Rock (825 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Sci-fi
Rating: 1.47 on 38 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2006-09-07 18:24:40 EDT
---This takes place in the future setting of 'Bone Dry.' http://www.ubersite.com/m/77890--
Clinging to the side of my ship, I saw the endless array of stars around me, the massive rock moving away from me, fragments of metal that had been a shielded cube holding radioactive waste scattered on the surface, and a ragged hole in the side of the rock.
That rock, that small asteroid, was now a tomb. A tomb for my best friend.
The moment I opened the inner hatch and stepped out of the airlock into the cargo bay of my ship, the radio crackled and I heard a voice from Beltway dispatch.
"Bravo Whiskey nine-nine-oh-oh-nine, we're getting news from ships in the area that you just dumped some radioactive waste. Was there an accident? What is your status?"
I had turned off all my data transmitters a day ago, going so far as to disconnect hardwired systems. I didn't want dispatch knowing what I was doing until I was done.
I passed through a doorway from cargo to cockpit. This was a no frills ship. A working ship.
"Beltway, this is Bravo Whiskey nine-nine-oh-oh-nine. Everything is four-square here. I'm on course for Poincaré Base, ETA is about seven days, one hundred, seventy-four hours according to onboard navcomp."
"Bijal, Davida Torres here. Did you have a drive malfunction?"
I sat down in my contoured flight chair and paused a moment. I suppose I could have lied, but the techs back at Pbase would figure out the truth eventually. I could have done a quick EVA and simulated damage to the drive, but that would be risky. I wasn't getting a lot of use out of my gonads lately, but I wanted them to remain fully functional.
"Negative, Beltway. The dump was intentional. And it was controlled."
They wouldn't believe that last bit, but once a SEPA crew got out here and investigated they'd see that there was little risk to passing ships.
"Bravo Whiskey nine-nine-oh-oh-nine, the Solar Environmental Protection Agency has already redirected two sweeper probes to your location. You are facing some hefty fines, Bijal, and the Cargo Haulers Union of the Inner Belt could pull your license for this."
I wasn't worried about CHUIB. When I was a kid my dad did over a hundred risky unlicensed runs in an unregistered ship. If I had to, I could survive that way.
"I had my reasons, Beltway. I'll explain everything to my union rep when I get back."
After a moment of silence Davida said, "Good luck, Bijal. Come home safe."
I switched off the radio and thought of Davida a moment. We'd gotten together a few times. She was six feet, four inches tall, one hundred ninety-three centimeters, and she was big all around. Her ass was soft enough to use as a pillow, firm enough to use as an anchor. She was taller and heavier than I was. I like big women.
On the Moon, away from the hard pull of Earth's gravity, big women are beautiful. Guys like me call them rollercoasters. Maybe because you can climb up and ride down their curves, maybe because they are just one hell of a good time.
I was thinking of Davida Torres because I had to fill my mind with something other than Fender, and what had happened to him only a few hours ago.
Fender was my friend. My partner out here in the belt. He was a crutch when I was hurting and a source of laughter when I was down.
And now he was dead, on an unnamed rock, somewhere behind me.
I set the navcomp for Pbase and sat back in my chair. I unlatched my helmet and took it off, flexing my knees and elbows within my vacsuit.
For me Pbase was rollercoasters and hot showers and good food, stews and soups slopped into a bowl. Food that stayed where you put it if you didn't move too fast.
Poincaré Base was on farside, near the South pole of the Moon.
The big corporations owned all the Mares on the near side, having no trouble building settlements and landing strips on those arid seas, the great level plains of dust. Smaller outfits like Beltway had to settle for the rough and tumble landscape of the far side. There were lots of small companies tucked into craters on the so-called dark side of the Moon. Most of them stayed hemmed in. Farside expansion meant spending a fortune on democrews, and some incident at a USA dig had shut down all demo operations a few days ago when the shit had hit the fan in Shepard, a massive crater only four years old, not far from us on the flip side of the South pole. The United Space Agency had switched to private communications and none of us really knew what the hell was going on. The buzz was something had gone horribly wrong in Shepard's Central base, and the multinational city created there was now a mass grave. There were even rumors that an ambulance ship sent to pick up one single survivor had gone astray.
