Sunday, October 30, 2011

Baths are like Space

I’ve always avoided any real interest in the universe and outer space like the plague, simply because unanswered questions really bother me, so… By the same token, I’ve never been a fan of baths, because lying in my own stagnant filth really disgusts me. However, the reason why I would one day like to live beyond the sky and the reason why I occasionally take a bath and not a shower are oddly enough the same: because I want to live in a world where stuff just floats around, and barring any unforeseen apocalyptic shit, a bath is the closest I am ever going to get to a world such as that.

There’s not a lot I know about living on a space station, but the way I understand it is that the gravity isn’t as dense as ours and - I’m just going to say it straight-out - if I ever had the privilege of living in one, it would be my sickest and most perverted time. Honest to god, I can’t be held accountable for the sick shit I’d get up to, I’m talking trying to smash glass, lighting a match, trying to drink water out of a cup, seeing how far one of my farts can propel me, dropping deuces mid-room like a fish, standing on the wing firing off a semi-automatic I smuggled on board…needless to say, it’s going to be a strange time for the whole crew. So, I guess the equation is: zero gravity + me = the most annoying housemate you’ve ever had. And I say ‘don’t judge’ because you can’t tell me that Buzz Aldrin never walked floated in on a butt-naked Neil Armstrong while he was checking out his own junk and how it sort of hangs, but not really, y’know, like it is when you’re in the bath. With a face like Armstrong’s, I wouldn’t put it past him really, I mean, they don’t call him ‘Armstrong’ for nothing…but I digress. In fact, if NASA or the Russian fellows did an International Space Station version of Big Brother without telling them, I’m willing to bet we would just be seeing unclad genitalia all the time. If it were me up there – fair warning - it’d be mine all over your screen; hands down. Well, that’s me in the bath, checking myself out naked with everything I need, not on the side, but in the water with me – the bar of soap, the shampoo bottle, the loofah, the razor – it’s all just floating around me…somewhere. Anyway, the message here is that my mother calls it the bath; I call it ‘My Little Space Station’ (only because I can’t think of a name as cool as SkyLab!).

Fuelled by my curiosity of the weightlessness of space, I personally think that Richard Branson should stop trying to get consumers to space and just bring space to us. I’m not talking about everywhere, maybe just a few countries, you know, we’ll start with the socialist ones, like China and Egypt and then we’ll work it out from there. I mean, do surfaces even get dirty in space? Can liquid spills and dust truly attach themselves to anything? Who knows really; all I know at this point is that the only thing putting dust and liquid all over my fucking furniture seems to be gravity; maybe gravity is the world’s problem. Maybe the Chinese government have a dust problem and that’s why they hate everyone, because they have dust-frustration like me? I mean, there’s no communism in space is there? No wars either, apart from the ones in George Lucas’ mind and that weird one at the end of Moonraker. That’s the reason why we should have zero gravity on earth, because nobody likes dust or Chinese politics, and definitely not because I want to be thrown across the room by the burst of my own natural gas.

No comments:

Post a Comment