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| The Beach!!!!!! |
I'm watching this program on Discovery HD (narrated by Bill Shatner! Yay!) about the complications of creating a mission to Mars. Notwithstanding the complete and utter denial of the talking heads involved, in solemn, sober terms, they examine all sorts of problems, like isolation problems, compatibility problems, whether there should be boys AND girls, how boring six months in space will be while you're completely unrescuable, and then the absolute horror of the landing, only to not be greeted by Gran Club Santa Lucia and a Cuba Libre and a couple of cheap underage whores (for you pasty Canadian businessmen/astronauts) but a vast expanse of red nothingness (O Joy! Red Nothingness! This is what I ate regurgitated housefly food for six months for! More regurgitated housefly food but with Red Nothingness!)
Soil Samples! SOILLLLL SAMPLES! Well, let me crap into this here crater and then take a steaming sample! LIFE ON MARS! Voila. Can I go home now?
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| I spear the blonde Mars Whore! LIFE ON MARS! |
I would be a hellish companion on a trip to Mars. I'd first fool all the psychologists into thinking I was an ideal candidate -- calm, rational, useful in a crisis, multi-talented and ultra-creative when most needed, no sexual drive whatsoever when it comes to looking at my trim seatmate, DYNAMIC WHEN WORKING WITH A TEAM (I stole that from Craigslist) and best of all, most productive in stressful situations!
In reality it would start before blastoff. "Fuck, how do they expect someone to go 100 miles into space with a chair this big? Fuck, then another six months? How come you got the command chair? No, no no, I spent EIGHT months at Denver Base, not seven and a half like YOU. I should get the fucking command chair. Okay, you're commander. Keep the fucking command chair, see if I care."
And so it would go! On and on! I'd be so pissed off that by the time we got to Mars I'd activate the secret "To Destroying All Nearful Planetoid" function! (button printed in China).
Then I'd jettison the rest of the goobers through the hatch and drink all the Piña Coladas they'd been saving for the landing celebration.
Ha ha ha....I like the photoshop pic !
ReplyDeleteLet us know when you book a flight I would like to come along if I may, as I am losing confidence in the denizens of this planet.
I want Mars to be like Bradbury's Martian Chronicles. That would be fun.
We need some fun. Kid like fun.
Well, that's the opposite viewpoint of what we'll find on Mars. For all we know, all our deceased relatives actually really moved to Mars and built new homes (they have a special shield-thingy that prevents our telescopes from seeing them) to get away from their nagging children etc. and when we arrive we'll go stay with them in their nice new homes and they'll smother us in our beds.
ReplyDeleteIs that kind of the picture you were thinking of, Ironman? Tell you what, you go first and tell us what it's like.