My guess? There was a fuckup in the lines. Every base had thousands of lines carrying dozens of gasses. Sometimes things went wrong, and there was a big flash of light that left a lot of dead behind.
There are as many ways to die in space as there are stars.
And that line of thought brought me mind back to Fender.
Fender and I were members of the cargo haulers union only because we had to be. Safe passage and rescue aren't just perks beyond the civilized spaceways on the far side of Mars, they are necessities. Raiders and breakdowns can leave a ship dead in space, and out here you aren't gonna see the slow-moving pregnant belly of a passing tour boat or the quick glint of a silver needle, a hot rod rented by a kid on spring break.
There isn't anyone to flag down out here, but the union will always come to your aid.
We called ourselves prospectors. Some called us crumb pickers. Between cargo runs to asteroid settlements and mining camps we would go out to the belt and look for goodies.
There is an incredible variety of minerals and metals out in the belt. The biggest roids had been staked long ago. Ceres Base, the first settlement in the belt, is petitioning the United Nations for recognition of independent status, making them a world unto themselves. Gumbo City, which used to be called Vesta, is supposed to one of the most depraved places in the solar system, full of gangsters. I hear they have slave markets dealing in anything you want, including mutants bred for sex. Six-tittied women and men with shlongs growing out of their foreheads. There are pot farms and meth labs and chocolate factories tucked inside old mine shafts running through that rock. Paranoid subversive groups like the Linzy Foundation swear they have proof that the United Space Agency and the United Nations once planned to fire extraterrestrial nuclear missiles at Vesta, which according to the LF would have been the first act of interplanetary war, but USA and UN officials have denied these claims as fiction.
The biggest rocks out there have been picked over and hollowed out by miners and claimed by corporations from Earth. Quite a few asteroids of only a few kilometers across have been turned into private estates.
What Fender and I were after was classified as debris, chunks of rock not worth mining and too small to live in. Most of the time we wasted our time, but sometimes we got lucky and found some minerals we could sell.
A chuck of iron could be turned into steel. Iron could be moved through space by a prospector for a fraction of the price of steel or aluminum or titanium lifted up on rockets from the depths of Earth's gravity well. Iron was a solid seller. So was carbon. There was a lot of carbon out in the belt. If we were lucky, we might find olivase.
Even small rocks out in the belt were tagged and claimed, or tagged with beacons and left to drift. Asteroids drifted and struck each other, and some prospectors jumping a claimed rock might try to argue that if there was a beacon it was damaged or completely destroyed. If you got caught screwing with a beacon you could lose everything, but every once in a while we came across a sizable rock and found no beacon.
That was what happened two days ago.
Fender called the rock Sunnyside. It was two hundred meters long and ninety meters wide. The rock looked like a fried egg, an egg fried in decent gravity, anyway. Long and flat with a bulge in the middle, most of the rock was only twenty or so meters thick, but that bulge was sixty meters from pole to pole.
We couldn't land on the rock or even tie ourselves to it. I suspected that the flat surfaces surrounding the bulge were probably weak and fragmented rock, shitrock, so Fender went out in his vacsuit on the end of a ship tether.
I slipped on my headset and watched his progress on a monitor displaying the signal from his helmet cam. I switched on one of the hull cameras and followed his progress on two screens.
"You were right about this buddy," I remember him saying. He kicked at the flat expanse on one edge of Sunnyside and instead of flying away from it he and a great plate of stone slowly drifted away from each other.
"I'm gonna go check out that bulge."
"Fuckin' homo," I replied.
"You know I love it when you sleep face down in your bunk, Bijal."
I couldn't help but laugh at that.
In space we slept in our flight chairs. Back at Poincaré Base we slept on bunks. Fender told me that there once a time when homos got the crap beat out of them for being homos. That sounded hard to believe.
Fender released his ship tether and I reeled it in. The jets on his flypack sparked and then he was passing over that expanse of flat rock and settling down on one side of the bulge.
