the shack of beration is temporarily closed

there is a time in every boy's life when he has to accept the mantle of responsibility and become a man... usually this takes the form of children, or jobs, or wives, or whatever stupid fucking thing people get themselves into... for me, it's because captain spacefuck shut down the shack of beration...
i've been keeping a no-go attitude to this insurgency. not my business, not my problem, don't fucking care. however, there have been some reports of minor bombings, theft, and mysterious meetings with mysterious people all around the station. there have been some industrial strikes too, but that's hardly surprising is it? a sample conversation from one of their meetings:

'fellow revolutionaries, we must crush their system and bring it crashing out of orbit!'
'yes comrade' they say in unison
'this will be hard work'
'er... ok, comrade' in broken unison
'sacrifices will be made'
'hmmm.... not entirely sure about that one, i came because i hate unitards'
'we must break his money-making machine... strike!'
'oh shit, that i can do... i love not working!'

see, not fucking surprising at all. and getting robots to strike is even simpler... the programming is already there thanks to the bastard manufacturers, so it becomes a hacking war: whoever gets into their brains first, gets them to strike or become slaves... very very simple

anyway, things are uneasy, and getting uneasier. which, as i've mentioned before, is often good... but now it affects my livelihood... a few days ago, the powers-that-be being nervous and all of any meetings of people in unofficial ways have been banned... this includes my duties as the angry one...

now, i've been doing huge business lately... lots of money and offerings rolling in, flapjack is swimming in galactopus dolls (he's become a kind of living saint, as people are amazed at the amount of abuse he suffers at my hands. in fact, he's often the first stop before the shack, as people wish to get a little bit of his ability to suffer before they enter the shack with me.) skip has been buffed out and is nice and shiny. he doesn't go in such small circles any more, which is great. cosmoose has his weirdfruit, mal-aka has whetstones to sharpen his wings and longshanks could drown himself in booze right now if he wanted.

they're so nervous that the shack is some kind of secret insurgent meeting point (or worse, some kind of training/indoctrination point) that spacefuck himself came down to talk to me, to sniff out what was going on in there... which is absurd, because spacefuck is always in the shack... but until it becomes more profitable for me to sell my follower's stories, i'll just keep on giving them what they want.

spacefuck looked legitimately upset... he's used the shack a lot, what with his various inadequacy issues, so for him to come down here to ask me to close it was a bit fucking deal, he wanted me to know.

but you know what spacefuck? it's a big fucking deal for me too! this is how i make my fucking money... not this pointless janitorial gig. fuck, i don't even do janitorial work anymore. i screamed at him and told him exactly what was wrong with this station, with him, and that, you know what spacefuck, i hope the insurgents blow this whole cocksucker up... i can't wait to watch, from hangar 23's shielded airlock, the planet approaching us at terminal velocity, then that one sweet instant of knowledge that yes, right now, we are all going to die and this miserable place will finally be no more and even in its death it's bringing misery to those people down on the planet that never had to come here as it crushes their nice cute friendly little fucking houses you stupid, pointless, useless fuck!

afterwards, he just stared at me, with tears in his eyes... it was a good beration... and it didn't even happen in the shack... he thanked me... i punched him in the face... he thanked me again, i kicked him in the balls. he was on the ground, rolling and crying thank you... i teared up myself... it was the end of an era...


like fuck it was... i'm not letting these bastards take away my only fun... we've gotta be smart about this... if the pangalacticists think we're in on the insurgency, then maybe we can actually serve some use to them... after all, everybody needs to be made to feel bad once in a while... especially uppity, privileged, richkid revolutionaries... time to go pore through that robots memory and see if our (newly) brain-damaged friend has anything to say.