Mission log March 23, 2123. Day 108 of flight to Mars. We will land at Olympus Mons City as scheduled. This entry includes an injury report, as per regulation abc.123
Crew Health: Pilot Jerry WItherspoon’s (that’s me) “space psychosis” is considerably improved, as is my impaired judgement and paranoid delusions. Co-pilot Peter Pullermann injured his groin area this morning, rather significantly. See report details. Our beautiful science officer Janet Gundreson is in perfect health. Colonists in cryogenic storage all honky-dory.
Today was perfect! First day on this god-forsaken mission I can truly say that.
I am thrilled to announce that this morning science officer Janet Gunderson – I just love typing out her full name – and I really connected. We talked about our favorite movies while she conducted zero-gravity experiments, which went flawlessly. Flawless like her perfectly smooth skin.
I’m happy to report her long blond hair, in a perfect halo about her head, did not interfere with the instruments, as usual. Her deft slender fingers and steady hands worked their magic as always.
I think, in fact, the experiments went better than usual because the co-pilot Peter, who has been trying to muscle into my conversations with Janet the whole flipping mission, is indisposed after his accident this morning.
Not that he’s really interested in Janet, other than in her shapely, lovely body. No, not like me. He has many girlfriends back home. He’s just trying to be a prick, because I was given command of this mission and he got stuck as my co-pilot. Jealous git.
As an interesting aside, I learned that his surname Pullermann means ‘dick’ in German. Odd that his parents would have named him Peter Pullermann, which if you think on it means Dick Dick. Ironic considering the nature of his injury.
What happened? Going to the bathroom in zero-gee is a delicate and complicated affair with the new suction tubes. If you’re not careful it can hurt. A lot.
I must say I do feel somewhat bad. Accidents do happen, though. It’s space travel after all. It’s not like he got blown out the airlock, tempting as that has been.
I blame the damn controls. So bloody finicky and the dial is so hard to read! Last night I thought the suction was insufficient – after all who wants to dodge stinky yellow blobs? So I must have turned the bloody thing up way too far: must have been on major turbo suck. Ooops.
Peter is resting comfortably in his cute little blue rucksack. The moaning has died down considerably since this morning when the accident occurred, shortly after he awoke. I have to say I kind of liked hearing his groans of discomfort. Oh well.
He can get proper medical treatment when we arrive the day after tomorrow.