Monday, January 25

splashing around the fluids of human kindness

my cup overflows with various fluids of human kindness. but sometimes, that cup gets tipped, or knocked, or jostled, or woken up in the middle of my fucking sleep cycle and it becomes time for me to take some of those fluids and start splashing them all over the place.

after a particularly exhausting day dealing with unusually sas'd tourists, i did what any sensible man would do... got flapjack then we both got blind drunk at zargle's gargle's, then went back to my deplorable berth and got very ill wondering if the spins i had would be counterbalanced by the spins of the station. they weren't...  then flappy hears me letting 'er loose, so he decides to join in with the fun, screaming something about a 'ticker tape parade' and spraying every inch of the berth...  an hour's worth of mopping vomit (the irony has not escaped me), i am back in bed.

fast-forward a few hours and what do i hear? richkids banging around outside. now... i've explained where we live. it used to be a very unfashionable, very unpleasant, very shitty level of the station. why the engineers who decided this rust-hulk thought it necessary to make such shockingly different classes of berth is not something i can readily understand. but i'm just a stupid janitor, remember? it's not for me to understand... i should take my medicine and get back to work. those, i believe were captain spacefuck's words when i brought this whole strangefruit up to him. no luck...

so anyway, they saw fit to make 'bad' decks on the station... the only way i figure it makes sense that way is to titillate the richkids and the tourists: they get to see a legitimate rough hood, full of degenerates and criminals.

i guess they had a point. who else would you rather surround yourself with? upstanding citizens with healthy credit? or me?

i'd rather hang out with me?

and so, apparently, would these little richkid fuckers at 3 in the morning. without a doubt, i've made my fair share of noise, sung in the dawn, stolen ships... but that's different... i wasn't the victim. i was the aggressor. plus, i'm just one of these stupid, poor, degenerates... i don't know any better... lo... if only i had been raised richer!

alas, i was not. but they were. and the newest fad on this shit-float are these little jet-shoes... regular ass shoes on the outside, high-fucking speed turbine on the inside... kids all over the place are zipping along at 50 miles an hour, crashing into people, upsetting the locals... they're awesome... i tried to find a pair a few days ago at zog's, but the only ones he had were pink, 5 sizes too small, blood-stained and had a little bit of a doily-sock stuck to one of them... i passed... i hate the color pink.

but these little richkids were doing their tricks outside my berth... banging off various pipes, sliding on the ceiling and recording it for some fucking reason... their enthusiasm and wallets were more than enough to drive me insane... what annoyed me most was how cool they felt hanging around on our deck, slumming it in the bad part of town.

'this deck is awesome...'
'i can't wait to show everyone where we were... they're never going to believe it'
'it's so real!'
'i hate my parents...'

we've had this problem before, and i haven't figured out how to fix it... all those artists and writers and clowns moving in to 'get a feel for real people' have felt nothing but scorn but they still won't fucking leave.

so now the richkids are keeping me up, sullying my deck, making noise and being better off than me... this will not stand. what to do... what to do... well... they want to see real people... doing real things...

what's more real than all however-many-hundred-pounds of flapjack? i bolt up, grab his plush galactopus doll, smack flapjack in the face about 15 times to wake  him up, rip open the door...

'hey flappy... catch!' and chuck the doll straight at the richkids outside.

flapjack moves into motion with unnatural speed... he's torn the door from my hands and  juggernauts his way down the hall. one of the kids has made the mistake of picking up the doll...


i've never seen a living being actually tear off another one's arms, but i did that night. i also saw him club the kids with the other kids. i saw them cry and shit themselves, i saw them try to run while he battered and smooshed them... their bits all over the walls, their little shoes zipping around with dismembered feet... i even managed to sneak in and get their camera and shoot some of the carnage... it'll be worth a lot.

which is good, seeing as my medical bills are going to be pretty high... flapjack, it seems, makes no distinction between friend and foe, and after dispatching the richkids, tore into yours truly with nearly as much gusto... but he was a little tired, so, after having knocked me nearly unconscious, curled up at my feet, galactopus doll securely fastened in his blood-stained arms... it was a sweet image...

it's keeping me company up here on the medical levels.

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