh and also sand. There's a lot of that here too." Randy spoke, as the two of us stood in front of the entrance to a sketchy cantina.

I turned to him. "You locked the doors to the ship, right?"

"No clue." He responded, confidently unsure.

I sighed. "That's reassuring..."

Not showing an ounce of concern, he led the way in. At the very least, the bar had air conditioning. Wearing our space jumpsuits with the intense desert heat of this planet was definitely a mistake. Streams of sweat dripped down my back, soaking my underwear (which may or may not be tighty whities).

The interior was just as I expected, dimly lit and slightly run down. All the patrons looked angry for no reason whatsoever. As we entered, everyone looked up momentarily and shot us glares like they wanted to hurt us.

"This dude should be around here somewhere..." My brother took a good look around, oblivious to the dangerous looking crowd we were amongst. "What was his name again, little bro?"

"He went by Burreedo on the forum."

We approached the dusty bar counter, which was being tended by a robot wearing a tan tunic. It immediately looked in our direction. "We don't serve your kind here. Beep bop."

"What are you trying to say robo-bro?" Randy became defensive.

"No, not you. I am referring to the two behind you. Beep bop."

Behind us were two robots. One was metallic and humanoid shaped, while the other looked like a trash can on wheels. The robots didn't respond, as they immediately exited the establishment.

"But aren't you a robot too?" I pointed out.

"...Beep bop." The bartender-bot paused as a circular loading icon appeared on its face screen. Suddenly it turned red and an error message appeared.

"So robo-bro, we're looking for someone named Burreedo. Does that name sound familiar?" Randy attempted to question the robot, but it remained unresponsive.

"I think my comment bricked it's programming." I muttered.

A walrus headed alien that was sitting beside us tapped my brother on the shoulder. "If you're looking for Burreedo, he's the guy at the table in the corner."

Randy slid him a stollar across the counter. "I appreciate it, walrus bro. Next drink’s on me."

The two of us approached a green seahorse-like humanoid alien, which rather than wearing normal clothing, was wrapped in a giant tortilla shell. There were two holes cut out in the shell for his arms. Reclined back, he sipped on a purple margarita with its tube-like mouth.

Without so much as a greeting, Randy took the seat across from the alien, looking it directly in its large round black eyes. "Let's get right to business Burreedo-bro. Did you bring the stuff?"

Burreedo picked up a small cooler from the ground and placed it on the table. "Po-pa-pe-po-pa-po po-pa-pe pa-po." He spoke in a strange alien language, of which I couldn't understand.

"Do you want to use the translator app on my holo-phone?" I offered it to my brother.

"No need, little bro. I happen to speak a little Burrodean." Randy cleared his throat before turning back to the alien. "Pa-pa pee-pee poop po-po."

Burreedo squinted his large black eyes, looking a bit irritated. "Po-pa po-po-po?"

"Poop pee-poo poop." Randy continued on.

Judging from Burreedo's facial expressions, something told me that Randy didn't actually know what he was saying.

I pulled up the translator app, as Burreedo spoke again. "Pa-po pe-pa po-po-pa-po pa-pa-pe-po pee-pa-pa po-pe po-po!? (Did you come here to buy these energy drinks or just insult me!?)"

There was no doubt a misunderstanding occurring. I was certain that this guy wasn't selling what we were looking for.

"Randy, I think we made a mistake." I whispered.

"Don't worry, I'm wearing him down, good." He completely ignored me and continued conversing in gibberish. "Poop pa poo-pee-pe-."

Both Burreedo and my brother noticed the other reaching for their belt. I wasn't sure who drew first, but the next thing I knew, each had a condiment bottle in hand. Randy had mustard and Burreedo had mayo. Before I could blink, there was the fart-like sound of a bottle being squeezed.

There was a brief pause before Burreedo let out a shout. "Po-po-pa-pa!"

Randy had managed to get a direct hit in his eyes. Burreedo aggressively rubbed them as they profusely watered.

Randy twirled his mustard bottle with his hand before sheathing it back into the belt of his spacesuit. "You thought you were gonna get the slip on me, didn't-." A laser bolt suddenly whizzed past his head, unintentionally striking the glass cup being held by the octopus-like patron, sitting at the table behind us. The octopus immediately drew its laser gun and returned fire. The establishment broke out into a flurry of lasers, as dozens of bar goers started shooting and throwing glass bottles about. It seemed the little scene my brother caused, riled up the other patrons.

Without a moment's notice, Randy grabbed the cooler and tipped the table over onto its side to shield us. "Alright, little bro, on the count of three, we make a dash for the exit."

Technically, he was about to steal Burreedo's cooler of energy drinks, but with us currently being shot at, I didn't really have time to explain that.

He raised his hand. "One... Two... Three..."

We booked it as fast as we could toward the door, ducking and rolling, as we avoided lasers and other various objects, such as chairs and bottles being thrown at us. As we managed to escape the cantina, we quickly slipped into the crowd outside and headed back to our ship.

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Before it even had a chance to catch my breath, Randy slammed down the cooler on the floor of our truck’s cargo hold and tossed off its lid. "We finally got it, little bro! You'll finally be able to eat my burgers again."

I shook my head and sighed. "We screwed up, Randy. That's not a cure."

"Nonsense, it says 'Lone Star Cure' right on the can. Now come over here and drink up." He grabbed a can from the cooler and cracked it open.

"I'm telling you, it's just an energy dri-." Before I could finish my sentence, Randy shoved the drink in my face and forcibly dumped it down my throat. It tasted like a disgusting mess of artificial sweeteners and aluminum. Of all the things I've consumed in my life, this had to have been the most synthetic tasting.

"Let's test it out!" He excitedly pulled a burger from thin air and started bringing it toward my mouth.

"Stop, it's not going to-!" The moment the beef patty touched my lips, my entire body broke out into hives, while my face turned purple and swelled up like a balloon. "Pe-pe-." I was unable to get words to come from my puffy lips.

"What the duck? It didn't work." He quickly grabbed my Pepipen syringe from my pocket and stabbed me in the leg with it, piercing my suit.

Immediately my symptoms subsided and I returned to normal. "I've been trying to tell you that we mistook that online forum post. Lone Star Cure isn't a cure for lone star tick bites, it's just a crappy energy drink."

Randy pounded the metal interior wall with his hand. "Duck! I thought we finally found it. I swear, I won't rest until I undo the damage that evil fast food clown's done."

"You did your best, Randy. I know, we'll find a cure eventually. We just need to be patient." I attempted to console him. "You know what, I know cooking always cheers you up. Why don't we chart a course for a new planet and set up shop for a bit."

"You know what? You’re right little bro. No use crying over spilt milk." He got a smirk on his face, as he returned to his typical positive self. Jumping in the driver's seat, he revved the engine. "Buckle up, cuz we're headed full speed to whatever planet ends up in our path."

I came prepared, knowing all too well that getting to the passenger seat, let alone buckling up was just a pipe dream. Putting on my newly acquired football helmet and pads, I prepared for what's become an everyday occurrence to me.

Without warning, Randy slammed his foot down on the accelerator, sending our ship into orbit and me tumbling around in the back, hitting my body against every surface in our kitchen. Once again my adventures with my brother in our food truck in space continue…