Never Rad at Phoenix Fan Fusion

The Miscellany returns triumphant at a Phoenix Fan Fusion live show, featuring A Gentleman About Space and an important message from the Twin Star Alliance.


CONRAD: Hello, everyone. Welcome to this special edition of the Never Rad Miscellany. Today, we are welcoming all of you as new Miscellanists in person. What is Miscellanist you ask, telepathically? We comb the many Universes looking for the greatest stories known to any living and/or sapient being and we compile them in the annals of our Miscellany archives. Some of those stories we choose to share. Some of those stories we choose to only share with people we like. Some of those stories we only share with Darryll, because he can take it. Some of the stories we archive and never look at again. Some of the stories we can never ever ever ever forget. And perhaps we should not. 

  This is an exciting time as we are able to educate and propagandize directly to you in meat space. We are so excited to share with you all of the opportunities that come with being a Miscellanist, and we’ll even have the opportunity to share with you some of the high-quality media you’ll be working with in the near future. At any point, you can come up to the front here and sign up for our email list. Now before we can begin, we need to start with what we call “audience calibration.” This is an incredibly important step. You see, all of you could be coming in here with whatever kind of energy from whatever the fuck is going on in your lives here at the con. We’re late into day 1, so your friendships should not have been tried too dramatically, but there’s always the chance that you missed the opportunity to talk to Kate Mulgrew or you didn’t buy that thing you wanted, thinking you would have time to get it later, but instead it sold out and now you’re sad. We can summarize these feelings with the highly technical term “whack-ass energy” and we don’t need any of that. So, audience, new Miscellanists, friends, please assist me in doing some audience calibration. 

  Calibration test one: They have just announced that your very favorite celebrity has not decided to come to the event after all.

Wait for audience reaction.

Calibration test two: That thing you thought sold out is actually not sold out and you are in line just at the right time to get one. 

Wait for audience reaction.

Calibration test three: You’ve just seen the most horrifying thing in your life.

Wait for audience reaction.

Calibration test four: You’ve just heard the funniest joke in your entire life. 

Wait for audience reaction.

Calibration test five: You’re about to see, live and in person, the greatest podcast known to the Universe, The Never Rad Miscellany!

Wait for audience reaction.

We’ll work on that. I see we have some trust left to earn. Well, let’s go ahead and get things started.


MFX:                Some commercial music

SPOKESVOICE:        It can happen at any time, or any place, to anyone.

BEING 1:            You’ve got to be kidding me. 

SPOKESVOICE:        And if you’re not prepared, you may find yourself handling the fallout all on your own. Grief, anger, confusion. It can be too much to deal with.

BEING 2:            I can’t believe this.

SPOKESBEING:        You protect your home. You protect your vehicle. You protect your Dyson sphere. In some backwater worlds, you even have to protect your health. But now, there’s something new. Protection for what matters most. 

BEING 3:            [scream of rage]

SPOKESBEING:        Introducing Series Finale Insurance. 

BEING 1:            So those 9 years of character development were what, meaningless?

SPOKESBEING:        If you’re between the ages of 18 and 80, regardless of your health, you’re eligible for comprehensive series finale coverage from Amigo Insurance — coverage that can protect you and your loved ones when your favorite show says goodbye.

BEING 3:            What do you mean canceled? How am I supposed to know what happens?

SPOKESBEING:        Life is complicated. It can be hard to keep focused on what really matters, especially when you never know what might be coming around the corner. But with series finale protection from Amigo, you can be certain that when something goes wrong, you have someone to rely on. 

BEING 1:            Wait, so he’s just dead? What the beer-battered fuck?

BEING 2:            Goddamn time travel!?

SPOKESBEING:        When you’re covered through one of our policies, you aren’t just getting insurance, you’re getting peace of mind. You don’t need to worry about whether you and your loved ones will be taken care of. From rushed resolutions to awkward anticlimaxes, we’ve seen it all. 

When you’re blindsided by betrayal from something you used to love, you need coverage that won’t let you down. Character assassination? You’re covered. Loose ends? You’re covered. Unsatisfying denouement? You’re covered. You’re even covered in the event of an unresolved cliffhanger. 

BEING 2:            Goddamn it. 

SPOKESBEING:        Don’t let network executives, writers, producers, showrunners, or Joss Whedon destroy everything you care about. 

BEING 3:            Next time I see one of you fuckers on a Q&A panel, you better believe I’m going to have one hell more of a comment than a question.

SPOKESBEING:        Protect yourself. Protect your stories.

BEING 2:            So, she was dead the whole time?

BEING 3:            It was a DREAM?

BRING 1:            A fucking clip show?! 

BEING 2:            SUPERHELL?!?!

SPOKESBEING:        And you can bundle coverage to include cinematic and extended universes, comics runs, and novel series. You’re covered in the event any series ends before its time…or if it continues to expand and expand until it’s nothing more than a metaphorical bloated corpse.  

BEING 2:            They’re rebooting it again? It…it hurts more every time. It just keeps getting worse. It comes back wrong.

SPOKESBEING:        Not on our watch. Our agents are dedicated to finding the customized coverage that’s right for you. Don’t leave yourself unprepared when the worst happens.

