SOL 1 (Log Entry)
Because of a freak accident, I'm stuck on Mars. And I'm an Artist! So don't expect me to science the shit out of anything... It's going to be a rough ride.
SOL 2 (Log Entry)
Well, the water recycler is broken. If I can't recycle my urine, I'm going to die of thirst. And that means no more watercolors either. Gotta figure this out.
SOL 3 (Log Entry)
I've found the solution! Turns out, I can paint directly with my urine. It gives a subtle yellowish tint that works great with the Martian landscapes. Ah ah! Who's the boss? 💪💪💪
SOL 7 (Log Entry)
So thirsty... 😭😭😭
SOL 8 (Log Entry)
I've fixed the water recycler! 🎉🎉🎉
Okay, I admit: it wasn't really broken. Apparently, I've been peeing in the fridge this whole time 🤣🤣🤣. In my defense, they look quite alike. Next step: repairing the radio to contact NASA. I'll get to it in a week or two.
SOL 24 (Log Entry)
Alright, I might have found a solution to contact NASA. I thought, since I'm not planning to go anywhere, I could blow up the MAV 🚙💥. The explosion will be spotted by their satellites. And since I have two of them, I can do Morse code. Just need to come up with an extremely, super, hyper short message. I mean, really, really short.
SOL 25 (NASA Log)
Sending an artist to Mars was a really stupid idea. He was supposed to blog about the journey and paint stuff, but instead, he's stuck there like an idiot and can't do shit. For some unknown reason, he's not using the radio to contact us. God knows why. Hopefully, he'll die soon.
Hello, Earth? It's me, the astronaut stuck on Mars!
Yes, we know. Hello, Mark. Nice to hear from you.
Alive! I AM ALIVE! 👍🎉😝
Yes... We know.
Turns out: the radio wasn't broken at all! The volume was just set very, very low. Like super duper low. So I couldn't hear anything LOL 🤣🤣🤣.
I see. How are you? Are you injured? We've detected two abnormal heat signatures near the MAVs.
No no, all good 👍👍👍
Mark, our agronomical engineers might have found a solution for food: by fertilizing the Martian soil with your biowaste, you should be able to grow more potatoes.
Yes, your excrement. By mixing them with Martian humus and planting tubers, you should be able to grow more of them.
At minus fifty degrees? 😳😳😳
No, not outside: you'll have to do it indoors, where the temperature is controlled.
Wait... you want me to soil the habitat?
It's the only solution to feed you until the rescue mission arrives.
To be perfectly clear: you want me to defecate in the habitat and throw my last remaining food rations in there, is that right?
Just the potatoes. But yes.
To make more potatoes appear... BY MAGIC? 😰
It's not magic, Mark, it's agriculture. We do the same thing on Earth.
And the engineers who came up with this brilliant idea, do they shit in their living room too?
I'm sorry, Mark, but we have no other choice. It's a matter of survival. We'll send you a detailed protocol for...
What do you mean, "no"?
No. I didn't travel fifty million kilometers to fulfill your scatological fantasies. Since day one, between the water recycler and this, this mission has been all about pee and poop. I'm an Artist, not a fartiste. Find someone else.
But... you don't understand: it's a matter of life or death.
Very well. Death, then.
You heard me. I'm going to preserve what little dignity I have left and go out on my own terms. I'm going to paint. Fulfill the mission you sent me here for. I'll paint Mars until my last breath. And when you send another mission in years to come, you can showcase my paintings to the world and say that Mark Whatnot died for his art.
But... that's out of the question! We can't allow an astronaut from an official mission to commit suicide on Mars!
Oh really? And how do you plan to stop me?
Okay, I see. So listen up, you little two-bit painter: if you die on Mars, we'll never show your paintings to anyone, you hear me? You'll have done all this for nothing! Even better: we'll replace them with garbage! We'll hold a contest among the children of the staff to find the most deranged accountant's son in the country who makes mosaics with his boogers and pass them off as your works! Or even better: we'll get a cubist!
NO! NOT A CUBIST!!!
Yes! A cubist! And the name of Mark Whatnot will forever be etched in history as the painter who spent his life on Mars only to bring back silly little squares!
NOOO! Okay, okay! I'll do it! I'll crap out potatoes! I promise!
Good. Actually, that's not at all what we're asking you to do, but good.
Coming up in "The Martist":
Disaster strikes! The oxygen levels are plummeting rapidly. NASA engineers suggest Mark should reseal the whole habitat using his earwax.