Friday, March 27

flapjack, a simple soul

as i've mentioned before, i work a pretty menial job. it's thoroughly unfulfilling, as you can imagine. on top of the misery of mopping vomit and surviving by stealing stupid tourists fancy crap, i have an idiot partner. his name is flapjack, he is seven foot six, 400 pounds and dumb as fuck. he is also an alien.

Tuesday, March 24

the company he keeps

The scum of the east village, shoreditch, hackney, LES and every other hip, young, trendy fuckbag pretentious part of the world has been skimmed off and deposited in large ladles on my god damn rig!!! (apologies to papa)

Monday, March 23

one of my only vices

if you haven't heard from me for a while... here is why:

lots of people do bad things in the name of pleasure. and i am ok with every one of them. especially if they inconvenience or injure another. after all, einstein proved that your pleasure is increased just by decreasing someone else's.

Friday, March 20

the best part of my job

i'll be honest... my job isn't fucking hard. at all... mostly it consists of mopping up the puke of day-trippers who get all SASed when they hop out of the airlock.

To make this easier, the floor has a grating about 12 inches off of it. This way, the vomit slides through. At the end of each shift, I remove the grating and clean the puke.

Wednesday, March 18

moonshine in space

Lots of philosophical questions around this one: should we still call it moonshine if it's made in space? Or on the moon? would it be sunshine then? or earthshine? or starshine? One gets thoughtful in one's times of rest...

bullshit. No one fucking cares. All I do know is that a liter of that shit last 'night' made me sleep past that dickbag Wiggins little prank and straight through my shift. I have a headache so fucking bad I can't see straight. Call it what you will...I call it a good time.

Tuesday, March 17

plan didn't go to plan...

in order to combat the inscrutable Wiggins and his hated 3am wake up calls, I decided to smash every single bulb and fluorescent in both my cell, and the hallway adjacent. Apparently this inevitability was planned for, because security came up here right fucking quick and chucked me in the brig.

but.. at least the sun didn't rise at 3am... prisoners get up at 9am. finally, a lie-in.

Bad Morning...

Wiggins, that dick who's in charge of the artificial environment on this shithole, has it out for me. Everyone else can control their sunrise as they see fit... a nice, clean, pleasant way to ease into the awful life we have up here. Except for...wait for it... you're getting closer... now close the deal...... YES THAT IS RIGHT. ME. That fuck programmed mine to go off at 3 am. And no matter how many times i yell at the control panel, or hit the wall, or threaten to chuck him out the airlock, it won't fucking change.

But today, i have a plan...

Monday, March 16

Guess what's on the menu... again?

Space is awesome. What with all the radiation, lack of pressure, weird aliens, clanging metal stairways and AIs achieving consciousness and fucking things up, an angry spaceman can build up a massive appetite.

And what does the cafeteria put out?

More reconstituted vegetable based protein from the hydroponic farm-rooms. Hooray! I love reconstituted vegetable based proteins! They are delicious, and not at all distinguishable from real protein. Who wants a fucking cow when you can milk a fucking carrots and make a faux-steak out of it.

Fuck me... I think I might wait until another one of those fucking alien greeting parties show up, pick off a straggler and cook him up.

Sunday, March 15

In space, no one can hear you complain

I've fucking had it with the Captain. How is he even a fucking captain? This station is in an ORBIT... ORBITS are FIXED. It doesn't even have a fucking steering wheel. And for all that hard work, he gets his own fancy cabin and double rations on whisky... what a dick.