BEING 2:            That was perfunctory!

BEING 1:            It was so boring; I can’t even be mad.

BEING 3:            Bran?! That’s your “secret ingredient” for muffins?

SPOKESBEING:        Series Finale coverage, from Amigo Insurance. That’s “AmiGO”. With a G. And an O.  

MFX:                Musical trill that is similar to, but legally distinct from, the American Family Insurance jingle.

SPOKESBEING:        Our mascot’s a lizard.


FALSTAFF: Good evening, good people of the Starship Fan Fusion Phoenix-AZ. I am Captain Adrian Falstaff of the Twin Star Alliance, humble servant and protector of the Twin Star System in the eternal fight against Orgelthrek, the so-called Master of Darkness and Purveyor of Galactic Destruction. 

For those of you who don’t know, either because you’ve got your heads buried in the sands or have our hashtag blocked in your socials, this “Orgelthrek” is an entity of pure unholy darkness devouring our galaxy one star at a time, and we, the Twin Star Alliance, are the last and only defense against this monstrosity. Another cowardly, lesser people may see the impenetrable three trillion parsec mass, the millions of jagged teeth that shred all matter down to its molecular level, and the rippling red whirlwind he calls a cape, and they’ll say it’s just a black hole and expect their government to do something about it. Other lesser people may see him as an attractive sextuple-horn-ed god with rippling muscles and an eight-pack and harbor a thirst for him only matched by his hunger. Not Twin Star! We know the truth. We know this being is alive, he is malevolent, he’s a three on his best days, and the only thing standing between him and the buffet that is our universe is the unionization of the common folk under the banner of over-financed military might. 

We’re looking for more brave fighters who aren’t afraid to look death in the gullet to join us in our cause to defeat this masticating maniacal menace. If there’s anything I know about the Starship Fan Fusion Phoenix-AZ, your years in the hot desert sun have made you tough, battle-hardened, unafraid to look a challenge in its boiling red eye and say “You won’t eat me today, you sharptooth sonuvabitch.” The fine people of the Twin Star Alliance have a similar mindset which makes them extraordinary warriors and a true testament to the strength of their galaxy. Only the best can personally deliver pain to the horror of the cosmos. I’ve also heard you’re really into spice, is that true? You know what, doesn’t matter, we accept all types in the TSA.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Captain Falstaff, this sounds too good to be true. There’s got to be something you’re not telling us about.” And you know what? You’re right. By joining the Twin Star Alliance, besides getting the opportunity to die a hero, you will receive a generous benefits package. This includes life insurance, partial in-universe student loan reimbursement, and, our newest addition and my personal favorite, a free supply of Madeline Moostar’s UltraLactose Iced Cream, the official treat of the Twin Star Alliance. Nothing turns Orgelthrek’s lactose-sensitive stomach like soldiers full of Madeline.

Before y’all get too slap-happy, I want to make something clear. These benefits kick in 90 days after you graduate boot-camp. If under any unfortunate circumstance you cannot sign off on your benefits on day 90, you will not receive your benefits. No dessert for deserters if you know what I mean.

If you’re a lucky ducky like me who already has life insurance and no debt to speak of, we also have coozies for your adult beverages, lanyards, and a T-shirt. Mind you, our printing company was devoured before the whole batch was finished, so I do mean A T-shirt. You’re gonna have to share.

With all that being said, I will remind you that with your sacrifice, you will personally aid us in overthrowing the tyrant Orgelthrek alongside your siblings-at-arms. And hey, if you’re lucky, you can get out there and kick Orgelthrek in his nasty gizzard no later than 30 days after you enroll. If all of that isn’t enough to get you to sign up, well… why don’t we let bad boy country-star Zarth Wormholes change your mind?



Well some people love Globb, 

and some love science, 

I love freedom and the Twin Star Alliance, 

and I ain’t afraid to say that I hate Orgelthrek.

From the Taupe star in the North,

to the Mauve Star in the South,

We’re gonna punch Orgelthrek right in the mouth,

We’re gonna punch Orgelthrek in his big fat stupid mouth.

This one’s for all my die hard Twin Star ass kicking people,

eatin’ Rocky Road, kicking ass and fighting evil.

Hey baby, have a cold one on me,

Let’s defeat the old one and be free.

Kick some ass. 

Kick some ass. 

Kick some ass for Twin Star.

The Alliance protec,

but also attac.

We ain’t gonna be another Globb dang snack,

If we go down, we’re gonna take down Orgelthrek.

He may be loud,

and he may be scary,

But we’ve got the high ground, 

And we’ve got the dairy,

so grab your dessert,

and let’s hurt that stupid jerk.

This one’s for all my die-hard Twin Star ass kicking people,

eatin’ Chunkey Munkey, kicking ass and fighting evil.

Hey baby, have an ice cream and pie, 

make that evil guy scream and die.

Kick some ass.

Kick some ass.

Give that bastard gas…

 for TwinStar.


Scene 1 – Space Mega-Yacht Narcissus


SALAMANDER: Q.C.Edgetest, where are you my faithful android?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Right in front of you, Space Lord Salamander. Beneath the cloak.

