I am prone to have really, really terrible ideas. I am also prone to tweet about them so I can get them out of my head and forget about them.

Like this:

lofidelity Science-pirate. Yes. I need to be this. With zappy death rays, rusty cutlasses, dashing facial hair and a crew of clacking robot wenches.

The problem? My friends have grown used to me doing these things, and sometimes instead of being rational, emotionally stable people, they encourage me. For the rest of the afternoon, Twitter devolved into us tossing back insane shit about Science Pirate. I made his flag, L made him a type treatment, and then Pat completely lost his mind and offered to do his 24 Hour Comic Day on the Science Pirate if I could get him a script by the next morning. So, being a complete mental patient, I went home and knocked something out for him.

I expected him to read it over, blink a few times, calmly put it down, and then politely ignore my phone calls for the rest of his life. But, much to my surprise and the death of his sanity, the fucker actually started working on it. He knocked out half the script on Saturday before drawing page after page of a naked Science Pirate got to him and his vision gave out.

The whole script is up at The Great and Secret Thing today, and Pat’ll be posting the pages as he finishes them.

Here’s an excerpt:


Panel 6
Futura pops around the corner over the bulkhead to the captain’s quarters, still smoking. She couldn’t care less about his yowling if she tried.


Panel 7
The Science Pirate stands, back to the camera, completely naked staring down at a ruined chemistry set up. The set was one of those glass jobbers with spiraled condensers, fluted beakers and all of the rest of that stuff you’d see in a bad 50s super-science movie.

SCIENCE PIRATE: There’s been a disaster!

SCIENCE PIRATE: My chemistry lab has been smashed!

Panel 8
The Science Pirate turns to face her. She tries to cover her eyes from his nudity, like you would if a naked pirate started waving his junk in your general direction.

SCIENCE PIRATE: Futura! How could you let this happen! You were supposed to be on watch last night!

SCIENCE PIRATE: Instead, I find you’ve let some one sneak aboard and destroy my lab! I shall have you flogged for this!

Panel 9
She leans against the door, massaging the bridge of her nose, trying to keep the rage in check.

FUTURA: Look, no one snuck aboard last night. This mess is all you.

Panel 10
Taken completely aback, the Science Pirate indignantly protests this accusation. Protests it as indignantly as some one who is completely naked can.

SCIENCE PIRATE: That makes no sense, Futura! I love science! Why would I hurt it?

Panel 11
Leaning forward, her patience wearing thin, Futura jabs at the Science Pirate, cigarette in her hand.

FUTURA: You tried making rocket fuel last night, but decided it went better in a cocktail than in an engine. You drank the whole batch.

Panel 12
She gestures out to the broken beakers and test tubes.

FUTURA: That’s all you, you crazy bastard.


Panel 13
The Science Pirate tugs at his beard, eye brow arched, considering her story.

SCIENCE PIRATE: An experiment gone awry, hrmmm?

SCIENCE PIRATE: Such are the dangers of science!

Panel 14
He grabs Futura by her shoulders. She is both shocked and disgusted that a naked man is touching her. She is thinking about throwing him overboard. Repeatedly.

SCIENCE PIRATE: Futura! Fire up the robot wenches!

Panel 15
He storms past her, out the bulkhead, leaving her confused and annoyed at having to do real work.

FUTURA: What the hell for?

Panel 16
He walks down the hall, leaving her head poking out of the door after him. His hand is up in the air, index finger straight up. He’s going full blast now.

SCIENCE PIRATE: What for? For piracy, of course!

Panel 17
Close up on the Science Pirate, crazy glint in his eye, arm out, finger up, manic grin on his face. Sort of like a Phoenix Wright pose on PCP. (Google that if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. The Phoenix Wright bit, no the PCP bit.) (Or, you know, go wild. Start Googling drugs. But don’t come crying to me when the FBI knocks down your door.)