The distinguished gentleman with the graying beard and the $75 haircut wearing a $250 Brooks Brothers flannel shirt and custom tailored blue jeans tuns to the camera and a smile spreads across his face. "Hi, welcome back. This is the tenth show in our series on wormhole weapons. If you remember last week we watched the actual firing of a prototype wormhole device and the entire Gammik base and a large portion of the continent it was on was vaporized. But this week we have something REALLY special for you. In the wake of the Scarren attack we're going behind the scenes with the 52nd PK Attack Wing to see what really goes on in a military unit. I'm Bob Village and welcome to This Old Bomb."

(Cue lame theme music)

This Old Bomb is brought to you through a grant from the Henry J. Kaiser foundation, from the Katharine T. and William G. Banana Foundation, and from generous donations from Member PKBS stations and viewers like you.

"Hi. I'm Bob Village, together, as always, with our Master Demolition expert Norm Abraham, hi Norm."

Norm turns stiffly to the camera, his 3 dench thick glasses make his eyeballs look as big as Christmas tree ornaments. "Uh, Hi Bob."

"Well here we are Norm, on the PeaceKeeper Command Carrier LucyTania under the command of Captain Baylor Space who is here with us now." smiled Bob "Captain Space, do you mind if I ask you a tough question?"

"No, go right ahead Bob." Said Baylor smugly. "We members of the officer corps have been highly trained in media relations and understand that you civilians know very little about the important functions of our duties. Nothing you can ask will phase me in the least."

"Ok then, what's with that pony tail captain? It looks like you got a broomstick growing out the back of your head."

Captain Baylor Space's only response was a nervous twitch under his left eye.

"No really," continued Bob "It makes your nugget look like the south end of a northbound drannit. Does your mom let you go out in public like this?"

"My Mother is not a topic of discussion," said Space stiffly, "and neither is the manner of which I tie back my hair."

"I understand that quite well captain. I was just saying that maybe being out here in space so long you didn't get the word that fashion in men's hair styles has changed about 20 years ago and it's no longer considered masculine to..."

"My aid will assist you with your tour." Said Space tersely and stepped back and allowed the door to his quarters to slam closed. The sounds of weeping could be faintly heard through the thick plas-steel door

"Some people don't do well under pressure Bob."

"You're right as usual Norm. Joining us now is Captain Baylor Spaces personal aid PKPitDog." Said Bob as he bent down to shake hands with a dog wearing the Peace Keeper uniform. "PitDog, welcome to This Old Bomb."

"Woof"

"As we all are pitdog." Smiled Bob. "Captain Space promised us a tour of the 52nd PKAttackWing. What can you tell us about them?"

"Woof"

"True, but we have heard some good things about them too. Why don't you lead the way pitdog?"

"Woof"

"Bob?" queried Norm "My translator microbes won't handle Terrier. Can you translate for me?"

Bob covered the microphone with his hand "We'll edit this whole segment out in production."

Norm nodded in agreement as they made their way to the section of the command carrier that housed the 52nd PKAttackWing. They wandered through hangers where PeaceKeepers marched in formation and drilled in hand to hand combat, technicians scurried about repairing and preparing Prowlers and Marauders for their next mission. Members of slave races insured that the area of the hanger that their chains would allow them to reach was spotless and shining.

After turning down twisting corridors and climbing down ladders and moving through more passageways that were filled with razor sharp PeaceKeepers heading for parts unknown in a hurry, they finally reached a large hanger. Gone was the hustle and bustle of the other areas of the huge command carrier. The lighting in the hanger was dim and only a few technicians could be seen working on the prowlers and Marauders that filled the hanger. Pitdog lead Bob and Norm to a technician who was working under a Prowler.

"Excuse me." Called out Bob

"Yeah? What can I do for ya?" said the technician not stopping his maintenance.

"I'm Bob Village and this is Norm Abraham."

"So what? Hand me that three quarters box-open end wrench will ya?"

Bob searched through the tools and found the one the technician requested and offered it to the tech, careful not to get grease on himself. "We're from This old Bomb." Bob continued.

"Never heard of it." The technician pushed himself out from under the Prowler. His nametag read PKMasterMechanic. "So what do ya want, eh?" he wiped his hands on a greasy rag.

"We'd like to interview you for This Old Bomb." Said Bob

PKMasterMechanic shook his head slowly. "Nope sorry. Can't get ya in before three thirty on Thursday. Maybe noon at the soonest, but you'll have to drop off your camera crew."

"Woof"

PKMasterMechanic looked at the dog annoyed. "Look pitdog, I got a front end and a new set of landing gear on this prowler, I got two over there for a plutonium, oil, and filter change, that there's a marauder with no back-up lights, and the bosses piece of dren is over due inspection! Uff Da!"

"Woof"

"Damn skippy! Now if you gentlemen would excuse me..." PKMasterMechanic lay back on his creeper and slid under the prowler.

