Santa’s Space DUI


The photograph was clear, Santa had crashed into the International Space Station.   The caption read.  “Santa got a rocket sled, unfortunately it made him dead.”

            Zero Gravity made his hangovers worse.  Frank shook his head to better focus his eyes, but it just made his head hurt more.  He squinted, grimacing with pain.  He was in the International Space Station.  His Christmas Eve drunk was traditionally severe.  He was lucky, with all the budget cuts, to get any ethanol at all.

            “Frank!”  The comm panel yelled out.  “What the hell are you doing up there?” 

            “Sleeping.”  Frank yawned.  “What’s with the fake pict?”

            “It’s real.”  said the comm.

            “Is not.”  Frank crossed and uncrossed his eyes.  “Somethin’ hit us.  Would feel it.”

            “Been calling you for ten minutes with no answer.” 

            Frank rolled his eyes. “Oh.  It’s Christmas.”  

            “Yes, Christmas.  And Santa’s dead.” 



            “Oh.  Dimitri!”  Frank shouted.  Silence.  “Dimitri?”

            “I couldn’t raise him either.”  The comm said.  

            Moving in zero G hungover was more than sickening.  Frank puked violently and got thrown back against the comm panel.  Frank grabbed his space sick beach towel and scooped up the vomit.  He was practiced in this from the vomit comet competitions he and Dimitri had. 

            Frank looked over to the lockers.  “The Santa suit is gone.”  Frank said.  “Oh shit.”  Frank looked out the main window.  “That’s right he won.  He was going to be spacewalk Santa.  Told him not to ride on the outside of the escape pod drunk.” 


Just to be perfectly clear!

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