While he was doing that I shut down our engines and used the ship's positioning jets to stay with him.
The engines on my ship were called China Blues, self-contained units made in factories in the Chinese Empire down on Earth. Say what you will about the Chinese, they made good, cheap engines. On one end was a sealed nuclear reactor. On the other was a blast port that shat blue flame.
All we had to do was feed in heavy, shielded fuel cubes and dispose of the waste once it was passed out in similar heavy cubes. You shipped the shielded waste cubes back to China. What they did with them was anyone's guess.
The engines were inexpensive, and better, they were sold all over the system and they had a great warranty. If there was a problem you just sent the whole engine in to the nearest dealer and got a brand new replacement.
Sure, every once in a while one of the engines blew and left almost nothing behind, or a waste cube leaked and irradiated someone, but this was space, and there are as many ways to die in space as there are stars.
There was a time when these old engines were everywhere. These days China Blues are outlawed close to Earth, since everyone from SEPA to associations of card-carrying lunatics like the Linzy Foundation consider them a threat to the biosphere. Only low-rent outfits on the Moon's farside use China Blues now. And I worked for one of them.
Fender opened the toolkits on each leg of his suit and took out two smaller tethers. He fired bolts into the rock, clipped on a tether from each side of his flypack harness to steady him and leave his hands free, and got to work. He used a spectool to run a quick analysis of the rock, both what he could see and what was hidden deep inside.
I heard a whoop through my headset and saw him shaking a fist.
"Olivase!"
Fifty years ago no one knew olivase existed. The existence of olivine in the asteroids had already been established, but when cut and polished some olivine became peridot gemstones, and they could be found all over Earth.
Olivase was a fluke of asteroid geology and a godsend to those who marketed gems. Instead of the usual olivine spectrum of yellow-green to brown, olivase crystals were a deep blue-green, thanks to trace amounts of titanium and iron. Any sensible person would realize that olivase was still a second tier gemstone... but that's where the marketers came in.
Rarer than rubies. More beautiful than sapphires. Purer than diamonds. Sea-gems, they were called by some, for their color. Created in the deep dark seas of interplanetary space. To own one was to touch infinity.
It was complete and total bullshit. But the public bought it all, especially after a clever advertising campaign informed them that only nine hundred and forty grams of the mineral had been found so far. Now olivase was the most sought-after gem in the system.
I'd found fragments before, tiny chips less than a half carat that sold at an incredible price.
If we found just one fist-sized chunk of olivase, we could retire. So could our families.
Now Fender was telling me there was a vein of the prized stone in that rock.
"The stuff on the surface is cloudy garbage, but I'm running a deep imaging scan and it goes deeper, into a void."
My partner was laughing hysterically as he went to work with a hammer and coring tool. The hammer would drive the long hollow coring tool into the rocky surface, the tool would be withdrawn leaving a small, open shaft, and the shaft would be filled with some explosive gel. After a little bang, we could take a closer look inside Sunnyside.
"Bijal, we can buy the fucking MOON!"
I was about to reply with a gleeful shout of my own when the image from his helmet cam was obscured a little haze, like cigarette smoke. I turned to the monitor carrying the feed from the hull camera and saw Fender bring the hammer down again, and there was more haze.
Venting.
Sometimes asteroids held trapped pockets of gas. The bigger rocks had differentiated cores, and gasses developed through understood geological processes. How the smaller rocks could have trapped gasses in them was still a mystery, but sometimes they did.
They were bombs waiting to be triggered. When they blew, pressurized and sometimes superheated gasses threw rock in very direction.
In the hull camera monitor I saw a white cone of venting gasses envelope Fender's head and shoulders.
Fender shouted something and I could hear a minute ticking and scratching. That was tiny fragments of rock striking his faceplate, scouring it, obscuring it. Now all I could see from the helmet cam was a white haze of scratches.
"Shit," Fender said. "I can't see, buddy."
"Release your tethers and fall back, Fender." I was trying to stay calm. "I'll come and get you."
"Damn it," Fender muttered. "My fucking—"
The ticking and scratching became a roar as vented gases began to buffet Fender's helmet. I heard loud thuds and pings. It wasn't just dust hitting my friend out there; it was small fragments of stone.
