Established: 03 March 2002

Current News
News Archive
Episode Reviews
Character Profiles
Spoiler Archive
Kemps Corner
Poll Archive
Farscape Links
Other Links

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, as would pictures of wives and girlfriends naked. Submissions? Anything really. Click on the smiley face!

All text, HTML etc. on this site is the property of the webmaster and is not to be used without the webmasters permission. He's an amicable sort of fellow, so if you ask nicely, I'm sure it won't be a problem. Please don't snurch!

© Copyright Dylan Pemberton 2002.





A huge, red planet, its gaseous skin rippling and bubbling as it slowly rotates around the giant dying star at the centre of the system. Beyond them, a gallery of stars, like grains of silver on a black bed, and against these, the gently curving sweep of a living ship, a Leviathan. Moya.

Inwards, through vast empty hangars, down corridors, arched and alive. DRD's scuttle here and there as if celebrating the emptiness of the ship and the freedom it brings. Into the bowels of the ship, the heart, where it's noble Pilot sits. The sounds a laughter, uninhibited and tinged with a hint of insanity, drift like mists towards us as we draw closer, and into the den....


desert island discs, big boxes and kirk douglas


"What the frell is a desert island?" D'Argo complained.

Rygel raised one of his prominent eyebrows. "Did someone say dessert?"

"Desert, toady!" corrected Chiana.

"Look," John interrupted, taking a sizeable gulp from the beaker of Koolan juice in front of him. "Forget the desert island, lets say its somewhere remote, somewhere where you're all by yourself, alone."

"Rygel's fan club?" offered Chiana, earning one of many disgruntled gazes from the offended Hynerian.

"Look, girlie," he trumpeted. "I've been fairly generous with you so far, but I swear, I am a Dominar and can only be pushed so far!"

"Take it easy, Rygel!" yelled John.

"What, am I to be only a figure of fun?" responded Rygel. "Is that my designated role in this farce of ours. You forget what I am?" He dropped his head. "What I was?"

"We're sorry," spoke Zhaan, always first to appease. "We mean you no offence. It's just a way of saying how much we like you?"

"Yes, Rygel," followed Pilot. "you are a valued member of this crew, and well liked by all."

Rygel harrumphed. "You're a bad pilot, but a worse liar, Pilot."

"Hey, Sparky," offered John. "On my planet, its a way of showing what good friends you are. If you can yank someones chain, it means your pretty close. I don't talk this way to strangers!"

"You do!" burst Aeryn. "All the frelling time!"

"You do," confirmed D'Argo matter-of-factly.

John look around him. All heads were nodding, even Pilots.

"You do, John," repeated Stark, "when I first met you, you were very rude."

John laughed. "You're kidding me, right!? Starky you were crazier than a coyote with mittens, and I think you're all just jealous cos the way I can open up to strangers."

"John," started Aeryn, placing her empty beaker back onto the table. "Do you remember the Plokavoids?" John frowned, as if about to refute the implied insult, but he thought better of it, and remained silent. "What about the Frevvits? You kept calling their Divine Leader, Spartacus."

"He looked like Kirk Douglas!" John replied with exasperation.

"Yes, and he nearly had us all killed," Aeryn finished.

"Yeah, but..." John began, then realising he was beat, gave up and filled everyone's glasses.

"I know a lonely place," said D'Argo. "On my planet, there is punishment known as Exile. It is an ancient law that states any warrior who weeps during battle, shall be cast into Exile, so that he can fully contemplate his failure. We don't follow that law much any more."

"Cool," said John. "Is it like an island?"

"No, John. It is a big box."

"Is that not a little inelegant?" offered Zhaan.

D'Argo shrugged. "It serves it's purpose. They called it Ran Spit."

"Ran Spit Island discs it is then," flourished John. "You know the rules. Three items you would take if you marooned on a des-, no, a Ran Spit Island. Right, Chi, you first."

Chiana giggled. "Well, first item would definitely be a full-size picture of John Crichton!"

D'Argo growled. John flushed.

"No, just kidding! It'd just be a small one!" giggled Chiana, slowly recovering, and finally adding,"I would definitely have to take my Shuriki."

"Your what?" John asked.

"It's a kind of diary," Chiana explained.

"Sure, good, diaires are good," John said, nodding enthusiastically. "Okay, and two?"

"I would take my Qualta Blade so that I could blast my way out!" interrupted D'Argo, nearly jumping out of his seat with excitement.

John frowned. "You been thinking about that one for a while, havent you, big guy?" John paused and took another gulp of his Koolan juice. "You heard the rules. Its not your turn."

"Johns right," followed Aeryn earnestly. "Its Chiana, then Pilot, then Rygel, Zhaan, Stark, you, me and John."

John sighed. "Thank you, Aeryn the Obvious. D'Argo, you can't take a weapon in there because its not only stupid, its not the game. No guns, no grenades, no keys or any dren like that. You understand?"

"That is stupid, John. I would want to get out of the box. Why would I take my diary?" He sneered at Chiana.

"That's not the point!" John reiterated. "You're in, but you can't get out! No way, no sir!"

"Can't get out? Then I would require only my sacrificial blade with which to slit my throat," conferred D'Argo with admirable resolve.

John glared.

D'Argo smiled.

Everyone laughed. "I had you going there, didn't I?" beamed D'Argo with school boyish verve.

"Yeah, okay, you got me," John agreed reluctantly. "Look at me! The big dumb human. I suppose there's no such thing as Exile."

"No, John," confirmed D'Argo, still struggling to contain his evident mirth.

John nodded. "Okay, but the point stands. Just three things, non-weapon related. Chiana, what's your next Ran Spit Island thingy?"

D'Argo roared with laghter.


"John," began D'Argo, tears streaming down his face, barely able to speak the words "Ran Spit is a manufacturer of warriors undergarments on my planet!"

John glowered. And then spoke through gritted teeth, "I don't care what they are, lets just hear the damn answer!"

"A potolong!" interjected Chiana, attempting to ease the tension. "There little furry animals on Nebari Prime. Very friendly, loyal, and they can sing too. You can teach 'em loads of songs and they sing them back to you when you want."

"Right on!" called John. "We gotta Sony potolong, and what else?"

Before Chiana could speak, Aeryn interrupted, "This is a little dull, John."

"Yes, John," confirmed Zhaan. "The more we play, the more I feel the urge to drink."

"Yes," piped Pilot. "I have to agree John. For a being like myself, with my multitude of multitasking skills, this is not very enthralling."

"Okay, fine," John conceded grumpily, "How about you guys then? Who made me entertainments manager anyway? Why don't you think of game!"

"There is always strip Bentak!" offered Rygel, grinning toothily.

"Why you dirty little toad!" shouted Chiana.

"That's it! i warned you, girlie. Now you're going to feel the full force of my most Serene anger! I'm going to make sure..........".

More laughter.


<prev        next>

DISCLAIMER: (Don't sue us, we're pathetic) This is so made up. We mean absolutely no offence. We all love Farscape, and the actors and crew involved in making our favourite show. This should be seen for what it is, a tribute. If by some bizarre, and frankly disturbing coincidence Mr. Browder does indeed enjoy the company of voles, then we apologise unreservedly.

Farscape and all it's subsidiary bits are owned by some other people and not us. Anything illegal we do is purely by accident and that includes the credit card scam and Bob's marijuana farm.