Fan Fiction- Alf, Zombie Han Solo and J. J. Abrams Dispose of a Dead Hooker

“Shit, Han, what did you do!” Alf lifts the lifeless girl’s arm and lets it flop onto the floor.

Han crawls out from under a pile of cigarette butts on the sweat and cum stained leather sofa. He rubs his pupil-less eyes and wipes cocaine from his brittle nostrils. Upon seeing the dead girl at his feet, he snaps to attention. “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He staggers around the corpse to get a good look at her bloody, empty skull. “I guess I must have gotten the munchies in the middle of the night.”

“The mini fridge is stocked with cow brains, why didn’t you just eat one of those!”

“I don’t know! I was fuckin’ high! I was half asleep! I don’t fuckin’ remember!”

Alf stands up and begins pacing their trashed penthouse suite. “Well, I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do now.”

“Let’s just jump in the Falcon and get the hell out of here.”

“This is a five-star hotel. We can’t just leave a bloody corpse on the floor.” Alf anxiously rubs the matted fur on his head as he stares at the body. “Can’t you just eat the rest of her?”

“No way, man, I’m not a goddam cannibal.”

“That’s bullshit, Han. Back on Xadox when we accidentally suffocated that Tigress hooker, I took one for the team and ate the entire body even though she was only half cat. You owe me one.”

Han shakes his head. “I literally can’t eat anything except brains. Besides, it would take me days to eat that much food, even if her entire body was made out of brains. I say we make a run for it. If we leave now without formally checking out, it’ll be hours before anyone comes up here. We could be halfway across the galaxy by then.”

“Fuck that! She’s not just some street whore—she works for the casino. If she’s found dead in our room, some serious people will be coming after us. First, it’ll be the cops, then it’ll be bounty hunters. I know you’re used to being a wanted man, but I can’t live like that. Changing my name, dying my fur, constantly on the move, constantly looking over my shoulder.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’ve never had to change my name or dye my hair. Anyway, it’s a big universe. You go far enough away from your enemies and most of the time, they forget about you.”

“Or put you in carbonite.”

“Oh, shut up, that was one time.”

Alf walks over to the window and shuts the blinds. “I’m just saying I’d rather walk away from this without anyone knowing what happened up here.”

“Ok…Ok…lemme think.” Han plops onto the giant heart-shaped bed. He scratches a piece of rotting skin on his cheek. “We could call J.J.”

“That guy really annoys the shit out of me. And you know once he shows up, we won’t be able to get rid of him.”

“What choice do we have? When it comes to cleaning up messes like this, he’s the best.”

Alf sighs. “I guess you’re right. Call him up.”

J.J. keeps Han on the phone for entirely too long, yammering on about his most recent bowel movement, how one log of shit was miraculously shaped like the number “2.” It takes all of Han’s willpower not to tear off his gray, jerky-like ears. Eventually, J.J. agrees to help his two desperate friends.

Afraid to leave the room to score more cocaine, Alf and Han keep themselves occupied with video games and idle conversation while they wait. It’s excruciating, mostly because they don’t actually like each other very much. At least not when they’re sober. Since his death and subsequent resurrection as a zombie, Han has become even more cynical, more egotistical, and more likely to “shoot first.” Meanwhile, since Willy kicked him out of the house, Alf has become more self-centered, more sarcastic and more likely to eat your cat when you’re not looking. The more time these two bitter drifters spend together the more insufferable they both become. And yet, since nobody else can tolerate either of them, they’ve become dependent on each other. Sure, they have J.J., but he’s too needy, he talks too much and he’s total chick repellant. Luckily for them, he still comes through when they need him. Even after all the wedgies they’ve given him over the years.

A mere thirty minutes after the phone call, there’s a knock at the door. Paranoid, Han peers through the peephole. It’s J.J., wearing a dark gray suit, his usual hipster glasses, and a goofy, enthusiastic grin. His forehead is damp with sweat despite the air conditioning blasting in the hallway. He has with him a bulky black duffle bag. Han opens the door and pulls J.J. into the room by his lapel.

“Hey Han, hey Gordon,” J.J. whispers.

“Did you just call me Gordon?”

“Yeah I—”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me Gordon, ok? That name’s for family only.”

“Sorry…Alf.”

“It’s ok.” Alf takes a breath. “Anyway, thanks for coming on such short notice.”

J.J. dabs his face with a handkerchief he had in his jacket pocket. “Han said it was an emergency.”

“It is,” Han says, once again looking through the peephole to make sure J.J. wasn’t followed. “Thanks for coming.”

