Sunday, December 5, 2010

Sub-Orbital Urbane Conversation

The tiny wedge-shaped capsule hurtled toward the Pacific at Mach 3. The heat shield, now glowing a bright red, was held together with just spit and prayers.  The same could be said of our Intrepid Astronaut.  

In Houston, an ex-Nazi Scientist toggled his microphone, “Friendship 7:Houston, how ist our Space-e-Man feeling today?”  “Smart-ass,” thought the Space-e-Man.  Through clenched teeth the human meteor tried to wax poetic and failed.  Finally he mustered enough wind to croak, “I c…can b…barely hold my fudge!”

Mission control, having a case of the giggles, was slow in regaining its decorum.  Nobody noticed a tear in the eye of the Bavarian Rocket Guru, “Momma made de best fudge,” he whispered.

1 comment:

  1. I found this incredibly funny, and I couldn't even say why. Thank you for the giggles. :D