You dramatically lean forward in your big swivel chair. The vomit collects in your throat as you stare directly into President Lightly’s pulsating orange eyes, the neon green veins on his forehead twisting and spewing fluid.

“Mr. President,” you state. “Or is it Mrs. President? Madam President? Do you Baargellians have a binary gender construct? Or is the concept of gender more fluid on Aargel? Are there genders? Sexes? Do you reproduce asexually? Do you even have honorifics like ‘mister,’ and if so, do they connote gender? They say when you assume, you make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me,’ and brother, I think I just made an ass out of myself! Wait, ‘brother?’ I did it again, didn’t I?”

All of your crew stares at you with nervous anticipation. You wipe a bit of sweat off your brow.

“President Lightly,” you continue. “Please don’t do anything rash. Do not touch the ‘X’ button on your desk, which I’m guessing launches a weapon. Then again, they say when you assume…”

President Lightly continues reaching for the button.

If your time ran out while reading this ending, click here.

Comments are closed.