If you don’t mind—and even if you do—I’m going to take a brief victory lap for pointing out, waaaay ahead of the curve, that the ever-burgeoning billionaire obsession with space travel was really all about the dicks from the get-go, as the recent launch of Jeff Bezos’s all-mighty “Flying Phallus” so amply represents.
Jeff, or Cap’n Glans, as he now prefers to be called, has caught about $100 billion worth of flack for being, well, an arrogant, self-involved, out-of-touch, $100 billion asshole, but I think that’s laying it on a bit thick. I don’t think humanity’s future is in the stars—we can barely survive here on Mother Earth, which is at least 1,000 times as inhabitable as Mars. The one thing we can confidently predict about life on Mars is that it will kill you—and not “can kill you” but “will kill you”, and probably not in a nice way. But if people want to “dream”, well, let them. It’s no worse than buying a major league franchise, and I suppose Jeff and Elon and “Dick” and the rest of their space cadet pals might actually stumble on something useful in the process. Anyway, it will keep them occupied until the real Fountain of Youth is discovered, and that’s probably a good thing.