J.J. approaches the body on the floor. When he gets a look at the girl’s face, he drops the duffle bag with a thud and falls back onto the bed. His beady eyes are wide behind his thick glasses and his mouth is agape.

“You OK?” Han asks. Han knows from personal experience that this isn’t J.J.’s first encounter with a corpse.

“I…know this girl. At least I used to.”

“Really?” Alf asks.

J.J. lifts his glasses and rubs his eyes. “She went to high school with me.”

“But you’re, like, fifty years old!” barks Alf. “Are you saying this hot blond girl is also fifty years old?”

J.J. nods. “You see that Pac-Man-shaped mole on her neck? I’d know that mole anywhere. She used to be really insecure about it, even though she was otherwise gorgeous. I suspect it’s the main reason she didn’t realize she was out of my league and agreed to go to prom with me.”

“I’m sure lots of people have moles like that. No way this girl’s fifty.”

“Trust me. I’m sure it’s her.”

“Wait,” Han interjects, “you went to prom with a hot blond girl?”

“Not exactly. We were planning to go together, but uh…things didn’t quite work out.”

“What happened?” Alf asks.

“You know the movie There’s Something About Mary?”

“You got cum in her hair?”

“No, the worse thing—I got my dick caught in my zipper and had to be rushed to the hospital. Right after her retarded brother misinterpreted a hand gesture I made and beat the shit out of me.”

“Yikes,” says Han. “You should have sued the Farrelly brothers.”

“What good would it have done?”

“I guess…”

“OK!” Alf says, clapping his fuzzy hands together. “J.J., I’m sorry if this is weird for you now, but we really must do something about—”

“Shelby. That’s her real name.”

“Hm. She really looks more like a ‘Bubbles’. Anyway, we have to do something about Shelby here.”

J.J. fingers the zipper on his duffle bag. “I have this acid that will dissolve all of her flesh in less than an hour, leaving just her bones, which we can wrap in plastic and carry out of here in this bag.” J.J. swallows. “But, uh, do you guys mind giving me a moment alone with Shelby so I can say good-bye?”

“Sure thing,” Han answers.

After the three men drag Shelby into the bathtub, Alf and Han step out of the room and shut the door. They sit uncomfortably on opposite sides of the bed, not sure how long they’ll be waiting.

Twenty minutes go by.

Han stares at the bathroom door. “He sure has a lot to say to a girl he barely knew and hasn’t seen in over thirty years.”

“You don’t think he’s…”

“Making up for prom night? No. J.J. wouldn’t do that…would he?”

“Well, I don’t know him as well as you—”

Just then, the bathroom door opens and J.J shuffles out. He’s holding his glasses and his eyes are red and damp. Also, his shirt is partially untucked, and his fly is down. “OK. I’m ready.” He picks up the duffle bag.

“Do you need our help in there?” Han asks.

“No, I should be OK. Actually, while I’m taking care of the body, maybe you guys can clean up the blood out here.”

“We can probably handle that,” Alf answers.

J.J. reaches into his bag and tosses Alf an abrasive sponge, a towel and a can of Blood-B-Gone. “OK, this shouldn’t take too long,” he says as he heads back into the bathroom.

He leaves the door open this time, as the powerful acid used to dissolve the flesh is highly toxic and the fumes need to be ventilated. He puts on thick rubber gloves and a filter mask. After filling the tub halfway with water, he adds two liters of liquid from a bottle labeled only with skull and crossbones graphics. He then sits back on the toilet seat and stares down at the floor.

Meanwhile, Alf and Han work diligently to clean up the blood. Well, it’s mostly Alf doing the work—Blood-B-Gone is not quite as corrosive as whatever J.J. is using in the bathroom, but it’s still too much for Han’s decaying skin. They consider asking J.J. if he has an extra set of gloves, but they decide they’d rather not interrupt him while he’s apparently still mourning the loss of his old friend even as he’s melting off her flesh. Considering her brain was eaten out by a stoned zombie, there’s a surprisingly small amount of blood in the carpet. It’s quite a stubborn stain, however, and it takes some serious scrubbing on Alf’s part to get it out. Luckily for him, his Melmacian constitution keeps him immune to the toxic chemicals he’s working with.

It takes almost forty-five minutes for all of Shelby’s flesh to dissolve, and then another half hour to rinse and dry the bones, then wrap them up. Her clothes would have actually taken significantly longer to dissolve, so J.J. stuffs those into the duffle bag along with her purse and phone. By the time Han and Alf pack all their personal belongings and do a final walk-through of the room to make sure all the evidence of their unfortunate night has been removed, they only have fifteen minutes before they are expected to check out.

