Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Vladimir's Nightmare

Vladimir's nightmare


He's up on the MIR, unfortunately, no other crewperson is on the ship with Vlad. The last female cosmonaut that was up there with him, was up there 16 earth-months ago. He is very very bored and lonely.

Back in Kzyl-Ordinsk region, he was no cassanova, but he did have a part-time girlfriend, who he really cared about. But she a "rich bitch" "sophisticated Muscavite," didn't really give him the time of day. But she made fun of him when he tried to take her on dates when he had r and r, to nice place like Tokyo,
Paris, Nederlands.

However, he on the other hand, had feelings. And he thought she loved him. Of course, in her mind, he was just a stepping stone, a piece of shit to grind in the sausage grinder. She was a typical nasty-ass earth cunt, in other words.

So, the poor fool, having slaved his life away to get to be a cosmonaut, pined for her in orbit. The blithering poor bastard, the brunt of so many horrible ideas and "jokes" actually loved Alla.

She didn't giva rat's ass for him, only his money, cock, and her sense of divaish self-aggrandizement. I am Vladimir's comrade, Boris Sapozhnikov.
I was stationed on Mir with him for 4 months as mission science specialist.
And flight surgeon, mechanic etc etc etc you get the picture.

And he told me how much he loved her and it was painful to hear that a man could love a woman that much. But, I digress.

Back to Vladimir's job....he was at that month, working on 18 critical projects simultaneously and having to fuckin space walk by himself with no help except via "ground control." Thus a thruster-pack and a tether were
his only friends.

Vlad was sssooooo lonely, despite having earth tv, dvd's movies to watch, pornos, etc. etc ad nauseum. He needed a real woman in the fucking flesh, and he particularly like this one alla-chan who at that time was living under cover in Nederlands and worked as the desk clerk at the the Chokum and Cheatem Hotel, on Leidsekade 88- 89 in Amsterdam. Lucky Her!

Poor Vladimir was floating in a rusty tin can, and all he got to do to communicate with his love (and the slunt just strung him along...) was send email. Bitch not answer spaceman's email, desperate for contact with only loved one. Beloved. "She too busy," a bloody fucking lie. He showed me a picture of her and she was quite lovely, and because of a bottle of Stoli and another unmentionable product, and his great trust and friendship with me (lucky me), he also showed me a print-out of a beautiful, marvelous, masterpiece of a poetic, super-sexual love letter that he wrote to miss Priss.

I had met the Chinese doll before, and I thought she was quite moderately neato.