Space Poop:
Stop The Madness
The day is April 12th, 1961. The hour is 9:07 a.m. local time. The place, Baikonur, Kazakhstan. A fiery rumble shakes the earth, the roar of some ancient fire-god raging into life to hurl the Soviet spaceship/satellite Vostok 1 327,000 meters above the planet's surface into orbit. Inside the craft, the brave but all-too-human Yuri Gagarin, 27 years old, becoming the first man willingly launched into space. He was in orbit for 89 minutes and 34 seconds travelling at speeds over 28,000 kilometers per hour. Imagine for a moment, that you are him. Imagine the exitement, the nervousness, the amazing pressure of the overwhelming g-forces at work on your bowels, pushing down on that big russian home-style breakfast you had before the launch that morning. Let's face it, we'd all need a good crap in that situation.
Yuri was no different than all the Astronauts and Cosmonauts who followed him. They all felt the need, once they'd made their way beyond Earth's gravity, to pinch a big steamer at one point or another. There's no shame in it, really, it's all quite natural. The issue here is not the fact that for almost 42 years men and women have been making human fudge in the heavens but, rather, where they have been flushing it for those 42 years. Space toilets are, contrary to some NASA propaganda, very much like toilets on an ocean liner, which vent their waste directly into the sea. In the case of these "Cosmo-Crappers", they simply flush into the vacuum of space, leaving the turds behind to follow in the spacecraft's orbital path. Now consider: 42 years of fecal matter accumulating in the cosmos just above the Earth's atmosphere and you will begin to grasp the problem we now face.
The Astro-Dumper
Goober McNoulty, an amateur astronomer working from his laboratory/basement apartment in Lethbridge, Alberta, has devoted the past 14 years of his life to the study of the issue. "There's just GOBS of the stuff up there. Its like a giant asteroid belt, not much smaller than the one between Mars and Jupiter, only its made out of cuckas. Imagine it, if you will, vast, immense, foreboding...just hovering in orbit above our heads, waiting to come raining down like a diarrhea monsoon." The picture Mr. McNoulty paints is a grim one. He warns that, due to insufficient research and a general apathy from the mainstream scientific community, very little real data exists on the phenomenon. "This thing could explode at any minute. One minute we're all lounging around, happy as clams, the next..whooomf! Fudge-storm a comin' and no where to hide." His incessant pleas to the world's scientist seem to be falling on deaf ears however, and little help seems to be on the way to aid this fearless soldier, standing tall against the monumental, looming threat to us all.
People worldwide have always enjoyed a good meteor shower. There are the Persieds and the Leonids, for example, beautiful, romantic displays in the dark skies that draw many a nocturnal audience to marvel at the starry wonder of the cosmos above. Will this be the case when, in few short years, we have the Feceids, massive amounts of rank smelling brown dung plumeting through the skies, plumes of nasty, gaseous emissions blowing across the earth, enveloping whole cities under the heavy clouds of putrid, burning crap smoke like a nuclear winter? It is only a matter of time, people, until this becomes a very real problem. It could happen tomorrow or, even, tonight, while we sleep peacefully, dreaming only of powdered donuts and calypso music.*
So I ask you, dear reader: What will you do about this problem? Will you continue to sit back, safe in your home, assuming that your simple rooftop will shelter you from the inevitable fiery shower of feces that awaits you? Or will you become pro-active, seeking out your local Congressmen, City and State Officials, Scientific Leaders and Star Trek Fan Clubs, imploring them to examine the issue with the same dynamic fervor they used when they orchestrated the Apollo missions to the moon. As renowned American Astronaut Neil Armstrong once said, "Yeah, Houston? I just pinched one off, a real beauty. The sucker is floating off right now, starboard side. Hey...(muffled laughter)...check this one out: One small fart for man, one giant steaming loaf for mankind. HAHAHAHAHA!" You can laugh if you want to, Neil, but excuse us if we don't share in the hilarity. We're too busy watching the skies.
Waiting.
Related Article: Toilets of the Gods
*Editor's Note: The Author's assumption that the majority of the world's population, like him, have vivid, recurring dreams about sugary breakfast pastries and caribbean music are entirely his own. The editors of Albino Mongoose concede that people's dreams are infinitely varied even if, however, the suspicion remains that a large percentage include Julie Newmar as Catwoman.
© Ken Socrates 2005. All rights reserved.