SALAMANDER: Why can I not see you?

Q.C.EDGETEST: It is an adaptive camouflage nano-weave, Sir. An invisibility cloak.

SALAMANDER: Why in Hades blayzees are you wearing an invisibility cloak?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I donned it at your command, Space Lord. Last night at the club. Would you like me to take it off?

SALAMANDER: I do not remember going to the club.

Q.C.EDGETEST: You were rather intoxicated, Sir. I believe forty six whiskey plasmas is your personal record. Be careful not to trip over the-


Q.C.EDGETEST: -Intravenous hydration tubing. I suggest you rest for a moment to regain your bearings. May I remove the cloak now, Sir? 

SALAMANDER: Forty six whiskey plasmas, eh? A rather impressive feat of drinksmanship. I wager the other clubgoers were dazzled by my fortitude, eh?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Regretfully, Sir, they were unaware of your libationary achievement. The invisibility cloak concealed your activities. Shall I extract myself and move it to storage?

SALAMANDER: The fog clears. I remember wondering why everyone was ignoring me. I assumed they were intimidated by my good looks. Or perhaps it was you dragging me down with your dour digital decrepitation. Yes. I enshrouded you in that magical mantle to prevent you from murdering my vibe.

Q.C.EDGETEST: That is what you said last night, Sir, albeit with less coherent vituperation. Now, with your permission, may I please disentangle myself from the-

SALAMANDER: I recall a sense of freedom. Unencumbered, uninhibited, unrelenting gyration. I danced like no one was watching, but everyone was. Some even pulled out their holophones to capture my leg-shaking, rug-shredding, light-fantastic trippery. And then I was thrown out. Defenestrated. Flung into the street like a ship’s load of ordure from an overfull chamberpot. Are the green eyes of jealousy so rageful that its hulking arms should smash me through a transom? Were they over served on hater-aide?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I believe you were ousted for legal reasons, Space Lord.

SALAMANDER: Is it a crime to be fabulous?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I do not believe so, Sir, but indecent exposure is. Fortunately the club owners declined to prosecute, provided you never return. To that solar system.

SALAMANDER: Exposure? I mean, any press is good press, right? And frankly, those dance moves were better than decent.

Q.C.EDGETEST: It was not the dancing, Space Lord, but your attire. Or rather lack thereof. When you dressed for the club, you elected to, in your words, “Proceed special forces.”


Q.C.EDGETEST: “Embark ghost protocols.”


Q.C.EDGETEST: “Go commando.”

SALAMANDER: Spit it out, you ruddy riddler. I have no patience for abstrusity.

Q.C.EDGETEST: You were nude, Sir. Beneath the cloak. In the buff, as they say. Stark naked.

SALAMANDER: That does not sound like me. Not once have I gone unclad in public. My fits are fire.

Q.C.EDGETEST: If you say so, Space Lord.

SALAMANDER: Check your attitude, Edgetest, you truculent tin-whistle. It seems I may need to burnish my reputation amongst the spacerati. Get me tickets to the thing.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Right away, Sir. To which thing do you refer?

SALAMANDER: The thing. The cool thing they do every spring in downtown Space. Where people celebrate their favorite holo-movies, they dress up, meet the actors, sometimes there is a contest or speaker or something. Hurry up. Wait, have you already gone? I say, what celerity.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am still here, Sir. The invisibility cloak.

SALAMANDER: Right. Fix me a drink, then secure the tickets, then print me a tuxedo. I am off to meditate in the archery rink. Pip pip!

Q.C.EDGETEST: Be careful, Sir, I am still standing right-


Q.C.EDGETEST: -in front of you.

SALAMANDER: You will be in front of a firing squad if you trip me again.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Understood, Space Lord. May I now remove the invisibility cloak?

SALAMANDER: Of course you may, you flipping dipstick. You should have asked sooner.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Indeed, Sir.


Scene 2 – Convention Planet, Downtown Space

Q.C.EDGETEST: We have arrived at the event, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Spiffing. Where is the red carpet?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I do not follow, Sir. Is that the name of a superhero?

SALAMANDER: A super what? No, the red carpet. The glitzy, glamorous gauntlet of stars in designer threads, hounded by flashing holo-cameras, entertainment news borgs, and the robotarazi. I see none of that. 

Q.C.EDGETEST: Oh, dear. It seems I misinterpreted your request for event tickets, Sir. If you wished to attend the Awards Ceremony of the Space Academy of Holographic Arts and Sciences, I purchased the wrong passes.

SALAMANDER: Are you telling me this is not the Spacecars?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am, Space Lord. My utmost apologies.

SALAMANDER: No worries, Q.C. The award shows are getting too violent anyway. I say, I feel a bit peckish and it may be prudent to build a prandial foundation for the tower of cocktails I plan to consume.

Q.C.EDGETEST: A wise choice, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Indeed. I never drink before lunch.

Q.C.EDGETEST: You are currently drinking a Galactic Imperium Stout, Sir.

SALAMANDER: [HICCUP] Sure, but it’s only 16 per cent. Plus, “Beer before liquor” and all that. I have to start somewhere. Why not here?

