Mickey, poor Mickey, had a problem. He got explosive diarrhea when he got excited. Christmas time was the worst. His parents spent the day mopping up his diarrhea while he sat in the tub trying not to think about all his toys. When he was five his grandmother showed up with lemon cake and a new bike. He managed to soil his pants and his grandmother. His parents ruled against fun and excitement. No birthday parties, no surprise gifts, no exciting trips, no sports. He visited the library and played in a chess club. That was his life. Mickey thought everything was boring. When he was fourteen a girl kissed him. Becky Martin. She was in his dreams. They were at a dance when the kiss happened. A dance his parents told him not to go to. The kiss was wet. Mickey swooned slightly and then it happened. Diarrhea. Goopy wetness slid down his legs. He ran out of the dance and left a brown trail behind him. After that, Mickey was homeschooled. Mickey focused on his studies. Math and science. Not too exciting, except when he got to quantum mechanics. Luckily he was alone in his dorm room when he studied that.
Mickey learned not to get excited. At anything. It’s easier than you think, especially when you become an adult. Life is miserably boring if you let it be. Mickey got a job at NASA and then he began to fly. Stupid flying. Yuck. Boring. He didn’t get excited. Mickey did well at aeronautics and was sent to train as an astronaut in Houston. Boo. Lousy Texas. Lousy space travel. Mickey exceeded expectations and was elected for a moon mission. Yeah. No. No. Diarrhea. Luckily he was told his assignment over the phone. He squished his way to the restroom and then told himself that the moon sucked. Space sucked. Whew. Don’t get excited. Space is silly. Keep sighing.
One winter morning, Mickey Rhea left for outer space. Boring. He spent three days annoyed and then landed on the moon. He conducted experiments and collected samples. He didn’t look at the stars too much or even Earth. That might excite him. One day he ventured to the dark side of the moon and that’s when a saw it. A pink fluffy mass. He poked it and it unfolded and cooed. Holy crap. An alien. The alien’s eyes fluttered. Mememememe. It spoke. Oh no. Mickey backed away. He felt it happening. Diarrhea. Excitement. Mickey instinctively opened his space suit. And then his eyes bugged out. No pressure. Extreme cold. System shutdown. Floating diarrhea. Mickey expired his last breath staring at the alien. His final thought was not that he had felled to contact Houston about the alien but that it really sucked being Mickey Rhea who had diarrhea. Death actually excited him a little. The alien hovered and poked him. Memememe. Life is absurd.
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