Floating Beyond Pluto

It’s day 3470 and it’s very black out here in the outer regions of the solar system. You probably aren’t aware of this, but I’m the sucker NASA sent along with the New Horizons spaceship. They probably didn’t tell you this was a manned mission, right? Who do you think is uploading all those Pluto images these past few days? A computer program? Do you really think they’re that advanced? These computers I’m working with here still run on Windows 98, so yeah, remote desktop? Forget about it! It’s a well-established fact that NASA secretly puts people on every mission, and it’s not like we’re given a choice. Basically, it’s a cheaper option than upgrading to Windows XP.

In case you’re wondering, I came across the NASA agents while going out; they seduced me, got me drunk, probably roofied me (with my own roofies! That’s just unethical!), and dragged me aboard this spaceship.
When I woke up from my hangover sleep, I had already flown past the moon (that’s what they told me in response to my frantic screams when I was slowly realizing where I was). I’m generally a peaceful man, but then I went berserk, and I screamed at them to send me back home. Of course they couldn’t and wouldn’t, because this was always going to be a one-way ticket.

“Look at the bright side,” they’d say, “nobody ever went as far as you! Think of all the unique things you’ll see!”
“But I don’t give a fuck about space! Let me get back to my carefree life of debauchery!”
“If we get you back, you burn up on re-entry in the earth’s atmosphere … Face it, you’re not coming back, kid!”
“So you’re putting me out to die here?”
“Basically, but not before you do what we want!”
“You can’t make me! I’ll commit suicide!”
“I’m afraid that that’s impossible – that chair you’re sitting is constricting your movements because you are attached to it, literally attached!”
“What do you mean?”
“Your body movements are constricted, you are fed intravenously, automatically through a needle in your spine, which also happens to paralyze both your legs.”
“You guys are SICK!”

I think I spent the first 4 years moping and angry, until I found I could decrease the amount of oxygen in my cabin, which basically makes me high 24/7. And I need to be that for when I’m watching the limited movie collection they put on my computer. I know them all by heart now, even the porno movies! (Do you know what’s a nuisance? Ejaculate in a state of weightlessness! Got to always use the suction cup!).

Internet sucks up here, though! You know the reason the upload speeds for sending those Pluto photos are so slow, is because I’m still downloading some things from KazaA. My download will be done in 2018, so don’t expect any faster upload speeds before that! And let’s be honest, even after that, I’ll just download some new shit!
It also takes 9 hours to see the effect of anything I type in on Google. The speed of light is a bit of a bummer, really…

So you’re wondering how the fly-by was of Pluto? Given that it went almost too fast to register on my retinas, it was pretty underwhelming. I was hoping for that 1 in a 1000 chance to crash into Pluto, but of course that was wishful thinking.

I’m beginning to feel a bit too conscious again…
Let me take away some oxygen…
Oh yes! That’s the stuff! Whiiiiiii!!!!


On paying the 4th Reich, Merkel and exploding orphans’ nipples

Oh Cruel Fate!

On the day the Germans succeeded in castrating an entire country, a day where it (and its cowardly accomplices) decided that democracy was no longer something we really strive for in Europe, my income taxes were due, payable to the country that brought forward the Merkel and the dickhead Schäuble.

I’m pretty sure Merkel planned it that way after last year, when I forced her to dance for me to get my money. The woman simply cannot take a joke, sheesh!

They say that every time she laughs, an orphan’s nipples explode (it’s true, because why else wouldn’t that orphan I met show me his nipples today after the Greek deal was announced? She’d been laughing, alright!). At least it’s lucky for orphans’ nipples around the world that her laughing is still a very rare event.

I can just imagine her, sitting in her cross-shaped office (or “croffice” for short), calculating my payable taxes.

Jah, Wolfgang, I think we should make that Tim-Schloch pay this year, nein?”
Klar! And let’s really annoy him!”
“I agree! I am still scraping coins from in between my wrinkle sacks.”
“Your wrinkle sacks, Frau Merkel?”
Jah, they are everywhere!”
“Don’t worry about them, Schatz! Somewhere on an attic, there’s a very beautiful painting of you that just gets prettier with every European you impoverish!”
“You are the sweetest, Wolfgang!”
“You bring out the worst in me, Angie! Haha!”

In the distance, the sound of an orphan’s nipples exploding resonates.

As I saw the money being taken from my account by Merkel’s greedy hands, I followed how it immediately got sent to the Acropolis, circled around it for a few times, only to end up back in Germany with the mobsters at Deutsche Bank, together with a high-interest IOU from some Greek pensioner.

I tried not paying Merkel; I did so inadvertently two times (although it was probably my subconscious testing her, quite likely enraging her with every minute I made her wait (oh wait? Am I now taking blame for her vindictive behaviour? Damn!)).

Of course, not paying didn’t help – she just sent in her goons, ready to smash up my things, and I just couldn’t live with myself if another orphan would lose their nipples over my challenging her and thus risking her evil laugh being cast upon me.

Maybe I should take something back from Germany… An eye for an eye, that’s what the Bible says, right? So that basically gives me a religious right to take my taxes worth of stuff from Germany… Hmmmm, let’s see…. What could I take? Oh, I know! I could take a few thousand cobblestones from the street (probably not my street though, wouldn’t want to stumble over and break my nose (because I can’t begin to work out how many cobblestones I’d need to steal if that were to happen)).

I’ll have some figuring out to do, at least until next year…


Scorched City

It put the words in my mouth with a shovel, as I lay vertically across the river, stretched out from side to side in an embrace with infinity.

I only carried the match, besides that I was naked. The tiny spark that started this all, transformed into a flame and travelled to the house nearby. I felt the heat on my feet as it rose up from the ground. The flame grew in its protagonist role, as it increased in size and confidence.

“Thanks, Timmy!” it whispered.
“It’s alright, girl, you’re free now.”
There was a first collapse, and the flame travelled onwards left and right. It wasn’t long before the entire street was lit up, forcing me to take a step back, as I watched this constructive rejuvenation take place.


I didn’t set fire to the city!
I’m not an arsonist. I haven’t burnt down that many things, at least not much more than what is usual for the … errr… humans in my age group….


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