BigSaltyDog

Salty here. We’ve hit peak logistical absurdity. The Sherman is gone—vaporized by HQ’s clean-up crew to avoid local press coverage—and the Soyuz-TM Capsule is sitting on Sharon’s front lawn, guarded by Squid who is now covered in anti-static foam and looks suspiciously like a depressed meringue. Our mission is simple: get Sharon, the six small agents of anarchy, the rapidly gestating seventh agent, the dog, and the metric ton of pickled onions into the capsule and launch them into the glorious, sound-dampened vacuum of space. For this impossible task, I deployed the specialists: Sarah , our ruthless inventory expert, and Susan , our resident expert in utterly useless, touchy-feely nonsense. Sarah and the Payload Nightmare Sarah is a woman of cold, hard numbers. She lives for spreadsheets and abhors anything that cannot be accurately measured, weighed, or categorized. I tasked her with calculating the final launch mass, a task that quickly became her personal hell. She set up industria...