Is it cold in here, or just me?

Tuesday in Taiwan, a man grieving over the death of his girlfriend, decided to climb into the morgue freezer with her. Good sweet shit, what the hell is wrong with people? As if it wouldn’t be claustrophobic enough in there just by yourself, imagine halving that space. And further, being in there with a dead body. Bllllrrrr… Screw that.

I’m not really creeped out by death that much. I’ve been exposed to my share of it. But I don’t really like touching cadavers if I don’t have to. And I’ve had to before, which might explain why I don’t like to anymore. Okay, so back to the point… I’ve seen that movie The Jacket where The Pianist gets stuck in a meat locker in a straight jacket-type thing. Talk about some mother effing claustrophobia. Sweet Elephant, no thank you.

I guess this guy took some drugs or something, hoping he’d Romeo it up with her in there. Here’s the article, if you’re interested.

I think the most horrifying experience I’ve had with a confined space was when I was a child. My friend Jonathon and I took turns climbing into a cedar chest just to see what a coffin would kind of be like. And of course when I got in, he sat on top of it and wouldn’t let me out for like a minute. Which to a child in a confined space feels like an hour. And running through my mind was the obvious future where he would sit there for the next six weeks without leaving, and I would die in there. Then sixty seconds later, he got up and I got out and proceeded to – well, I don’t think I did anything, but I should have beat his ass for him. I think this did precipitate the deterioration of our friendship. I finally did end up fighting him, and after all those snap-kicks to his groin area, I’m surprised he was eventually able to end up having children.

I also used to climb inside the fuel tanks of B1s when I was in the service. This only lasted about a year, and every minute of it sucked as much dick as you can imagine. The problem with B1 fuel tanks is that – well, not all of them – some of the tanks are giant. Others are so confined that you feel like you’re in a child’s coffin. Add to this the respirator hose you have to drag in with you (you’re wearing a full face mask), the light you’re dragging in with you (it’s not wireless), and the tool bag, then the fact that most of it is in weird angles and between braces where you’re on your side, dragging yourself with one arm… Wow, that was a long sentence. But it does illustrate the shittiness metaphorically. Now, let me make it worse for you. Yes it’s dark, smells like fuel, is wet, very (very) confined and hard to move through… But yes, it does get worse.

The inboard tanks on the B1 bombers, just like the fuselage, are crafted from the finest titanium the government can buy. Well I don’t know if there are different qualities of the shit, but titanium is titanium. And the point is that it’s expensive as a mother cobbler. And if you get stuck, they ain’t gonna cut into it to get your ass out. They’ll just break your bones and let you slip out like jello. This is no lie. Think about it. It’s a lot cheaper for them to send you to the military hospital and let a military doctor put military casts on your ass. What’s that cost, a hundred bucks? As opposed to destroying a 40-million-dollar aircraft? Uh huh. Screw that.

So yeah, I don’t really like tight confined spaces. Well, there are a couple I can think of that I’m okay with, wink wink.


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11 Responses

  1. Becky Riles says:

    Tell me Space why would you climb inside a fuel tank on a B1? That sounds a little scary. Is it full of fuel? I’m trying to picture what you were talking about.

  2. Becky Riles says:

    Tell me Space why would you climb inside a fuel tank on a B1? That sounds a little scary. Is it full of fuel? I’m trying to picture what you were talking about.

  3. This story reminds me of something that never happened to me. It was back in ’68 in a shitty little corner of the world called the Mekong. These slimy dink bastards used to love to build honeycomb bunker complexes. Those little bastards were much smaller than us, so they could build the tunnels and entryways very small. They would pop up out of little spider holes, fire an RPG or a few sniper rounds at us, then would fucking di di mao down these little fucking holes. Me, being a tunnel rat for 2 tours (first in ’66, second in ’68), it was my job to go in after these little fucks with a flashlight in one hand and a .45 in the other. You talk about tight! Add to the fact that these sadistic bastards loved to booby trap the tunnels. They had these fucking things called “toe poppers” they would use. They were 7.62 rounds carefully mounted over top a nail. You’d step on it and the round would fire through your foot, taking your toes with it. These bastards put these in the tunnels and we called them knee poppers. Hurt like hell.

    So, quit your whining because crawling through that gas tank has nothing on the shit I’ve never done.

  4. Space says:

    Yeah I didn’t know the military let five-year-olds join the service. That’s interesting, Tommy.

  5. A normal sized person couldn’t fit in those holes. DUH!

  6. Jeremy says:

    Why would you get into a cedar chest? You kids were crazy.

    lol at tommy

  7. Peligro Pete says:

    Are you kidding? Cedar chests are the best hiding places ever! That is until you find out that’s where your parents store their “adult” toys. It’s okay now. 10 years of intensive therapy did wonders for me.

  8. Try an MRI at 275 pounds. You want tight I’ll tell you about claustrophobia tight.

  9. Peligro Pete says:

    Oh Lord, I come unglued in an MRI. They have to give me those periscope glasses.

  10. I can make love to an MRI machine.

    Yes, girls, it’s that big. Hit me up on Myspace and we’ll talk about it.

  11. Jeremy says:

    I can make love to an MRI machine.

    Makein love doesn’t sound like something you do with anyone, Tommy!

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