Weblog Sin Pies

By Trevor Ryan

I can’t wait for space tourism, and if you don’t like it, then I may no longer like you. That’s the long version of this title. There are many people out there who will whine and complain over what is arguably the next step toward the inevitable — getting the heck out of this place. I know, I know. We should save the planet for as long as we can, but after a certain point, let’s face it. The sun will blow up. Like an abusive stepdad who came home drunk, the sun will unleash its unyielding fury of whiskey-tainted punishment, and beat our tender hides back into the vapor state (worse state to be in than PA). so this is why we have to start building spaceships to take rides on. Keep the sun thinking we’re still not moving out. “No, no, The Sun,” we’ll coo, “we’re not going anywhere. We just want a better view of our dumb old house, the Earth.” Then, when the sun least expects it, we’ll blast off into the future, where we’ll meet lots of available space women.

But for real, people. Join the space race, cause it’s more like a space jog-a-thon at this point. Even old people like John Glenn are going to space in this day and age. If John — actually, let’s call him “old man Glenn” to make it more homey and familiar — if old man Glenn’s going, shouldn’t you be able to get off your couch and go as well? Or are you less space-worthy than an old man?

The good people at Space Adventures are working it up for as early as 2008. Maybe you should get in line now. Call and ask! Just dial 1-888-85-SPACE! I’m actually not kidding. Call ’em! In fact, when you do, say you were referred by me. I don’t know if they have a punch card thing where you can save up points for a free space flight, but if they do, maybe I can get one. So don’t forget.

In the meantime, while you’re waiting in line, please help the cause by launching your crap into space, like your fingernails, or friend’s ashes or something. Better yet, make it something that underprivileged alien children can play with. Oh, wait, that was covered with fingernails, which contain your DNA. They’ll think of something good to do with that!