"It's fucking cold," muttered Kreploc.
"Shut up," said Ginklob. "I don't feel like dodging your runny shit for two weeks." He pushed Kreploc toward the airlock. "I figure you've got about 16 seconds after the door opens before your ass freezes solid, so do your business fast."
Kreploc crawled into the airlock. "This is the most undignified thing I've ever done," he said.
"No, it's not," said Ginklob. He closed and dogged the door. Then he remembered something. "Make sure you aim away from the ship!" he yelled.

"That's better," said Kreploc, returning to the main cabin. "It was amazing! Crap went spraying out like--"
Ginklob cut him off. "If you ever go into any sort of detail about what it looked like, I'll kill you," he said.
"But it made the most--"
"I mean it," said Ginklob, pulling out a blaster. "Now sit down and help me navigate. The extra lateral thrust you provided threw us off course."
"I can't sit down," said Kreploc. "Frostbite."
A warning light blipped on the control panel.
"An object approaching off the starboard bow," said Ginklob.
Kreploc put it on the viewscreen. "Hey, that's one of my turds!" he said.
"Evasive maneuvers!" screamed Ginklob, frantically pulling levers and pushing buttons. A few terrifying moments later, the floating piece of space crap was left safely behind.
Ginklob turned toward Kreploc slowly. "I thought I told you to aim away from the ship." He raised the blaster.

Seventy-five thousand years later, Roy and Sally were sitting in the back seat of a convertible gazing at the stars. Buddy Holly was playing on the radio.
"Gosh," said Roy. "When I look up at the night sky, I get a funny feeling, y'know?"
"Yeah," breathed Sally. "Like we're just insignificant little specks floating around in a vast, impersonal universe."
"Right," said Roy, who had actually been referring to neck strain. He turned his limited attention to Sally's expansive cleavage. "Honey, we've been going out for a long time, now."
"Three weeks."
"Right. And I was thinking that maybe we could, um... well..."
"Could what?"
"Oh, hell," he said, and grabbed her left breast.
She punched him in the eye, hard.
A bright light streaked across the sky.
"Did you see that?" asked Sally.
"No," said Roy, clutching his face.
Sally climbed out of the car and scanned the sky. "I think it was a meteorite. It probably landed just over that ridge."
"That's interesting. Am I bleeding?"
She ignored him. "Move over," she said, climbing back into the car. "I'm driving."

It took less than twenty minutes of maniacal high-speed driving on deserted dirt roads to find the crater. Climbing out of the car, they walked to the edge of the smoking hole in the ground.
"Wow," said Roy.
Without warning, Sally punched him in the face again. He went over like a sack of cement.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"General principle." She walked back to the car and grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment. "We need a rope."
"There's one in the trunk," said Roy, getting up. "My Dad's in the KKK."
Sally got the rope and tied it to the front bumper. "Come on," she said. She stuck the flashlight into the waistband of her jeans and began lowering herself into the crater. Reluctantly, Roy grabbed the rope and followed.
About halfway down, Sally started retching. "Good God," she choked. "Don't fart on me, you bastard!"
"I didn't!" Roy said. "I thought it was you!"
"It must be coming from the crater." Her eyes were watering. "Whatever it is must have busted through a cesspool."
"There aren't any cesspools out here. Let's go back up. I'm having trouble breathing."
"No way. This is the chance of a lifetime." She reached the bottom and switched on the flashlight. Roy joined her a few seconds later. Together they stood, staring at the huge reeking object in the center of the crater.
"It's... it's..." Words failed her.
"It's a giant turd, is what it is," said Roy.
They both slowly raised their gazes to the sky and shuddered.

President Eisenhower sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Okay, Dick, give it to me straight."
Vice-President Nixon shuffled the papers in his hands nervously. Ever since Checkers had piddled on the Oval Office carpet his job hung by a thread. "Well, sir, there are both good and bad aspects to the situation."
"I said straight, dammit," snarled Eisenhower. "Are giant extraterrestrials shitting on the Earth or not?"
"Not as such, sir. The piece of alien crap those kids found has been traveling through space for about seventy-five thousand years. So it wasn't deliberate, unless the aliens've got phenomenal muscle control."
"They must be huge. According to the Army photos, the turd is bigger than a bus."
Nixon shifted his weight. "No, sir. According to Von Braun, the molecular structure of the material was altered by its passage through the Van Allen belts."
Furrows creased Eisenhower's large forehead. "What are you saying, Dick?"
"I'm saying that the turd is growing, sir."
"Ah," said Eisenhower. "I take it this is the bad aspect you were talking about."
Nixon nodded glumly.
"Will it continue to grow?"
Nixon nodded again.
"Well," said Eisenhower, standing up, "I guess we've got a problem. Call a meeting at the Pentagon in half an hour. And get a shave. You look terrible."

Werner Von Braun turned off the projector and faced his stunned audience. "And that, gentlemen, is what we will have to look forward to if something is not done about this alien excremental menace immediately."
Eisenhower shook his head, trying to clear it of the image of millions of men, women and children drowning in a nasty brown sea of shit. "Oh, come on, Werner," he said. "Aren't you exaggerating just a little?"
"No, my President. It will be exactly as the film depicts."
"I see. About the film... It's very well done, but I'm a little curious about how you managed to get it made on such short notice."
"It was nothing, my President. We created the film over a year ago."
Eisenhower looked puzzled. "But the space crap only landed last night."
Von Braun started sweating. His eyes darted back and forth. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
General Leslie Groves came to his rescue. "Werner believes in being prepared for every eventuality," he said.
"Yes, that's it," said Von Braun. He sat down. Groves shot him a watch-yourself look.
"Whatever," said Eisenhower. "Does anyone have any idea how to get ourselves out of this mess?"
Suggestions ranged from blowing it up with A-bombs (too messy) to shooting it off into space (too expensive). Everything looked hopeless. Then the Vice-President raised his hand. "I may have a solution, sir."
"Let's hear it."
"We've got to look at this thing like Americans. We've got to figure out a way to make a profit."
Eisenhower snorted. "How do you propose we do that?"
"Well, Madison Avenue's been successfully selling crap to the American people for years." Nixon got out of his chair and began to pace. "Other than the horrible odor, and the fact that it's getting bigger, it's not dangerous, is it?"
Von Braun said, "No. Just common organic materials. You could eat it if you had to."
Nixon snapped his fingers. "That's it! We'll remove the smell, and package it so that nobody will ever figure out they're eating shit!"
Von Braun was so excited he almost vibrated. "Mr. Nixon, I am impressed. It is wunderbar! Because the space turd is forever growing, the raw material would continually replenish itself! There would be nothing but profit!"
"We don't want the customers looking at it too closely," said Nixon, "so we hide it in a bun. A hamburger."
"A chain of burger stands," whispered General Groves, seeing the future.
Nixon was on a roll. "We could hire a clown to bring in the kids," he said, "and maybe have something friendly out front, like a couple of big yellow arches..."
Jeez, thought Eisenhower. I hope this asshole never becomes President.