Q.C.EDGETEST: You drank a handle of Shuttlebay Rum in the Limousine, Sir.

SALAMANDER: As a liniment. It helps with motion sickness.

Q.C.EDGETEST: And the table keg of shandies at breakfast, Sir?

SALAMANDER: Hair of the Thylacine. And to wash down your overcooked Eggs Cumberbatch. Is there a point to this, Edgetest, or are you just being a tit?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am assessing the severity of your alcoholi-  qualifications for the cloned-liver-of-the-month subscription, Sir.


Q.C.EDGETEST: Top tier, Space Lord.

SALAMANDER: Fuck yeah. I am straight killing it.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Very true, Sir. I believe I have found a place to luncheon. It is called the “Most Easily Cantina.” According to Yelled Reviews, “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. Try the Carne Asada Fries. Four and a half Red Dwarf stars.”

SALAMANDER: Do they serve cocktails?

Q.C.EDGETEST: A user named “Stick and Shorty Blaze It Four Hundred Twenty Poop Emoji Six Nine Six Nine” described their 3.8 liter Blended Carbon Kiwi-Kiwano Skinny Stargarita as “H T T P S Colon Forward Slash Forward Slash W W W Dot The Bomb Dot Com,”

SALAMANDER: That sounds pretty g-

Q.C.EDGETEST: “Forward Slash W P Content Forward Slash A Little Overpriced Dot H T M L”

SALAMANDER: Okay, I get it. Let’s go.


Scene 3: Interior – The Most Easily Cantina

SERVER: Welcome to the Most Easily Cantina. Can I take your order?

SALAMANDER: How is the Power burger? I see it comes with Responsibility Fries.

SERVER: They’re great.

SALAMANDER: Splendid. I shall have one of those, Spike’s Hard Ranch for dipping, a double Stargarita, and some alkaline water for my battery bro here.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I do not require alkaline water, Sir. I am powered by a frisson reactor.

SERVER: You mean a fission reactor?

SALAMANDER: Do not get him started.

Q.C.EDGETEST: The Panza Corporation’s Cutting Edge Frisson Drive System provides a near-endless supply of power thanks to a synthetic-sympathetic perma-nervous amygdaloid core. With the Panza Corporation, you can buy a thrill! Patent pending.

SALAMANDER: I could turn the ads off, but I refuse to pay the monthly fee.

SERVER: I thought androids couldn’t feel that sort of thing.

SALAMANDER: Don’t worry about it.

SERVER: Wait, why is my comm transceiver implant showing an ad for frisson drives?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Don’t worry about it.

SERVER: Um, okay, I, uh, I’ll be right back with your Stargarita.

COSPLAYER 1: What ho, fair Tavern-goers! We have arrived on a quest… for fried foods and carbonated drink!

COSPLAYER 2: Huzzah!

SALAMANDER: What is happening, Q.C.? Are those time travelers? Their garb says “medieval adventurers,” but their spectacles suggest “indoor kids.”

Q.C.EDGETEST: They are cosplayers, Sir. They dress as characters from their favorite fandom.

SALAMANDER: Fandoms are certainly important. I always keep one in my wallet. But I would not wear a fandom all day.

Q.C.EDGETEST: No, Sir, a fandom is a collective of beings focused on the enjoyment of a particular series of holo-films, shows, or games.

SALAMANDER: I see. When I was very young, I was deeply enamored with one holo-vision show, The Plaid Pimpernel. Every week I raced down the vacuum tube in my houndstooth footy pajamas, donned my genuine Plaid Pimpernel eye mask, and sat close to the holo emitter so I could see every moment of the dashing hero as they foiled the plans of the dastardly Collective Bargaining Force. The Plaid Pimpernel was my idol. By night, they were a master of the lazer sword; a quick-witted disguise and escape artist. By day, a vain, bumbling, over-privileged  swillbowl. I longed to be just like them.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I would say you are halfway there, Space Lord.

SALAMANDER: Thank you, Q.C. But there comes a time when one must put away childish things. A grown Gentleman of Space concerns himself with mature topics of import. He retains an air of quiet dignity, always remaining calm, composed, and- OH MY GLOBB, IT’S THEM! Q.C., Look, it’s really them, the Plaid Pimpernel, here, in the flesh! I knew they were real. I’m peeing. I am literally peeing right now. Are you seeing this, Q.C.? I have to say something. What do I say? How do I look? Should I put on a fandom?

Q.C.EDGETEST: That is a cosplayer, Sir. Their top-hat is cardboard and their lazer sword is made from packing foam and papier mâché.

SALAMANDER: Why do they not just print a perfect costume replica? 

Q.C.EDGETEST: Many cosplayers do, Sir, however the hand-crafting of creatively up-cycled costumes is a proud cosplay tradition.

SALAMANDER: I can respect that. I myself am a skilled crafts-gentleman, always making what I need by hand from whatever resources abound. A real DIY guy, you know? Now go print a cosplay for me. Not to brag, but I need an extra large fandom.

Q.C.EDGETEST: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you- I mean right away, Sir. What character would you like to portray? The most popular at the moment is Deadpuddle.