This phenomenon was not unknown among prospectors. It was called reaping the whirlwind. A prospector unwittingly taps into a chamber containing pressurized gasses, and sometimes there is a little haze, sometimes there is a lot worse.
"Fender! Cut your tethers! Get out of there!"
I heard a howl louder than the storm of gas-driven debris.
On the monitor I saw a second vent open just above Fender's groin. The old fractured rock was coming apart under the explosive pressure of trapped gasses. I saw shiny metallic flecks rising away from the rock in a glittering cloud.
Fender's uniform was coming part as if it were being sandblasted.
A thread of pink appeared in the haze rising around Fender.
The howling in my headset grew louder still, and I made out a few words.
"CUTTING ME CUTTING ME APART BIJAL IT HURTS!"
All of this had happened in about thirty seconds, since Fender had first struck with the hammer.
A cargo hauler always anticipates trouble. We travel in or vacsuits as often as possible. I was already pulling my weightless body down the length of the cargo bay and into the airlock when Fender grunted and shrieked.
By the time I got outside and began using my flypack jets to cross the hundred meters of open space to the rock my buddy had called Sunnyside, I could see streamers of blood and air coming out of small punctures in his vacsuit.
The pressurized gasses were blowing shards and chips of stone right through Fender's body, like bullets fired from a gun. There was a large red hole on the back of his right shoulder. As I drew closer to Fender my eye caught movement. Floating away from him was the coring tool. It was covered in Fender's blood after having blown through muscle and bone. I watched moisture boil away from the blood in faint wisps.
I had a suit patch in one hand and a buzz knife in the other. As I settled on the rock beside Fender I slapped a patch on his shoulder wound, and reached into the tool kit on my leg for another.
There were tears in the arms and legs of Fender's suit. I ignored them. We were wearing top of the line vacsuits, despite the grime discoloring them. They all had inflatable rubber gaskets inside every joint that would seal off an arm or leg from the rest of the suit when the material of the suit was breached. What I had to keep safe was Fender's head and torso.
He was hanging limp now, the gaskets sealing off the punctured arms and legs of his suit.
We still had time, though, before he had to kiss any appendages goodbye.
I hooked the Buzz knife around one of Fender's tethers and felt a jolt and heard a 'ping.' I saw a piece of steaming red rock drifting away from me. Following behind it were the buzz knife, and first three fingers of my left hand. I felt my thumb and pinky go numb and then felt nothing at all as my suit sealed itself at the wrist.
For a moment I didn't know what to do, then the venting gasses slowed to mere ghostly vapors and I slapped a half dozen more patches on Fender's suit.
Once his suit was patched he or I could manually override the gaskets and return pressure to his limbs.
I slapped him on the shoulder and shouted, "You're gonna be okay, buddy!"
I my headset I heard a whisper. "Don't wanna be buried back home."
Fender sounded drunk. He was in terrible pain. "I wanna be laid down out here. Make me a memorial out here, Bijal."
"Bullshit. I'm getting you out of here."
Fender turned to me. He couldn't see me through the white scoured surface of his faceplate, but he shook his head anyway.
Splinters and shards of stone began dancing away from the surface of the asteroid.
I saw a burst of pink mist in front of me and then a near solid cone of white erupted from the middle of Fender's back.
The tether on his right snapped, and I somehow managed to unclip the other one and pull Fender away from the vent of gasses.
With a final silent explosion the last of the gas rushed into space, throwing fragments of rock past me.
What was left was a deep and dark crevasse in the side of the asteroid.
That crevasse would be Fender's grave. The hole in his middle was so big I could literally see through it.
It took me two days to do everything I needed to do.
Once I returned to the ship and took care of my injured hand, I went back out to the rock. I placed Fender deep in the crevasse, using a dozen tethers.
He will be in there a thousand years from now.
Fender always had a taste for sweets, and since anything classifiable as candy had been outlawed long ago for its lack of nutritional value, you had to have connections to get something as simple as a bar of chocolate.
