Hysteria

            When Jimmy finally strolled into the command room, eight stolid thugs were waiting with noroblasters trained on his forehead. The robot warlord rose from the floor in a cloud of compressed steam and said, “Well ya finally made it.” Jimmy pulled out his six-shooter, Texas-style, and said, “Y’all messed with the wrong man.” I began wondering at this point if I had come to the wrong place. Jimmy tugged his cowboy hat’s brim low. The starship’s engines were a rhythmic thud beneath the steel floor. Suddenly, gunshots! Now music! Strobes! The greatest disco dance party of all time had begun!