SALAMANDER: I like their sense of humor. The mask is awful, though. It would be a crime to deprive the crowd of my beautiful visage.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Fjord, God of Cloudbursts?

SALAMANDER: God is good, but I am not into capes anymore.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Ah, yes. The electric unicycle incident. What about the Goofer? The one who wears a three piece suit, not the one with the asinine face tattoos.

SALAMANDER: Too unhinged. I want something classier. A rich playboy type.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Bat Gentleman?


Q.C.EDGETEST: Iron Gentleman?


Q.C.EDGETEST: Aqua Gentleman?

SALAMANDER: He is royalty. And it would be a good way to show off my cool-sculpting. I have those gutter things on my abs, you know. The muscles that point to your-

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am aware, Sir.

SALAMANDER: The hair is a bit much, though. And I do not like the way he looks at those fish. Hm. (quickly) Lightbulb! I have it. The perfect cosplay. The greatest character in all of Space.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Badgerine?


Q.C.EDGETEST: Daredemon?


Q.C.EDGETEST: The Penalizer?


Q.C.EDGETEST: Doctor Peculiar?

SALAMANDER: No. And I said no capes. I am talking about a real-life famous person.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Guapito Mandibulon?


Q.C.EDGETEST: Henri Von Dumas?

SALAMANDER: No. Who is that? Shut up. I mean the coolest, smartest, most badass person in Space.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Space Detective Saoirse LaFemme?

SALAMANDER: No, blast it. Good guess, though. I am, of course, talking about… myself.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Cosplay is supposed to portray a recognizable figure, Space Lord.

SALAMANDER: I am recognizable. I am an Insta-beam influencer. I am “at sexy space lord,” inventor of the “hashtag Salamander Shake.”

Q.C.EDGETEST: The what, Sir?

SALAMANDER: [SIGH] I’m the Wiener Dance Guy.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am afraid that video is no longer trending, Space Lord. It did not make the jump to the newest favorite holo-media platform, GalacticTok.

SALAMANDER: No problem. I also have The Salamander Shakedown – A pioneer of new media. Something rare and unique, requiring vast technical prowess and unmatched talent. Something not just anyone can do. I have a podcast. 

Q.C.EDGETEST: So does your cousin Eggbert, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Eggbert? A podcast? About what?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Penicillium Candidum.

SALAMANDER: What in the Wide World of Warp Cores is that?

Q.C.EDGETEST: A white mold used in the formation of soft cheese rinds.

SALAMANDER: Oh, pish. What does he call this “podcast?”

Q.C.EDGETEST: “Rindhunter.”

SALAMANDER: Ugh. A whole podcast, just Eggbert, talking about moldy cheese.

Q.C.EDGETEST: He does have a co host, Sir.


Q.C.EDGETEST: Paul F. Tompkins. 

SALAMANDER: There is no way they have more than a dozen subscribers.

Q.C.EDGETEST: 4.8 Trillion, Sir. They are number two on Spaceify.

SALAMANDER: But the Salamander Shakedown is number one, right?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Sadly, the number one podcast is “The Bro Woke-Phobe Ramble-sperience.”

SALAMANDER: Fie on fishsticks. What has Space come to?

Q.C.EDGETEST: What indeed, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Who listens to podcasts anyway? The real heroes are out merrymaking right now, enriching downtown Space with their physical beauty, intelligence, creativity, good taste, and support for local live events. [WINK AT AUDIENCE]

Why, just look at our merry band in the corner booth.

COSPLAYER 1: The lunch goes ever on and on! Who would join me for second elevensies? What say you?

COSPLAYER 2: Huzzah!

COSPLAYER 1: Barkeep! I shall have the Spoilin’ Nice Fish Sandwich. Give it to us raw and wriggling; hold the nasty chips.

SALAMANDER: Talk about living your best life out loud. I will have what they are having. Q.C., ready the Space Lord Cesar Salamander Cosplay.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Which of your outfits shall I re-create, Sir?

SALAMANDER: Clearly something in which fans have seen me. I choose… this one. The one I am wearing. Go print me an exact replica.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Pardon my confusion, Space Lord, but why go to the trouble of printing and changing into a facsimile when you could simply keep wearing that one?

SALAMANDER: Well, that would not be much of a cosplay, would it? Besides, it is no trouble at all. You just nip over to the transportation hub, zip through the security screen, skip up the orbital umbilical elevator to the parking satellite, hover around the corkscrew ramp to wherever you parked the limo shuttle, print the costume, wind back down the corkscrew, Pop down the umbilical, Bop through the security, and Hop back here before I finish my 7.6 liter skinny Stargarita.

Q.C.EDGETEST: As simple as it sounds, I cannot execute the task given there is no matter-jet printer in the limo shuttle.

SALAMANDER: What happened to it?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Your Dearest Aunt Berthatrude had it removed, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Why in Globb’s name would she do that?

Q.C.EDGETEST: You used it to carpet bomb her estate grounds with, er,  “anatomically correct” lawn gnomes. 

SALAMANDER: When will that tyrannical termagant learn to take a joke?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Her garden was a total loss. The Non Fungible Tulip market has yet to recover.