I stuffed a few wrapped pieces of Big Wanking bubble gum into one of Fenders pockets, the Chinese stuff he really liked.
I said goodbye to my best friend.
I set a beacon in place and transmitted a claim on the rock to the UN via Beltway. I named it Sunnyside.
As a final precaution I irradiated the asteroid. It was a tomb now, and I didn't want anyone screwing with it.
I used a pencil laser to burn flaws and faults into the surface of four waste cubes from the China Blue engines. Then I went outside the ship and simply threw the damned things like baseballs. Two of them hit the surface of Sunnyside and broke open, spilling radioactive waste across the surface of the asteroid. Two of the cubes disappeared into the crevasse.
And now I am heading home, to Beltway.
What is left of my hand hurts like hell, and I miss Fender.
In my mind, I can hear him laughing, and I can almost see him wiping at tears in his eyes.
The final vent of gasses that killed Fender blew small shards of rock through him and out into space. Some of them hit my ship. Some of them stuck in the hull.
Most of the shards were Olivase.
I looked to one side, to the empty chair were Fender always sat.
"We did it, buddy," I said. "We're rich."
(Note - There is a reason they call stuff like this science fiction... because you make shit up as you go along. I don't know if the geology of real asteroids could ever be similar to what I've described, and I hope those of you who do know the difference enjoyed this tale anyway.)
User Reviews
Submitted by zwerg (user info) at 2007-05-21 13:19:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-09-13 17:39:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/moreinfo.cgi?uber=horse87&cutoff=8
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-09-13 17:37:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Uberboard?
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-09-13 16:58:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.sobolaward.com/
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-09-08 14:00:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Loved it
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-09-08 13:14:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-09-08 09:00:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely written Jack. I especially liked the veiled poke at ETS. Lovecraft used to work veiled jabs at other writers into his stories of the strange and unknown, now you are too.
Submitted by Darth_Famine (user info) at 2006-09-08 02:43:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I enjoyed it
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:58:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
quoi?
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:30:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:21:35 (#)
Ranking: 2
Kinda, either you have the world's greatest search program, or you are obsessed with me.
I pick option B. Stalker asswipe.
On that note, I must go to sleep now. You know how it is with old folks.
G'nite, and I'll give you more shit tomorrow. :)
-----
Good night, sweat prince.
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:28:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely done Jack.
http://www.ubersite.com/m/41933
One I wrote awhile ago.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:21:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Kinda, either you have the world's greatest search program, or you are obsessed with me.
I pick option B. Stalker asswipe.
On that note, I must go to sleep now. You know how it is with old folks.
G'nite, and I'll give you more shit tomorrow. :)
Submitted by FlakMonkey (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:17:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good read.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:16:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:05:52 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:57:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91023#2078236
Note the proper usage of "infer" in the post reviews from weeks ago, about which we now argue.
I am fucking prescient, bubba.
Look that up and get back to me.
(I'm IMPLYING you're stupid, as you no doubt will correctly INFER)
____________________
Your attempts at sesquipedalianism are crude at best. Look that up and get back to me
when you grow a brain. Fucktard.
-----
Are you talking about my cock or your propensity to use the same tired old shit?
http://www.ubersite.com/m/85520#1890760
http://www.ubersite.com/m/84531#1856198
http://www.ubersite.com/m/81489#1757246
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 23:05:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:57:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91023#2078236
Note the proper usage of "infer" in the post reviews from weeks ago, about which we now argue.
I am fucking prescient, bubba.
Look that up and get back to me.
(I'm IMPLYING you're stupid, as you no doubt will correctly INFER)
____________________
Right, buttcheek, like I need to look up ANYTHING you write.
Your attempts at sesquipedalianism are crude at best. Look that up and get back to me
when you grow a brain. Fucktard.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:57:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91023#2078236
Note the proper usage of "infer" in the post reviews from weeks ago, about which we now argue.
I am fucking prescient, bubba.
Look that up and get back to me.
(I'm IMPLYING you're stupid, as you no doubt will correctly INFER)
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:22:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Keep going, Kinda. Everyone knows you are a fool, and you can't keep up with the process.
