A Hotspur In Space

So THIS is the Hotspur the humans speak of. We must uncover his secret hair flip formula!

Eddie HAWTspur began the day as if it was any other day; except today was his birthday. So he wiggled out of his unicorn pajama bottoms and unfolded his freshest pair of GAP cargo pants and threw on the nearest white tee-shirt with the least noticeable hot chocolate stain and barreled down the stairs like a highly confident guy , expecting to find that his beautiful wife had prepared him a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon lube! But instead poor Eddie was greeted by an empty house.

“Where is everyone?” he wondered, clawing through the fridge for that bacon lube.

“I guess I’ll just have to make breakfast myself.” Sigh.

Breakfast made and finished and dishes left in the sink because fuck it, it’s his birthday, Mr. Haughtspur got ready for work, lathering layer after layer of his secret flip potion into every beautiful strand of hair.

If you assholes even knew how much work goes into looking this good.

And so he went on his way, the scenes from his morning drive filling his dazzling hazel eyes as he spoke out loud of his awesomeness and admired the driving skills of the others on the highway, when –

CRASH! BAM! BOOM! GRINDING METAL! BLACK SABBATH! LOUDFUCKINGSOUNDS!!

When Snotspur opened his beautiful eyeballs, a glorious white light surrounded him.

“Jesus?” he called out. “Shit, I thought for sure I was headed the other way!”

Just as he began to celebrate a voice, soft and foreign, spoke to him.

“Hotssss-purr,” it said, his name drawn out, long and snake-like.

“Who – who’s there? God? Please tell me you guys have WiFi here. If you don’t, you can just send me down -”

“SILENCE!”

Eddie shut his mouth.

“We’ve been watching you for quite some time, Hotsss-purr.”

“That’s right!” added another voice, one Eddie thought for sure he recognized.

“Why does she sound so familiar?” he thought. Then he thought some more. OF COURSE! He remembered a particular Romantic Monday, when Nicole Marie revealed her voice for the first time; like a choir of angels, the falling rain, Mozart’s orchestra, butter at room temperature, it was not to be forgotten.

“Nicole? My only pretend daughter, how could you do this to me? What’s going on?”

“Muahahahahahahaha – get me another beer, alien man,” was her only response.

Naughtspur struggled to adjust his eyes in the blinding light, but could only make out a faint figure looming overhead, large glass-like eyes that look like those weird round security cameras in department stores staring deep into his. He started to get nervous.

“What do you want from me?” He secretly scolded himself for not coming up with a more epic horror movie line.

A hand – or something like it – brushed his forehead, his hair flip.

“That flip,” the voice whispered.

“No!” Eddie yelled, tossing his head from side to side. “You’ll never break me!”

“Oh, we have our waysssss,” the voice said. “Time to turn over, Mr. Hawts-purrrrrr.”

What happened next?

Was Wroughtspur saved by a Private Eye?

Or did someone finally deliver him a Sincere Birthday Poem?