Another day, another massage

A few hours lying on the beach seemed what the doctor ordered so my intrepid wingman and I wander through the bowels of the Novotel and the mall of 2 mangos to the house of sand (closest beach we could find). Once inside, I look for the usual pink outfits but am greeted by an ensign from Star Trek. I am told this is Sunday and the uniforms are different to appease the Chinese clients. Apparently Sunday is wives day and the uniforms exude professional constraint, not hottie handjob palace. And so our story unfolds...

We stop by the bridge to evaluate the crew. Mr spoX compares the available talent against the database in his tricorder. His brief analysis yields an almost immediate decision and we're off to change into our Star Fleet PJs.

We're escorted to the transporter rooms awaiting our backup. Eventually we are approached by the team members we requested for our away missions: I've drawn specialist 129 that's all of 80 lbs soaking wet. The perfect companion for this type of sortie.

We transport directly to the Shrine of Massage and so begins her exploration of my topography. Her attention to detail is noted by this mission commander (more then once I might add). Her hands glide, delve, knead...

* * RED ALERT * * RED ALERT * *

We have, inadvertantly, stumbled across the territory of a neighboring Chinklon couple on their own campaign. It appears a significant portion of their crusade is to TALK AS LOUD AS FUCKEN POSSIBLE. As the away team leader I'm now faced with having to complete my mission while under attack. The Chinklons employ their devastating Phonic Blasters again and again. Their weapons repeatedly assail me and the ensign while she's in the process of mapping my epidermis. Just as the enemy's attack is starting to waver, the first Chinklon receives a call on his communicator and suddenly the danger is renewed as there are now THREE Chinklons using Phonic Blasters thanks to the asshole that invented speakerphone.

I'm starting to panic - what can I do? Assaulted on all sides, this doesn't look good for the crew. Suddenly, the communicator held by the enemy commander falls silent and the aural assault comes to a grinding halt. Perhaps they were teleported out, their weapons caused their own heads to implode or maybe they just decided to invade the free buffet. Whatever the reason we're now allowed to finish our mission in peace, however I've been gravely wounded in the battle. The only way for ensign 129 to save my life is to reduce the dangerous buildup of jizzonium in my crotch. She quickly administers first aid applying quite a bit of salve, paired with therapeutic hand strokes, to the affected region. She eventually, successfully, extracts the jizzonium - saving my life. The crewmember excuses herself to clean up while I bask in the afterglow of another successful campaign. Life is good...

E

This is great Epi. Thanks for posting this. You had me rolling most of the way and your brilliant use of language to convey the experience of this place was wildly entertaining.

Great fun. Wives day at Sands is new to me. How does that work? Shared locker rooms?

EPI !!
as usual, writing skills that draws attention !!
excellent trip report !

(Message edited by the_happy_monge on March 26, 2008)