Must you go back in time like H.G Wells? Fool.
ADD was your downfall. The first one. . .
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:19:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:58:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:55:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/92773#2133732
_____________________
I don't believe you know the difference between an implication and an inference.
Do you? Probably not. What a fool you are. . . . . . ..
-----
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahgahahahahahahahahahahahastupidfuck
You moron. One doesn't "infer" from one's self. One infers from outside information.
Like when you see the light on over the slurpee machine, and infer the syrup's low.
This is like the ADD contest, when you posted this gem: http://www.ubersite.com/m/91023
in a moronic, stream of conciousness style, and then swore up and down that it was a requirement.
The ADD referred to scourge's attention span, not style requirements.
You often seem to lack basic comprehension skills.
And that is why you're so funny. Don't ever change, you drunken babboon.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-09-07 22:03:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:58:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:55:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/92773#2133732
_____________________
I don't believe you know the difference between an implication and an inference.
Do you? Probably not. What a fool you are. . . . . . ..
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:55:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/92773#2133732
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:43:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:36:28 (#)
Ranking: 0
GodDAMN, I love bubba.
You are too fucking funny.
You can't spell, and your grammar's for shit, but you sure are funny.
__________________________
Rave on, catshit, someone will bury you. I'll leave it to the site to find anything
I misspelled or errors in my grammar. Nice try, dipshit.
Is that really the best you have, Kinda? What a pathetic attempt.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:37:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Oh, and a large cherry slurpee.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:36:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
GodDAMN, I love bubba.
You are too fucking funny.
You can't spell, and your grammar's for shit, but you sure are funny.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:29:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:31:49 (#)
Ranking: -1
I didn't read this, but I have to negative rate it because St Eubrie wasn't in the title and because I want Bubba to defend your honor when finishes his shift at the 7-11.
I'll read and rate seriously your UM entry, however, because your name won't be attached.
But if I recognize the style...
________________
Kinda, you couldn't recognize your own dick with a microscope.
You have serious problems in real life, don't you? You cannot rate the post, only
the poster. You probably despise people simply because they are overweight or have
a bad complexion. You are a sad, pathetic little whiner who wants the attention of his
betters, and you don't know how to achieve that goal.
Want a hint? Being a prick won't make your little one grow, so just stop. If I actually did
work at 7-11, you would walk into my store and I would beat you with a can of dog food. Why?
Because you are a worthless animal, one who acts like a rabid coyote or other scavenger,
lurking on the sidelines while the big, important denizens of the forest get all the good
meals.
Another hint? Drop the pretense of being a badass. It is unbecoming, and you are no
good at it. Buh bye, dipstick. . .
Submitted by Saeki (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:26:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:21:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Genius below.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-09-07 21:08:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
too_many_posts
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-09-07 20:54:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:57:09 (#)
Ranking: 2
paper!
AHAHAHAHAH I WIN CATLADY
--
Beat you to it...
http://www.ubersite.com/m/92325
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:58:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for this alone:
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:57:09 (#)
Ranking: 2
paper!
AHAHAHAHAH I WIN CATLADY
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:57:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
paper!
AHAHAHAHAH I WIN CATLADY
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:34:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I feel terrible.
Let me bump it since you're going to be at the cabin next week, resting up for your first round elimination bout.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-07 19:31:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
I didn't read this, but I have to negative rate it because St Eubrie wasn't in the title and because I want Bubba to defend your honor when finishes his shift at the 7-11.
I'll read and rate seriously your UM entry, however, because your name won't be attached.
But if I recognize the style...
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:50:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:49:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:37:19 (#)
Ranking: 2
Linzy Foundation...heh.
<<I couldn't resist.>>
The gas wouldn't be super-heated...what would heat it? I buy the pressuried part though.
<<Yeah, that's why I said 'sometimes.' I wasn't sure if extreme pressure could heat the gas way out there in space.>>
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:37:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Linzy Foundation...heh.
The gas wouldn't be super-heated...what would heat it? I buy the pressuried part though.
Submitted by Sphagnum (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:35:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/92772
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-09-07 18:26:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment