first throw of the new SPACEBACKHOUSE (Bécosse in french slang)
(Any comments whose bad taste will not exceed the following text has come: P)
having to take an emergency evacuation gondola to leave the ship about to explode I found myself in a tiny room with a sink and a toilet and rations now I understood why the crew was calling them FLYING BÉCOSSE but I I was so shaken that I would have called them violent BÉCOSSE … ..
HAPPILY on board there was an entertainment center but the content was mostly insectoid or reptilian melodramas, it was as funny as listening to an American soap in Serbo-Croatian. so after long hours of loneliness I came to wonder if ARHGUL was going to confess to Herken that he is not the father of his 12000 little glischkas ….
however, the flying BÉCOSSE was particularly well designed because nothing was left to chance to allow her or his occupants to commit suicide and as she could recycle water, air and excrement (in food) for years she would have been treated of inhuman treatment if she had been a prison …
but I did not have to complain because the only other nacelle that I had been able to join was to serve as a secret little nest of love Gleurks and it’s not so much the traces of slime rainbow that repel me but the idea of sharing my fate with their small carnivorous and hungry larvae …
but my relief was short-lived when reading the notice I understood that the toilet paper had been replaced by economy by an ass licker, a sort of slime sticky and slobbery slug. of course I’m not talking about the assistant of a man of power but of the animal that sticks to your ass even more than his human namesake …
we can tell you that its mucus is a surprisingly effective disinfectant and a balm for hemorrhoids I still have chills in the back of my first contact with the beast. I would have had chills right in the neck if she had crossed the mark from the top of my buttocks …
but be certain that unlike all galactic males I will close the lid of the sanitary because I do not want to see this gastropod come to finish my personal hygiene during my sleep …
when the electronic torturer asked me if I needed medical attention I took no chances because I feared that the embedded Robodoc (trademark) was a primitive model able only to amputate and cauterize the infected members. Decision all the more judicious that my injuries were to the head …
part 2
since 17 days that I drift in my lifeboat and my situation is getting worse. I took my natural circadian rhythm of 28 hours even if I come from a planet at the day of 22 hours on average, it seems that it is genetic and comes from our ancestors. Ancestors who would have lived on a world with 365 cycles of about 24 hours while our current standard is 400 cycles of 25 standard hours.
After historical periods where it could vary from 100 to 500 cycles from 20 to 50 hours the 7 empire has imposed this standard present throughout its fleet thanks to a series of ultra-stable beacons that emit their time coordinates in waves and hyper- waves and thus allowing positioning in their sphere of emission.
Let’s return selfishly to me who could however improve his situation if he had the courage to use the psychic commands of my skiff of fortune. But because there is always a BUT the interface of the Psy controller looks too much like the Psycho-re-educator that was used on me on the Imperial Annex 12. It is always for me a painful memory and it is not because the machine must extend its web to the organ of thought, for a human, his brain through the nose. Efficiency and minimal damage obliging. It varies by species and as I have never been trepanned it was the least worst of solutions.
It’s not really that I had the choice because it was a legal obligation because I had seriously insulted (e) a tri-sexual and we had come to the blows and even the blows. OK I had another choice: to spend indeterminate time in a rehabilitation center. And then, as usual, I made the wrong choice even though my opponent was less fortunate than me and at the end of this treatment he shouted to me: « you kinky guy who fuck everywhere, anytime with n ‘Anyone and anybody’ I would have answered him so violently but this process had completely emptied me. Well I was because this failure of his treatment was noticed and he was sent to intensive rehabilitation. I had escaped him beautifully.
The experience was no less traumatic and every time I see a Psy interface I turn away like a Pavlov dog who put his tongue on a dish of electrified food. And the worst is not the Psy probe that scares me the most but the flashback implanted by the psycho-re-educator because the machine does not only answer the questions you ask him but also those you do not do not ask or you do not want to ask him but as she reads in your mind you are cooked.
This is not because the practice of tri-sexuality is disgusting because on the contrary I believe NOW that it is the most civilized form of sexuality known. Framed by 3248 laws, I know I had to memorize them forcibly, as well as 53 forms that a tri-sexual must fill several times in his life to become « father-sire ». In fact it is so complex that they consider that Vulcans who kiss every 7 years are spontaneous. I never dared to tell them that Vulcans exist only in my ancestral folklore.
Still, I have to be content with tactile and vocal interfaces that are not adjusted to human standards. I would have preferred keys for feedback to the electrostatic response and a voice and non-acoustic interface because I have the misery to produce ultrasound and infra-sound and the answer hurts my ears and makes me creak teeth.
So I resigned myself to trusting the ship’s intelligence that still ensured my survival aboard here even though I suspect she classified me as a pet but I like when she scratches me behind the ears and flatter me in the direction of the hair.
But if the help does not arrive soon I plan to face the interface that I can not stare and especially not feel …. near my nose.
Which will arrive first … everything will depend on my physiological or psychological distress. I almost vomited this last word. .
part 3
I know you find me cowardly not to face my psychosis of the Psy interface but when your psyche psychoanalyzed by an inflexible psycho-educator, that he not only engraved his teachings in your brain but that he has them burned in addition.
Because this artificial incomprehension not only positively reinforces the good neuronal connections but in addition it burns by micro electroshock your erroneous neurons.
The operation exhausts you but also has painful sequels because part of the operation consists of the implantation of pseudo neurons, which activate your circuits of the pain, every time you have a thought contrary to its teaching.
These pseudo neurons eventually turn off, dissolve and disappear in the long run. But as long as they are stimulated by incorrect thoughts according to their criteria they regenerate themselves. So I had to stop as much as possible to think about tri-sexuality but especially its hundreds of rules and laws that govern it.
Without his laws this type of sexuality is rather simple: a fecondeuf thanks to its oviduct will deposit up to a hundred eggs in the labyrinth of the geniteuf which sorts them and activates them of its seed. Seed which by the way is constantly internally tested for its optimum quality. Each embryo after primary maturation is encapsulated in a gelatinous egg and deposited in a feeder vacuole of the porteuf.
Depending on their degree of maturity, the carriers may carry from one to ten infants, which may be from a variety of genetic sources and whose implantations may be synchronous or staggered.
You start to see the legal problems that entails. But it must be added that the carriers are considered legally incapable of taking decisions until they have brought to term a variable number of proto-citizens. This variability depends on the district responsible for the porteuf because they are under governmental dependence.
Once considered fit, the porteufs can sell their body or rather their vacuoles to a MAC.
Read here a MASTER ADVOCATE CONSELOR before the pain makes me burst my head and especially if you have the slightest respect for the little mental health that I have left, avoid the old joke that some says because HERE THE WORD MASTER IS A QUADRUPLE SENSE.
She is funny to crack your skull so please avoid.
Add to this that the porteuf will become a geniteuf and finally a fecundeuf and that to have the right to reproduce there is a complex game of alliances, services rendered, children born and castes. You have a real legal mess MARVELOUSLY framed.
The word marvelously describes perfectly the endorphins push that rewards me for highlighting the rigorous work of the MACs.
I thank them for this moment of relief and would not push my luck trying to explain all the legal meanders MARVELOUSLY administered by these wonderful MACs.
How good it is to praise these valiant officers, still a dose of endorphins and I finally fall into a real sleep. MERCY MARVELOUS MACs ……… ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
part 4
I think I am on my day of spatial drift, almost half of which was psychological drift.
I finally exceeded the limit CRYO and I do not care.
Since I found my mantra MERCY MARVELOUS MACs survival seems more beautiful. a little MERCY MARVELOUS MACs and my brain gets a nice breath of wonderful endorphins.
My brain is a trash and I am a junkie. MERCY MARVELOUS MACs.
So I went beyond the limit Cryo, this limit or to keep a little mental health to the poor shipwrecked cosmic I have become, it is advisable to go into cryogenic sleep.
Euphemism to say that it is time to be frozen to death because being frozen dead is not said because it is final.
But I cry to genius because I found an alternative to be frozen to death. A touch of MERCY MARVELOUS MACs and my hormonal paradise makes me forget all my worries.
Even the Idea that if I abuse it I will be dead frozen because if my lifeboat will trigger an emergency cryogenics it will detect a catastrophic decline in my vital parameters.
Already my body is quite weakened by the fact that I do not drink enough or feed myself properly.
I must say that to want to drink the water of my recycled capsule-life-survival and recycling rations all too recycled I have to think MERCY MARVELOUS MACs to help them pass.
And despite everything I feel more and more a degradation of the taste of these rations and therefore I use them in moderation.
And then we come back to the limit Cryo because the original reserves of the survival system have reached their limit and that the rate of toxicity of recyclas will reach dangerous levels.
even the MERCY MARVELOUS MACs can not completely erase the hassle of my mind.
Have become resistant to MERCY MARVELOUS MACs or worse my body can no longer assimilate the nutrients necessary for the production of endorphins and my heavenly MERCY MARVELOUS MACs will not be enough.
Am I already a finished junkie soon missing? Will the Psy probe and the Cryo box be my last alternative?
To say that I thought it was great to have discovered that MERCY MARVELOUS MACs was more effective than MERCI MERVEILLEUX MACs because in my brain mercy unlike merci (thank) resounds as a supplication and that as everyone knows Masters and Lawyers particularly like that we beg.
Remains the little hope that I read and not dreamed of a snippet that said endorphins accelerated the dissolution of punitive pseudo-neurons.
Little hope that could sufficiently alleviate my fear of an interaction between the pseudo-neurons and the Psy probe.
In any case I have more choice than the small choices of my remaining brain cheese that wanders with the waves of the vague space where I still survive the space of my short life.
What space … .. recycled air does not make me at all …. even my vocabulary can not be recycled anymore.
I think this is the last glimmer of lucidity in my brain because I’ve become too junkie finished to have even a flash of lucidity let alone a flash of genius.
My vocabulary atrophies as fast as my brain …. I crawl for lack of better to the Cryo box because I can not better.
It took all my strength and three tries to slip me in. my hand has found the probe Psy and I hesitate to introduce it into my nose.
A little effort because once in my nose it will find my brain and with a little luck the IA will know what to do to save me or freeze me without killing me too much.
Here is the probe is in my nose but a fright invades me …. I hope it’s not the anal probe.
Quickly a last MERCY MARVELOUS MACs for me to lose consciousness before it activates. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.
part 5
Despite all my requests from MERCY to the MARVELOUS MACS it seems that my apprehension was good and that it is the probe A …. who has invaded my nose down the esophagus to cross my stomach and rinse the colon by the wrong end.
So it is surely the oral probe that made me a stomach wash in the rectal bulb.
But the worst thing was the Psy probe which quickly found my nervous system but at the end of my spinal cord and therefore extended its pseudo-dendrites to my motor and sensory nerves and began to invade my spinal cord and go back to my brain.
If it had been damaged and I was paralyzed I would have been happy with the reconstruction of the Psy probe.
But as my marrow was in good condition the effect was quite disconcerting, first pain then paralysis and finally insensitivity.
From the tip of the toes up the sensory trio moving towards my head as the probe continued neuronal invasion.
A triple anguish was rising at the same time because if the pain was tolerable, the disturbing paralysis, the loss of sensation gave me the impression of a cold death that went up my limbs.
The urinary catheter was next to it rather pleasant like emptying the bladder when the urge to urinate becomes urgent and that we can relieve ourselves with a slight sensual touch.
My ordeal of being brief but seemed to last an eternity and a half but culminated when the pain went up to my heart and I suffered both a respiratory arrest and a heart attack.
My death was certain and I thought I was waking up in a cloud or in weightlessness, it’s not that I’m religious but I hoped to be in paradise but I have to face the facts: my hell was going on.
My floating sensation was due to my sensory paralysis but I understood my mistake when the Psy probe made contact with my cortex and I began to receive information from my rescue capsule.
Normally I would have to go into Cryo mode that is to say cold frozen meat without conscience but I had to be in hibernation mode or my vital functions are kept to a minimum.
The information came by drip, but at least the AI told me that my box had wrapped me in a protective cocoon, that the Psy probe regulated my vital functions and took care of my body.
Body that now no longer belonged to me but I began to take possession of my surrogate body, in this case my flying coffin.
The AI, however, left the « parental » control in place, the same one that prevented me from committing suicide, and which again limited my possibilities.
So I could see my space environment, it was always disappointing the eternal black cloth studded with little vaguely white dots.
I did not have access to the navigation systems and it would have been useless since it was obvious that I was drifting in the deep space.
Out of curiosity I visually explored the exterior of my tomb and I had a slight mental smile when I read his registration and then I understood why they were called B.COS.
in clear : Bold Cosmic Outer Space life-pod 34 LOWER BRIDGE TRIBORD REAR SECTION …
