Saturday, February 11, 2006

Transmissions from Frank

Frank’s Message to Ms. Dowtree’s Substance Abuse Class

Zero G demands that alcohol be consumed in tubes. You squeeze oblivion into your mouth. It’s not drinking. It’s sucking. The tubes are well designed, as you would expect, and quite the collectors item dirt-side. I used to bring them home to my kids after a trip. Other dads bring back t-shirts and stuffed animals. I bring back empty single malt scotch tubes. Always a huge hit at the kid’s show-and-tell. Actually you have to be a bit of a drinker to suck the tubes; most of the normals take their pill in Jello or pudding form, much friendlier in low gravity. The die-hards and the connoisseurs suck the tubes.

I’m a die-hard; just can’t adjust. Yeah, I’m high tech. I’m one of the few people with skills worth keeping in orbit, but when it comes to drinking, or “coping” as my personalized morning psych mantra calls it, I’m old fashioned. I like to get “ping-pong” drunk, and then feel like shit for two days. For those below, “ping-pong drunk” is like stumbling drunk but in zero G its all about controlling your float and managing hand holds. Get drunk enough and that is no easy task. Push off a wall too aggressively and your head is cushioning your shoulder’s blow against a bulk head. Then you spin off and bowl down a hand-holding line of school children. That’s ping-ponging.

Drinking used to be sophisticated. Long after smoking became a shun-able offense, drinking persisted with style. Of course, as my morning brain washing reminds me, that was a very long time ago, and it’s very unhealthy whether from a tube, a bottle or a jiggling cube of Jello.

“The only person I’m hurting is my self.” Every time this unwanted line of reason drags its limp cock through my brain I drop everything I’m doing, yell “damn right” and get disgustingly drunk. The best part is how foul one drunk can make the air on a small space station. Juvenile? Yes, it damn sure is and I’m not proud of it, but it’s my coping mechanism and I’m not giving it up just because you bunch of Nazi fucks make faces at me. I know how important bowel control is on a space station, but somehow you still keep me in orbit. I guess its not that important, now is it?

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