Bob shrugged at Norm as Pitdog led them through the hanger past odd scenes of technicians performing maintenance that would never pass muster in the other PK Wings. As they passed PKBaneill they noticed that while refueling the prowler he would slyly take a sip from the fuel line. Finally they got to the edge of the hanger and entered an office marked 52nd Weapons. Beneath those words was a plaque that read "If You Ain't Ammo - You Ain't Skeezka!"

They entered the room and inside the old sergeant glared at them suspiciously. PKPitDog hopped up on the sergeants couch and stuck his muzzle in the Sarges coffee cup. The lap-lap-lap sound coming out of the cup left no question what he was up to. "What can I do for you boys?" Asked PKAmmoTroop.

"I'm Bob Village and this is Norm Abraham and we're from This Old Bomb."

"So what?"

"We get that a lot around here." Said Bob, "Captain Baylor Space said you'd show us around the 52nd and let us in on some of the behind the scenes action of the Attack Wing."

PKAmmoTroop looked at Bob Village for a long time. "You're lying through your teeth." He growled.

"So what?" said Bob a little miffed that his television exclusive was falling apart on him.

"Nothing, just wanted you to know that I know. Come on, I'll show you around." Said PKAT as he slowly stood.

"What were you drinking?" Asked Norm staring at Pitdog who was now lying on his back with all four paws in the air and snoring loudly.

"Ummmm... Decaff?"

They went out into the hallway and the camera lights came on and Bob started the interview "So why do you have an AttackWing made up of nothing but scapers?"

"Well Bob, it's an all volunteer force dedicated to the capture of the renegade Leviathan Moya and her entire crew." Said PKAmmoTroop with an air of authority.

"But aren't Scapers FANS of Moya and the escaped prisoners on her? Why would you want to hunt them down and capture them?"

"Considering the cost of a convention ticket we figure that this is the most likely way to meet our heroes."

"Heroes, nice." Nodded Bob

"Let me show you the fic-mill." Said PKAmmoTroop as he opened the door to an office. Inside there was row after row of computers with PK Scapers diligently typing away. Bob immediately saw that this office was a converted hanger and the desks were broken up into sections. Strung out scapers typing furiously populated the first section they came to. Coffee cups and soda bottles littered the floor as the scapers took full advantage of the sugar/caffeine rush to maniacally type as quickly as possible. Every now and then a scaper would yell "YESSSSS!" or "BOOM! Take THAT you Scarren mudder freller!"

Over the din of the clattering keyboards and gibbering typists PKAmmoTroop shouted "This is the Action/Adventure section. Here some of the most exciting fiction in the universe is written. It's estimated that this section alone types at the rate of 152,423 words per minute. Some of them are even spelled correctly!"

"Words, nice!" intoned Bob.

As they walked along they came to a section that was notably quieter. In fact the clatter of the keyboards was softer, gentler. The only sounds made by the authors were a quiet sob or a soft sigh. "This is the shippy section, Bob." Whispered the old sergeant "The authors here reach deep into their souls to put their deepest feelings down on paper."

"So what does the word 'shippy' actually mean?" asked Bob

Abruptly the sound of the typing ceased and Bob felt himself to be the target of hundreds of staring eyeballs. Suddenly PKaeryncrichton jumped up and screamed "YOU UNFEELING BASTAGE!!! HOW COULD YOU EVEN SAY A THING LIKE THAT?!?"

PKShipsCat put her arm around the weeping PKaeryncrichton and glared at Bob. "How could you... after all she's been through. You make me sick."

Bob looked at PKAmmoTroop. "Romance?"

"Yup."

"Nice"

They came upon a section that contained people that were laughing uproariously. They would look at their computer screen and break into shrieking gales of laughter. "And here we have the comedy section?" asked Bob.

"Nope." Answered PKAmmoTroop, "here we have the Beta Readers. A professional writer would have an editor, these folks just write for the sake of writing so they take turns editing each others work."

"But don't you have folks that do nothing but beta reading?"

"Oh yes Bob. Not many, but a few."

"And what do you call them?"

"Saints."

Soon they came upon a section where the writers all dressed very nicely - suits and ties for the men, floor length dresses for the women. A string quartet was playing Chopin piece softly in to one side of the office. "Here's the comedy section. It's a serious business." Said PKAmmoTroop as he sipped a nice '54 Chateau Rothschild that he took from the desk of Pkunohoo. "We feel that comedy is the more civilized method of writing, but maybe I'm prejudice."

"What's that section over there?" asked Bob pointing out a section of the office that was curtained off by heavy black fabric. Soft moans and some giggles could be heard coming from behind the curtain. And something that sounded oddly like the crack of a whip on occasion...

"That's the NC-17 section Bob, don't go there."

Bob turned to the camera and smiled. "Well that's about all the time we have for this week. Be sure to tune in next week for the second part of our visit with the 52nd PKAttackWing. We'll see the SPLATT shock troops in training, attend a meeting of the TUF, we'll be getting a test ride on a marauder, and PKWITGOB will tell us in great detail what she's been up to this week. All on the next This Old Bomb"

{Cue Cheesy theme music}

This Old Bomb was made possible by a grant from Hoboken Chemical Company. When you want to blow something to pieces call your local Hoboken man.

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