In Space No One Can Hear You Poop

Ok, so a lot of kids dream of being an astronaut when they grow up. The glamour of space travel, the funky glass hat shit and tubes and shit… FLOATING. IN THE FUCKING AIR. And like most every other kid I assumed that all they did up there was shake hands with Russians, catch noodles and do the odd press-up. Piece. Of. Piss. Now I’ve been a bit potty-mouthed so far, I’ll admit, but as will soon be made apparent it is in keeping with the subject matter.

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You have to wonder about what they do with all the nasty stuff, stuck up there in the endless vacuum that allegedly goes on forever. They can’t exactly open a door and sling out a two day in the making, meaty chog wrapped in yesterday’s Sun can they?

For anyone who’s been camping and got caught in a storm of biblical proportions, but cunningly has a vast array of booze in the tent, you’ll be getting the issue here. You can’t just unzip the tent cos it’s raining horizontal stair rods, right? So you might just piss into the empties — creating a potentially endless loop of drinking and weeing — which is great so long as no one has lost the cork or the bottle lid.

What happens, though, when your gut starts making it apparent that it’s time to drop the kids off at the pool? You wait a bit, hoping the tsunami dies down enough to allow you to waddle to the toilet block without the risk of drowning, but life’s a bitch, just like they say in the Bible. The kids start playing up, making it known that if you don’t get them to the pool asap you’ll regret it. What next, brave wannabe astronaut? Well I don’t know about you but, providing the others don’t mind, I crack out the carrier bag and squat like a dreadlocked smack-fiend at a free party.

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Now NASA don’t do raves (although if they did they’d be fucking magic) so of course they’ve got something a bit more sci fi than one of Aldi’s finest. In fact, news is out about a whole new concept in dumpery, and the impetus for this cutting edge chognology is a planned mission to fly by Mars in 2018.

New non-profit organisation the Inspiration Mars Foundation is hoping to get a married couple to fly some flimsy pod to, and around, the red planet. The journey should take over 500 days which, according to my calculator, equals a hell of a lot of brown trout, especially when you factor in weekends, birthdays and Christmas. A hell of a lot.

Clearly lugging a massive metal tank behind the pod is out of the question, so the cunning boffins in charge of the mission have come up with a solution that could kill two birds with one log. Firstly, there’ll be a load of radiation to deal with, because space is a dangerous place yo. Secondly — chogageddon. Luckily for the crew they think that lining the walls of the spaceship with bagged up bumcheese could actually protect them from frying up or turning into some mad mutant! Whodda thunk it?

So, although I haven’t seen any pics of the proposed bag of shit wall shield, I’m guessing it’s a bit more elaborate than, well, just bags of shit on rows of coat pegs. Maybe more like one of those shower curtains with the bubbles in them, so it’s like you’re showering under the sea. Anyway it gets weirder – and worse, unless you’re a fan of a certain kind of website. Due to a lack of room they can’t take loads of water with them, so they’re going to make some machine that squeezes the moisture from the turds and recycles it into drinking water. Sweet Jesus. That is RANK.

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The deal isn’t dissimilar to the booze/tent problem. They’re thinking of lining the ship with bags full of water and food, which will then be filled up with dried out clart as they’re emptied. I suspect this’ll change the whole ambience as the lighting goes from a cool blue to oppressive shades of brown, kind of like going back in time to the Seventies dead slowly.

Will it smell, you ask. Well let’s be honest, I’m guessing yes is the answer to that one however, speaking as someone who has lived with the same woman for getting on ten years, apparently you get used to it.

What spins me out is that someone has devoted their life to solving this kind of problem. I remember years ago I met this suave looking fella in a boozer, mate of a mate, clearly had a few bob and came across as well travelled and worldly wise. Turns out he was a car designer. “Wow!” I thought “How fucking clever must you have to be to design an ENTIRE car!” Turns out he just designed dashboards. Kerrrazy. So he was born with a natural bent towards engineering plus design, went to college, uni, the lot, for years, all to spend his life using a grey felt tip pen to draw curved lines. Like I said though, it seemed to pay well.

So back to spaceships. The people who work on these projects aren’t just recruited from the job centre, they aren’t mid-life career changers; they’re again people who were born with an innate passion for problem solving and complex mathematics and physics and all kinds of mad voodoo behaviour yet someone, some poor bugger (and I can’t for the life of me work out why but, in my mind, he’s Peruvian) ended up specialising in shit and piss. You’d be a bit miffed, yeah? “I wanted to do the pointy end!” “Fuck off Domingo, you smell like Sugar Puffs”. Space, eh?

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