It is said, Gentle Reader, that there is no such thing as 'a little bit pregnant'. How true that is. So when, one morning, Lance threw up into the nearest toilet bowl, and then realised that his normally shapely figure was six inches larger in diameter than ought to have been the case, the explanation was not difficult to determine.
"Pregnant! Dude, that's awesome!" pronounced Justin. It is perhaps only fair to state that Justin, who was Still A Virgin, had only the sketchiest of notions about matters gynaecological. He was, however, very cute when full of enthusiasm, so Lance let him live. Besides, Lance was busily engaged in consuming a dish of shrimp with ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles, and the inexplicable, untimely and tragic demise of J Timberlake was in consequence lower on his list of priorities than might have been expected.
"So, when's it due?"
Lance snarled. A shrimp impacted on the carpet.
"And, dude, who's the father?"
* * *
The sorry truth, Gentle Reader, is that Lance was unable to answer this question. Not, you must understand, that he had been greedy or undiscriminating in his choices. No. The fact of the matter is... well, let us go back in time to the previous night.
Due to a regrettable lack of personal restraint regarding the consumption of tequila that evening, Lance had fallen asleep on the bed before he had quite managed to remove his clothing. Pants, and the much-vaunted boxer-briefs, had, it is true, been abandoned on the floor, but T-shirt and -- alas -- socks proved too much effort. He lay prone, presenting a delectable vision: magnificent twin globes of pulchritude tilted ceiling-wards, smooth, sturdy thighs invitingly parted as he slept.
Irresistible, you may think.
So indeed thought K'pl't, tourist from the planet M'wh'H'lg'mk, who happened to be passing and paused in awe to admire the, er, scenery. Regrettably, K'pl't was so overcome with lust at the spectacle thus presented that it quite forgot itself, and plunged its ecstatic organ into the secret cleft between those opulent cheeks until it achieved emission.
Lance slept on.
* * *
Thus it was, Gentle Reader, that Lance was impregnated without his permission -- or even his knowledge. He was not, however, going to admit to ignorance on this (or any other) subject in the presence of his junior bandmate, so he merely scowled and declined to answer Justin's question.
"Well, whatever, dude, it'll be cool. I mean, I'll step up, no problem, with us being roomies an' all. Hey, man, I can teach the kid to play basketball, and you can teach it, um, sums or something. Wow!"
Lance briefly considered radical revisions to his shitlist, but an unprecedented spasm of pain seized his nether regions, and he shrieked with outrage.
* * *
Lance and Justin peered doubtfully at the new arrival. It was quite a lot smaller than they had been expecting -- not that Lance could find anything in this to regret, all things considered -- and, well, different in rather too many ways to enumerate.
"What shall we, um, name it?" asked Justin.
Lance gazed at him, bereft of speech.
"I mean, c'mon, kid's gotta have a name, right?"
"Um."
"We could call it Justin Junior. That way if it turns out to be, you know, a girl, it could be Justine instead, right?"
"Justin Junior," said Lance, in the voice of one who has plumbed the depths and found them darker and more terrible than his already low expectations. "Why exactly would we do that?"
"Dude, so's people know I'm the, the daddy." Justin was still cheerleading, though with less bounce than was his custom. "I mean, they'll know you're the, um, mommy."
"Oh???"
"It has your eyes," said Justin. "Well, eye."
The tiny, tentacled blob stared up at them from one huge, green orb.
They stared back.
There was a perfunctory knock at the door, and JC bounded into the room.
"Dudes! Sushi? For breakfast?"