Sometimes, when I'm alone in my bunk bed finding new ways to derive pleasure from a Buzz Lightyear doll, I ask myself if our space program is in the crapper.
And now that the International Space Station's toilet has been "acting up," I know it's true.
NASA, in fact, had to rush a special pump onboard the shuttle Discovery to fix it — but first had to make room by getting rid of some wrenches, a spare part for the space station's oxygen generator and a "microbe-killing device."
Now, I understand that proper sanitation is a priority, but more so than microbe killers, oxygen and wrenches?
More important, you're hundreds of thousands of miles from home and you don't bring a plumber? Fellas, this is not a spring break trek to Fort Lauderdale. You're in space.
Which reminds me, you're in space, so you should do what every guy does when he can't find a toilet — go outside. You're floating in the biggest latrine ever made — and I'm already factoring in Belgium.
Think about it: Who's going to know if you leave a dirty protest behind a quasar? Also, consider the benefits if the human waste floats into another galaxy. Space aliens might think that this mystery substance might actually be its own life form! They might assume that Earth is populated solely by lumpy, aromatic types who come in peace and with corn.
Instead however, we have our poor astronauts forced to collect their own urine. For the sake of our planet, I hope it's being sent to Sharon Stone.
And if you disagree with me, then you sir, are worse than Hitler.