Tuesday, March 8

doing it in the missionary position... part four

like any good careworker who deals with the elderly, it is inevitable that you will wake up, one day, to an old woman's genitalia hovering six inches above your face... just close enough that it's unclear what is up there, and you have to refocus hard and it takes a few seconds for the picture to become clear...only to then realize that what you thought were your normal morning tears of waking to the reality that you had at least another day to live on this shitbox were not in fact tears but streams of thick, pre-diabetic, sweet urine sputtering stop-start on your face.

i'll take flapjack abusing himself in the bed next to me any day. i would rather not wake up this way again. ever.

'good morning, friends. showering me with gold this morning, i see?' is tricky to say while someone is pissing on your face. what actually came out was

' oh god you fucking monsters what is wrong with you?' is what i tried to shape with my mouth but in reality came out as

'i'll kill all of you and your families who obviously don't care about you anymore as they stuck you on this station to die.' would have been a good comeback if it weren't for the fact that what i actually said was

'i want my mommy.' which, uttered with a sniffly nose, old-lady crotch above my mouth, and a stream of urine down my face, was pretty fucking creepy.

'get up. get up. get up you fucking rip-off shit. get your lazy, useless husk off the fucking floor or you'll get far worse. pris... get off him.'

'has she been eating prunes?' was the clever response i thought of in my head several hours later.

they hoisted me off the ground, threw some dirty rag at me to clean my face off, then plopped me down on a crate. i looked around. i was in a cargo hold, but it wasn't in hangar 23. i didn't recognize the walls. they were clean... well-kempt... cared for. piles of supplies were neatly organized. it was also a lot smaller. then, i realized i felt a sensation i hadn't felt in a long, long time. in fact, about as long as it'd been since i came to das orbit.

i was on a ship. and i was moving. very. very. fast.

i was not on the station. i was going far away from the station. i had left the station. i was not on the station.

this was different. this is change. change is not good. not fucking good at all.

i inquired as to our destination. the response was a punch in the balls. these old people are strong. and by the looks of it a lot richer than i though. this is a pretty nice cargo hold.

after a while, they decided to talk to me.

'remember how cavalierly you didn't give a shit about our missing missionary brothers, young man?'

'with great relish. do you always have your wife do your face-pissing for you, or do you sometimes man-up and perform the act yourself?' finally, i got a come-back. a brilliant one too, if i fucking say so my self.

'well, spacetrash, we're going to get them back. specifically you are going to get them back. ever deal with the pirates?'
'ever deal with flapjack when there's no porn around?'
'you got an answer for everything, eh?
i thought hard about a really clever answer for this one. i hate logic puzzles, and i guess it took so long that the old bastards thought they won the argument. balls.

eventually. they explained what happened. the missionaries (frankie and dodo) had apparently, knowing full well that they were heading into very dangerous territory, decided that they'd be able to slip by in to the very fertile missionary zones out past the pirate areas.
'they took this thing a little too seriously. they were never that smart.' old gray said. that's what i started referring to him as. it was my tiny rebellion... i am soooo clever.

'what ever do you mean, too seriously. this is important business. you were the one who wanted this whole missionary thing to get started.'

'are you fucking stupid?'

'piss off, you old shit. i'll just wait you out until next week when your fucking prostate explodes. i don't need you old farts shouting at me. i'm your god, remember?'

'sorry about that... what i mean was how fucking stupid are you? do you really think that a bunch of very wealthy, very successful people would actually believe that you offered any kind of spiritual salvation? no wonder you are a fucking janitor on a space station. no wonder your only friends are retards and aliens...'

'don't forget about my missing robot, you cancer-in-waiting!'

'quiet you jackass. how dumb could you possibly be to think that we actually gave a shit about any of this?'

i was floored. 

'so what the fuck is all this about then?

'oh my god. how is it that you aren't the retarded one of your degenerate little klatsch. look, janitor. we'll let you use your brain for once.

'thanks!'

'what do we have a lot of?'

'money'

'and do we want to keep?'

'your money'

'and what takes our money away?'

'your ingrate children? your housekeeper? your careworkers?'

'pris... drop 'em. he needs another shower.'

'nonononono... let's be reasonable, oh gray one. taxes. you lose your fucking money to taxes, don't you?'

then i got it.

'and if you are working for an organized religion, you don't have to pay a fucking penny, do you? you found my little scam, took care of filing with the taxman, figured i'd shut up if you sent me some lucre every now and then and then fucked off to do so-called missionary work in your fancy yachts, float around the universe, keep a cargo-hold full of religious paraphernalia, take some photos with the natives, and yer living tax-free for the rest of your lives. holy cunt! you old fuckers are all-fucking-right in my book. i could learn a thing or two about scamming from you bastards!'

old gray kinda looked proud. i was floored. i'm used to being taken advantage of. to being ripped off, stolen from, tricked, beaten, robbed, and molested. but i've always seen it coming. this... this was something new. this was awesome.

'so why do you give a fuck if frankie and dodo get eaten by pirates?' space pirates eat people. everyone knows that.
'because, spacetrash, if they get eaten, the authorities step in. authorities step in, and we get scrutinized. we get scrutinized, angry one ceases to be fair game for our little missionary position, dig?'

'fair point. so what's going on?'

'like i said, frankie and dodo took this shit way too seriously. they actually tried to convert the pirates. and when they met with the head pirate, they followed the manual. they went straight to insertion.
'anal insertion?'
'in the butt. but the insertion document tells the missionary to insert what is most holy. the thing most holy to the chief were the mummified remains of his mother.'
'so the mother's bones were inserted'
'anally inserted.'
'in the butt... that probably didn't end well, did it?'
'that's why you are here. they wanted to meet the man foul enough to create a doctrine of such putrescence.
i felt a bit proud of that bit there. space pirates wanted to meet me. those guys are bad-ass.
'and...'
'and nothing. they meet you, they give us frankie and dodo, they eat you presumably,  we go on. a martyred prophet works wonders for a religion.'

'hmmm... can't say i'm totally in agreement with this plan, old gray.'
'i don't give a fuck, spacetrash. we need them back, and you being dead works out awesome for us.'
'so when do we get there?'
'not we. you. we're sending you down in a shuttle. the pirates are sending frankie and dodo back on it.'
'damn'
'ciao spacetrash'
'ciao tumor'
everything went black again... all i felt was rushing, rushing, rushing in the darkness...

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