Wednesday, August 5, 2009


I had one of my reoccurring gas mask nightmares last night. Man, I hate those. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the drill Sargent of a Yoga instructor I had yesterday. No, nothing at all. Or maybe it’s my continuing fascination with a certain radioactive sarcophagus.

In 1986 I think I was at an impressible age when Chernobyl happened. Quickly I became obsessed with every aspect. Focusing in every detail I could find. Still to this day I can rattle off every fact about the plant before and after the disaster. Sadly I’m still obsessed about any new information that gets published. When I role around in my head “dream vacations” I think big gay cruise to a sunny beach or traveling to the Ukraine’s exclusion zone. Tough choice.

As I drifted off last night I started retelling the lasted reports of the further collapse of the Sarcophagus, the lead based containment layers that was so quickly built by the Soviets it’s pretty much structurally unsound. Fun hu? Just the random crap that rolls around in my head.

I’ve come to one conclusion this morning as I drove into work. I’m pretty sure I need a vacation. And, I’m thinking that another gay cruise may be the best bet. Because, when I'm dreaming about gas masks it should be something from Instigator Magazine, not nuclear winter.


The Mutant said...

I dunno, nuclear winter is a hot little fantasy all on its own really. Fuck the cruise... every fag does that. Head for the exclusion zone instead and send me a soviet-era postcard!

Stephen Chapman... said...

Have you ever seen a therapist?

Dead Robot said...

Did you know that the contortionist character in the movie Coraline wears a medal given to the clean up crew of Chernobyl?

The more you know...