it's my party and i'll destroy this fucking place and everyone in it if i want to

a few days ago, someone (with some encouragement) forgot what appeared to be a very large, very dangerous, very radioactive and very explosive bomb in hangar 23. as my birthday was in a few days, i chalked this up to the universe, finally, trying to remunerate me for all the wrongs it's committed over the years.

fast forward to last night... it was my birthday morning, and, once again, i was alone. i had got exceptionally drunk on some home-made liquor from zog's, and was leaning, face first, against the airlock, dizzy as all fuck with the spins, pretending i was some out of control satellite about to crash onto a planet, preferably into a children's school yard or an old-folks home. i must have passed out for a few hours, slumped up against the big bad bomb... it gave me sweet, terrible dreams. lovely.

i woke up and finished my shift. as i was leaving hangar 23, i was wondering where the fuck everyone was... at the door, i heard a noise and turned around... it was flapjack, who had just shit himself trying to keep quiet... skip had organized a surprise party for me. shocking that the gearslip could sort it out.

everyone was there: cosmoose, zargle, zog, mal-aka, random people i had never met... even that fucking cult that's been following me around, everyone. we proceeded to get exceptionally drunk, all rallying around the bomb... it was grand... there was a cake (shaped like a little spaceship, flapjacks's idea), party hats (also flappy's concept), streamers (guess who), balloons (again...) and such... you haven't lived until you've seen this gang of strays wearing party hats and holding balloons...

i suppose i should have mentioned to them that i was already fucked, because that might have encouraged them to pour me less liquor, as the following happened:

three hours into it, i was getting depressed... someone i don't know made some comment i didn't understand, so my booze addled brain decided that this was the last straw. something in my brain clicked and i start getting really angry and really depressed. a bad combination. apparently, i jumped up on the bomb and began shouting about how:

'i've always promised that this is the age i'll kill myself, and you lucky fuckers are gonna be there with me... literally... i'm standing on a fucking mega or giga or whatever ton of nuke and it's about to blow... happy birthday to me, you stupid bastards!!! this station is going down!!!'

i wanted to see their reaction: flapjack was crying quietly and drooling. cosmoose actually stopped eating. and poor skip... he began making tiny little vacuum circles. everyone else was staring at me, jaw or manidible open... the angry one cult actually looked pretty happy...

i took a final slug of the booze and toppled over the side of the bomb, unconscious... i woke a few hours later to skip vacuuming and banging into me. the party was over.

good times...

it turns out the plan wouldn't have worked anyway. i tried moving the bomb through my fence later that day, and he said it was a dud... oh well... there's always next year.