SALAMANDER: I do not know what that is and I am not going to speculate. I need a cosplay and it is starting to look like a hand-made piece is the way to go. What do we have to work with?

Q.C.EDGETEST: There are condiments here at the table, after dinner mints on the host stand, and the water closet is appointed with old-fashioned bath tissue.

SALAMANDER: What is that?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Also known as “toilet paper.” It is a long roll of bleached and flattened plant cellulose.

SALAMANDER: What is it used for?

Q.C.EDGETEST: It is a primitive version of the Three Seashells.

SALAMANDER: Disgusting. Let us collect as much unused “bath paper” as we can before those adventurers go on an unexpected journey.


SALAMANDER: Before they drop anything into the volcano.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Of course, Sir.

SALAMANDER: We must “make do” before they “make doo doo.”

Q.C.EDGETEST: Well said, Sir.


Q.C.EDGETEST: Good show, Sir. 


Scene 4: Interior – The Most Easily Cantina Bathroom

SALAMANDER: Is it finished, Q.C.? Ha!

Q.C.EDGETEST: It is not, Sir. The mints and toothpicks seem to be holding, but the bath tissue tears each time you… strike a pose.

SALAMANDER: Stop complaining and stitch, Vera (VEER-ah) Whinge. Ha! I need to practice my Hero’s Crouch for when the holo cameras start flashing. 

Q.C.EDGETEST: I fail to understand the mechanics of the so-called “Hero’s Crouch,” Sir.

SALAMANDER: Ha! You fail at many things, my addlepated assistant. The Hero’s Crouch is the perfect stance. A deep squat prepares one to spring into action. One leg stretched out to the side for stability. Eyes forward with a steely gaze to let everyone know you mean business. And one hand planted firmly on the ground because the leg-out-to-the-side thing does not actually help much with stability. Ha!

Q.C.EDGETEST: I see. I may have found a solution, Sir. I have moistened the paper with mustard and it seems to be sticking to your skin. Hopefully it will remain there when dry. Several more layers should provide adequate coverage to prevent another infraction. Are you certain you wish to once again “roll navy seal?”

SALAMANDER: I need airflow, Edgetest. And freedom of movement. Undergarments only slow me down.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I must warn you, Sir, a papier maché suit is not particularly breathe-able nor flexible.

SALAMANDER: It looks cool, though, right? Like something badass I would wear?

Q.C.EDGETEST: You are wearing it, so I suppose it looks exactly like something you would wear. There is one thing.

SALAMANDER: Yes? Is the toilet paper holding?

Q.C.EDGETEST: It is, Sir, but there is some clothing stuck to your shoe.

SALAMANDER: Good looking out, old beam. Now let us absquatulate. I think I hear the Fellowship of the Onion Rings coming this way. 


Scene 5: Interior – Fan Convention 

SALAMANDER: Behold, fellow cosplayers. A wild Salamander has appeared!


SALAMANDER: Q.C., why is no one gawking? Did I end up in the invisibility cloak again?

Q.C.EDGETEST: No, Sir. I believe they are distracted by the free blinky light Space PD lanyards being distributed by Detective LaFemme.

SALAMANDER: She is here? That is Fantastic. For she will finally see how superlative a hero I truly am. I do not see her. What is she wearing?

Q.C.EDGETEST: A cat suit, Sir.

SALAMANDER: A catsuit? Tres sexí. Still not seeing her. What color is the catsuit? Is it shiny?

Q.C.EDGETEST: It is orange tabby, Sir. Covered in fur.

SALAMANDER: Hnnng. Still having trouble locating that pulchritudinous police person. Tell me Q.C., does it hug her shapely curves? What do you suppose are her dimensions?

Q.C.EDGETEST: The cat suit is pear-shaped, 2.7 meters tall, 6.9 meters in circumference at its widest point, and features a 1.8 meter long tail. Protruding from each cheek are six 28-centimeter-long whiskers. Affixed to the head is a 13 centimeter tall Space PD regulation uniform hat. The paws are-

SALAMANDER: (horny) Stop, please. I don’t want to rip my cosplay. 

Q.C.EDGETEST: Point taken, Sir. Best be careful. Perhaps we should take in some of the other sights and- Space Lord? Where have you gone?

SALAMANDER: Detective LaFemme. How goes you are do? I mean, How do you go.. are… how’s it going?

LAFEMME: Oh. You. Señor Slamdancer. I didn’t recognize your costume. Nice… garbage mummy?

SALAMANDER: Such a joy to bask in your raillery once more. I see you are also a talented cosplayer. Or perhaps you are undercover?

LAFEMME: I wish. It was my turn to put on this sweaty mascot suit and hand out safety awareness lanyards. Actually, it was Detective Bozon’s turn, but he conveniently got 24-hour space madness. So I get to be “McMeow The Crime Cat.”

SALAMANDER: From the commercials! (voice) “Let’s Lick Space Crime.” I loved those commercials. I didn’t know that was you.

LAFEMME: It wasn’t. Those commercials are like 340 years old. I’m just doing this today. It’s mandatory.

SALAMANDER: Well if you’re not undercover, perhaps you would like to be under my covers. Of my bed.

LAFEMME: Are you hitting on me?

