While Uranus is always the butt of jokes, it has made peace with it’s lot in life and capitalized on the fact that everyone loves potty humor.  It has become galaxy-renown for it’s impeccable bathroom facilities.  It is obvious that your journey this time begins RIGHT THERE.

“When you gotta gotta go, and it’s really gonna flow, think of Uraaaaanuuuus,” you sing the catchy jingle that you’ve heard over and over on the interspace radio station ads under your breath, and set a course to penetrate it’s atmosphere.

You make it there just in time to keep your pants their proper color (read: not brown), pop your space quarters into the slot, and before you are the most glorious bathroom facilities you’ve ever seen!  It’s a wonder to behold… for about two seconds, before you utterly and completely ruin it.

After ten torturous minutes, your insides have downgraded from an in-progress terrorist attack to “if you see something, say something”, so you leave the space toilet and head back to the ship.  Unfortunately, it’s now sort of vibrating and has this rosy glow, and you’re finding you want to hug it, and have it tell you that you’re okay.

You fight every inclination to do so, bound up the ramp, and find the frakking toaster and point at it accusingly.  “What the FRAKKK did you do to me?”

The toaster, while having no arms, shoulders, neck, or head, seems to shrug. “I was bored.  We never spend any time together.  I just wanted you to pay attention to me.”

This thing is SO going back if you can make it back to the Sky Mall within the next 14 days.  “Ok, but WHAT THE FRAK WAS IN THE TOAST?”

“Stop yelling.  It’s no big deal.  The one with super-strength galaxitive was to make you smaller.  I’ve noticed you’ve packed on a few kilograms.  The other was laced with psylocibin.”

Of course it was.  This explains why your hands are now tiger claws.  “How will that make me bigger?”

“Well, in the grand scheme of life, we all want to be the bigger person.  Maybe we could sit for a while and contemplate it together?”  As you reach for it’s battery compartment, it protests, “I told you I was bored!  You never have time for me anymoooo-”

As you sit down to indeed contemplate the meaning of life, you hear the familiar HRRRROOOONNNKKKKK-CHRRREEEEE!  of the dot matrix printer sending you another job.

Take this to the dark side of the moon.  That’s right, you’re going to Spaceapalooza!  Deliver this package to Prince Aquarius.  Keep in mind, this one pays double your regular fare, but you’ll need to be discreet.

Suddenly, you see a package in being loaded from Uranus to your cargo hold that says on it in bold, and in triplicate, “TOTALLY NOT DRUGS.  NOPE!”

At this point, at least you’ll fit in with the crowd, as long as you can keep your ears from melting.