The Pegasus Awards

Asteroid Named Rest Stop

Julia Ecklar and Leslie Fish

Pegasus Nominations

Year Category
2003 Best Original Humorous Song
1993 Best Space Song

 

Asteroid Named Rest Stop

Julia Ecklar / Leslie Fish
Lyric posted with permission from the authors

When I pulled old 307 out of Marsport
The weather station said storms all the way
They stuck me with a cargo of live chickens
A dozen drunken miners,
And five hung over Shriners
The brake jet lining's overworn and pitted
The gasket on the cargo hatch was gone
I figured we could get as far as Phobos
But I didn't think we'd get much further on.

And I'm looking for an asteroid named Rest Stop
Relief driver damn well better be waiting for me there
Cuz after fifteen hours of bussin'
Third class cargo and riders cussin'
I just might drive to blazes and not care.

I chugged on up to Phobos on our last fumes
And prayed their engineers could heal my jets
Cuz storms had broke the locks and freed the chickens
And they were crappin' on the miners,
And runnin' from the Shriners
My jets were full of feathers and limp fezzes
And my two latrines were backed up in the hall
With chicken crap and ore dust on my main bridge
I could only hope that Phobos heard my call

Chorus

At Phobos port they held me up in docking
Then they stuck me off in Bay 117 (downwind)
The customs man walked in, breathed once, and fainted
Then got up, ran out and screamed
For a fumigation team
The passengers ran for the door and jammed it
And it took more than an hour to haul them clear
I found a bar and broke some regulations
Then I went out looking for an engineer.

Chorus

I found this Joe Von Krugin on a barstool
And so drunk on coolant fumes he couldn't stand
I told him I could pay him in fresh chickens
If he'd try to fix my drive
So we could leave that port alive
He staggered to my ship and stood there laughing
While bedraggled spaced up chickens filled the air
He sat down on the nearest cast-out Shriner
And he said, "Just shoot this ship, it's only fair." (It's dead, Jim)

Chorus

I called the third shift office and they told me
Son there ain't no place that's short of your next stop
I paid out four fat chickens for a patch job
Got my riders back on board
Then in came seven more
God, they were Martian mercenaries mean as cat dirt
And some damn-fool miner offered them a fight
They was hacking through my back seats with machetes
As I cleared that burg and rode out to the night.

Chorus

I locked the ports and holed up in my cabin
And listened to the ruckus in the rear
And I got a wild idea cut of g-force
And let the folks, fowl and all
Go mix up in free fall
Now I nursed the engines toward that asteroid
When they ask me what my cargo is I'll say
It's free fall Martian Stew and Chicken Gumbo
And that station better not be far away.

Chorus

 

 

 

 
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