SALAMANDER: Only if you want me to be.

LAFEMME: Then you’re not hitting on me. Hey, while you’re here, could you get me an autograph? It’s hard to hold a pen with these paws on.

SALAMANDER: But of course, where do you want me to sign?

LAFEMME: See the guy over there in the Aqua Gentleman costume?

SALAMANDER: The one with rippling muscles and a film-perfect costume hovering around in a giant tank filled with real fish that he appears to be controlling with his mind?

LAFEMME: Yeah, him. I want his autograph. He has won “best cosplay” 4 orbits in a row.

SALAMANDER: I don’t see why. He’s clearly phoning it in. I’ll be right back. Q.C.! I need to step up my cosplay game. Let’s light this candle.

Q.C.EDGETEST: What did you have in mind, Sir?

SALAMANDER: Original member of the Fabulous Five, Jimmy Squall, AKA the Gentleman Torch.

Q.C.EDGETEST: How do you plan to simulate the flames, Space Lord?

SALAMANDER: Do you not have a holographic display integrated clothing emitter?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I do not even-

SALAMANDER: Very well. We shall go practical. These rags should be flammable enough. Come on, baby, light my fire.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Sir, my Asimovian inhibitors prevent me from allowing a sentient being to be harmed.

SALAMANDER: Yet you wound my spirit daily with your igneous imbonity. Very well. I shall improvise as all good cosplayers do. Hand me a pack of Fog Hills.

Q.C.EDGETEST: The vaporettes? They do not work by combustion, Sir.

SALAMANDER: True, but when they work wrongly, combustion may result. Remember the class action lawsuit?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I do, Sir. Your eyebrows have only just grown back. And the payout was one half credit.

SALAMANDER: Mo Credits, Mo Problems. [INHALES] Ain’t nothing but a cosplay, baby. [INHALES] Orange bottom jeans, boots with the fur. [INHALES] Look around, Q.C. To the windows, to the wall. [INHALES] It’s getting hot in herr. So take off all your-


SALAMANDER: [SHOUTING] ow Ow OW! Oh no! oh Globb, it hurts! It hurts so much! This was a terrible idea, Q.C., why did you not stop me?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Water, Sir. We must find water.

SALAMANDER: The fish tank. Aqua Gentleman! Brace yourself! I am coming in hot!


SALAMANDER: Ahhhh, that is better. Thanks for the assist, Ocean Man. If you would, take me by the hand and lead me to the land. Why do you look so upset? (beat) I say. I seem to have grilled your fish. Please let me replace them. I know a certain cantina that may have something on hand.

Q.C.EDGETEST: Sir, your costume-

SALAMANDER: What of it? 

COSPLAYER 1: Hey, sick cosplay! The naked dancing idiot in the club from Galactictok! Hey everybody, look at this guy’s cosplay! It’s Tor-nude-o!

SALAMANDER: Q.C., are they talking about me? Am I trending?

Q.C.EDGETEST: I believe so, Space Lord.


COSPLAYER 2: That’s my line.

LAFEMME: For Flick’s Flack, Sandcaster, Could you please put on some Globb Damn Pants for once? It’s really hard to arrest people with this costume on.

SALAMANDER: But of course, Detective LaFemme. I would not dare run from the long paw of the law. You may handcuff me at your pleasure. And mine. Meow.

LAFEMME: Ugh. Just get dressed and I’ll let you go with a warning.

SALAMANDER: Your loss.

LAFEMME: Excuse me?

SALAMANDER: You’re the boss. Q.C., pants.

Q.C.EDGETEST: They were left in the water closet, Sir.

SALAMANDER: No, you. Engage trouser mode.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I am not equipped with a “trouser mode,” Sir.

SALAMANDER: You have two hands, do you not? Now make like a fig tree and leaf me.

Q.C.EDGETEST: I should have stayed invisible.

SALAMANDER: Excuse me?

Q.C.EDGETEST: Your cosplay is formidable, Sir.

SALAMANDER: Fuck yeah.



VOICE ONE: I have to finish the Black Rock raid, but I can’t miss the influencer house meeting again.

VOICE TWO: If I don’t make Diamond tonight I’ll die, if I don’t show up at Von Dutch Bros by 4AM I’m going to be “made available to the industry.”

VOICE THREE: If I can just hit bedrock on this server I can show my face at the Zia Records again.

ANNOUNCER: One more level, one more boss, or just one more match! When you gotta have it, but dawn is approaching, The Never-Game-Over Gamer Chair is your ultimate weapon. Outside time will stand still, with work & chores on pause, inside you’re slaying the demon hordes, and pump-crouching noobs all night long 

SOMEONE ELSE: (all night).

From the makers of the inter-dimensional catheter, and the never-ending Mountain Doom bottle, Beta Tech is proud to say it’s Game-Over for the AFK-Era with The Never-Game-Over Gamer Chair

LAWYER SPEAK: The Never-Game-Over Gamer Chair may cause premature aging, loss of employment and disconnected chronological disorientation. Please call your doctor if you experience extreme hair growth, muscle decay, or a disproportionate hatred for 14yr olds on the internet.

