Peppered Beefsteak, having escaped the CIA and the confines of the 3rd Dimension, was a smuggler of the highest order. Not of diamonds, or gold, or even rare spices, but of something far more valuable in the 7th Dimension: Intergalactic Suboxone.
Now, you might be thinking, ‘Suboxone? That’s just a drug for people who are addicted to opioids.’ And you’d be right, in the 3rd Dimension. But in the 7th, Suboxone was the currency of choice. It was the fuel for the sentient, self-aware, and highly addictive space-faring robots known as ‘The Bots.’ These Bots, with their insatiable need for Suboxone, were the backbone of the 7th Dimension’s economy.
Peppered Beefsteak, a man of simple tastes and even simpler morals, saw an opportunity. He’d stumbled upon a stash of Suboxone, enough to fuel a Bot for a millennium, and he was determined to make a fortune. The only problem? The 7th Dimension’s Customs Agents, a group of beings who looked like sentient, talking cacti with a penchant for bureaucratic red tape.
‘This is going to be a piece of cake,’ Peppered Beefsteak muttered to himself, as he loaded the Suboxone into his spaceship, a rickety contraption he affectionately called ‘The Rusty Bucket.’ He’d been smuggling for years, and he knew the ropes. He’d even developed a special technique for getting past the Customs Agents: a combination of charm, a well-placed bribe, and a healthy dose of ‘forgetfulness.’
He approached the Customs checkpoint, a shimmering portal that pulsed with an eerie green light. ‘Good day, sir,’ Peppered Beefsteak said, his voice dripping with honey. ‘Just a simple merchant, passing through with a few… uh… essential goods.’
The Customs Agent, a cactus with a face like a wrinkled prune, squinted at him. ‘Essential goods, you say? And what might those be?’
‘Oh, just some… uh… spices,’ Peppered Beefsteak stammered, his mind racing. ‘Very rare spices. For a… uh… special customer.’
The Agent, clearly not buying it, leaned closer. ‘Spices, eh? And what kind of spices might those be?’
Peppered Beefsteak, in a moment of desperation, blurted out, ‘They’re… uh… Suboxone spices! Very potent, very… uh… addictive.’
The Agent’s eyes widened. ‘Suboxone spices? You’re smuggling Suboxone?’
‘No, no, no!’ Peppered Beefsteak cried, his voice rising in panic. ‘I’m just a humble spice merchant! I wouldn’t know a Suboxone spice if it hit me in the face!’
The Agent, clearly not convinced, began to search The Rusty Bucket. Peppered Beefsteak, realizing his charade was crumbling, decided to take a different approach. He pulled out a small, shimmering vial filled with a viscous, purple liquid. ‘Here,’ he said, offering it to the Agent. ‘A little something to… uh… sweeten the deal.’
The Agent, his eyes gleaming with avarice, snatched the vial. ‘What is this?’ he asked, sniffing it cautiously.
‘It’s… uh… a special kind of… uh… space-juice,’ Peppered Beefsteak said, his voice trembling. ‘It’s… uh… very potent. And… uh… very addictive.’
The Agent, unable to resist the allure of the space-juice, took a large gulp. His eyes glazed over, and he began to sway. ‘Oh, this is… uh… fantastic,’ he mumbled, his voice slurring. ‘I… uh… feel… uh… so… uh… relaxed.’
Peppered Beefsteak, seeing his opportunity, quickly slipped past the Agent and into the portal. He was free! He had successfully smuggled the Suboxone past the Customs Agents, thanks to a little bit of luck, a lot of improvisation, and a vial of highly potent space-juice.
As he flew away in The Rusty Bucket, Peppered Beefsteak couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘I’m a genius,’ he said to himself, patting his own back. ‘A genius with a knack for… uh… spices.’
He had no idea that the space-juice, a concoction he’d found in a dusty corner of his spaceship, was actually a powerful hallucinogenic that would soon have the 7th Dimension’s Customs Agents seeing double, triple, and even quadruple. But that was a problem for another day. For now, Peppered Beefsteak was a free man, with a pocket full of Suboxone and a head full of dreams of intergalactic riches.
Lasagna Life 
Leave a comment