Just as they finish settling up with the front desk clerk, two armed security guards rush into the lobby.

“Take it easy,” Alf whispers to his friends. “We don’t know they’re here for us.” The three proceed briskly towards the revolving door at the main entrance.

“You there! Guy with the glasses!” shouts the larger and more intimidating officer. “We need to have a look in your bag.” He approaches quickly, with his partner following closely behind.

Han instinctively reaches for his empty holster before remembering he lost his blaster at a Blackjack table last night.

“Don’t worry guys,” says J.J. calmly. “I got this.” He throws open his jacket and draws a phaser from his inside pocket just as the burly guard grabs his sleeve. During the ensuing struggle, J.J manages to fire off a shot that hits his attacker in the chest. The guard drops to the ground.

The second guard closes in. He’s more nervous and clumsy than his partner was. He fumbles for his own weapon, but Alf manages to subdue him with a fierce bite to the ankle. Han finishes him off with a haymaker that topples him next to his partner.

“Follow me, guys!” J.J. yells. “The Enterprise is parked right across the street.”

Han shakes his head. “We’ll never get away in that piece of shit! We’re taking the Falcon.”

J.J. pauses, gazing at his ship through the glass door.

C’mon!” Han yells. “This way.” He leads them away from the main entrance to the back stairwell and down into the garage.

J.J. has to take out two more guards before they reach the Millennium Falcon. He discards the duffle bag as he follows Han and Alf up the boarding ramp.

“What are you doing?” asks Han.

“Shelby’s phone is in there,” he says, still panting from their sprint through the garage. “They’ve been tracking it. I’m guessing that’s why they wanted to search my bag.”

“Good thinking.”

Once inside, Han races to the cockpit and fires up the ship’s engines. Alf takes a seat next to him in the copilot’s chair.

“Where’s J.J.?” asks Han.

“I saw him climbing down the gun turret ladder.”

“What the hell was he doing there? I hope he doesn’t think that’s the bathroom.”

“Whatever, he’ll be fine. Let’s just get out of here already.”

Han pulls away just as a dozen more guards show up. He hears the sound of laser blasts as he emerges from the garage. The street in front of him lights up. Pedestrians scatter for cover.

“Those shots are coming from the Falcon. What the hell is J.J. doing?”

As Han flies over The Enterprise, the Falcon’s laser bolts find their mark. The Enterprise explodes in a dazzling ball of flame.

“What the fuck!” yells Alf.

Han watches the blazing wreckage from the cockpit window until it shrinks down to the size of a candle flame and eventually disappears out of view as he passes through the planet’s atmosphere and into space. “Oh, J.J….” He says quietly.

“What? You know why he did that? Why he blew up his own ship?”

“That ship was a part of him. He’d rather destroy it himself than let it fall into the hands of the police.”

Alf shakes his head. “I can fly a spaceship, but I guess I’ll never understand what it means to be a real pilot.”

Blowing up the Enterprise serves another key purpose as well. Due to the close proximity of civilians near the wreckage, officials have to prioritize dealing with the fire on the ground. Only two ships are initially sent in pursuit of the Falcon and Han loses them easily. Once they reach deep space, they’re able to relax as they think of a safe place to lay low for a while.

J.J finally joins Han and Alf in the cockpit. After several minutes of silence, he finally speaks, his voice hoarse due to the lump in his throat. “I hope you guys don’t think I’m a pussy, but my phaser was on stun. All those guards I shot will be fine.”

Han reaches back and puts his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No, J.J., we don’t think you’re a pussy. You really saved our bacon today.”

With that, the three men gaze out the window at their uncertain future, wondering what kind of kooky adventure awaits them in the next galaxy. Perhaps, looking for redemption, they’ll volunteer in a soup kitchen somewhere. Perhaps there will just be more gambling and hookers instead. Wherever they end up, whatever they decide to do with themselves, their nights will almost certainly involve plenty of cocaine.

“Hey Han,” Alf says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the next time we get fucked up together, I’m going to sleep wearing a football helmet.”

Han chuckles. “Fair enough, ole’ buddy. Fair enough.”

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RK Galaga

RK Galaga is the author of "Prehistoric Passion From Mars," "The Erotic Secrets of Shelley Frankenstein," "Lust Finds a Way," and "The Erotic Adventures of Paul Bunyan."
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