Beta Tech is not responsible for adolescents who purchase alcohol or marijuana under the guise of extreme time dilation, aging & hair growth.


FROOTLE OOPS – Manipulative and conniving cult leader who is almost as horny for power as they are for Orgelthrek (Briauna)

FROOTLE: Visitors of Fan Fusion! I am Main Course Frootle Oops, leader of the Children of Orgelthrek, Master of Darkness and Purveyor of Galactic Destruction. I have come to grace you with my presence not to proselytize or preach the good word of Our Heavenly Gobbler, no. I stand here today as one humble person before a crowd of soon-to-be scrumptious people asking you to open your minds, hearts, and stomachs to the Void That Hungers Back.

I fear you may have heard some… falsehoods not only about myself but my brethren by one unscrupulous naysayer whose promises are as thin as the marrow in her absent spine. Do you truly believe heroism is as easy as signing your name on a slip of paper and leaping raw and poorly flavored into the Great Jaws of Beyond? The Twin Star Alliance has grown too thin for their britches and are willing to offer, not commit to, whatever it takes to have your seedling souls bleed for their unending cause.

Let’s say, for instance, that they defeat Orgelthrek. They won’t. But what happens afterwards? You think the war is won and Twin Star will be “made great again”? Not a chance. There is always an enemy. In this case, they have chosen the strongest, hungriest, and, dare I say, sexiest Galactic Destructor.

The Alliance wants you to live to their regimented expectations. I want you to thrive. I want you to gorge yourself on your free will and submit your body to the darkness. Should this darkness be wildly toothy with horns all the way out to here? Should this darkness be the current winner of the Hot Boy Villain Award for Best Cape three years running? Should this darkness contain within its rippling, bulging form an afterlife of pure ecstasy for those who tasty-fy themselves For His Pleasure? [pause] Yes.

I make no empty promises like the so-called Captain “Failstaff”. All I can offer is an end to hunger. You will dine on the finest foods (ice cream is not one of them), bathe in finest broths, clothe in the yummiest seasonings. We can bring out flavors in you that you didn’t even know you had. We can and will make you the best you can be, all in the name of Our Savorer, Orgelthrek, my, your, our Master of Darkness and Purveyor of Galactic Destruction. Praise be!

Now if you would please stand and join me in singing Honey Glazed Hamnel number 69, “Devour Me, Daddy”. 

MATT hits that pitch pipe.

ALL: Droning


KITT: This has been a special Phoenix Fan Fusion production of the Never Rad Miscellany. The Never Rad Miscellany depends on contributions from listeners like you. Show off your fandom by becoming a subscription donor and get truly miscellaneous bonus benefits over at neverrad.com/patreon.  

Season Finale Insurance was written by Kitt Keller, featuring the voices of Jenae Hirsch as Spokesvoice, Ricco Machado-Torres as Being 1, Ryan Jenkins as Being 2, and Fox Williams as Being 3.

  A Gentleman About Space was written by Matt Braman. It featured the voices of Conrad Miszuk as Space Lord Cesar Salamander, Fox Williams as Q.C.Edgetest, Ricco Machado-Torres as Server, Ryan Jenkins as Cosplayer 1, Kitt Keller as Cosplayer 2, and Briauna Kittle as Det. Saoirse LaFemme. Smack Bars (the Most Easily Cantina Theme) was written by Scott Braman.

The Never-Game-Over Gamer Chair was written by Joe Diaz featuring the voices of Ryan Jenkins as Voice 1, Ricco Machado-Torres as Voice 2, Jenae Hirsch as Voice 3, Matt Braman as Announcer, and Joe Diaz as the Lawyerspeak.

Twin Star Recruitment: Fan Fusion Edition was written by Briauna Kittle, featuring Ryan Jenkins as Captain Adrian Falstaff, and Briauna Kittle as Main Course Frootle Oops. Kick Ass For Twin Star was written and performed by Matt Braman as bad boy country superstar Zarth Wormholes.

Miscellanists in the field may report their strange and interesting findings at (224)CALL-RAD. That’s 224-225-5723. 

The Never Rad Miscellany is produced and directed by Conrad Miszuk, Briauna Kittle, Matt Braman, and Kitt Keller, with credits read by Kitt Keller.

The Never Rad Miscellany is proudly produced in Phoenix, Arizona. Check out NeverRad.com for future live show information, news, extras, more episodes, contact info, and transcripts. 

  Videos of the live performances and past streams are at NeverRad.com/YouTube. Rate the Never Rad Miscellany five stars on your favorite podcasting service and all of the other ones too, to help us grow, tell your friends, family, and bridge crew about the show, and connect with us on social media at facebook.com/neverrad, neverrad.tumblr.com, Instagram @never.rad, and Twitter @NeverRad.

For more hedonistic shenaniganry from Space Lord Cesar Salamander himself, follow @SexySpaceLord on Twitter (account monitored by Q.C.Edgetest).

Special thanks to our Patreon patrons.

Series finales, am I right? Go off in the comments.

Miscellaneous fact # 42 – The first ever MucusCon was held in 2714 in Spacinnati and is still going strong! Celebrate your love of all things mucilaginous this year in Philly. Umbrellas available upon request.