For God’s Sake, Elon, Forget About Mars
(Hint: I win.)
Anyone who thinks Mars would be just, like, super awesome, can go live in an airproof Airstream trailer in Death Valley for the next two months.
Go on.
We’ll wait.
If you’re lucky enough to not get chunked by being exposed to the atmosphere once, if something breaks while you’re busy baking alive until you are dead, tough giblets; A/C units aren’t found under red space rocks. (But I’m SURE if you can save enough Muskbucks to eat 30 shipments of Elon’s Earthbeans™, you’ll be able to scrub the carbon dioxide from the air all by yourself with your legendary, perfectly-contained-in-your-living-area farts that simultaneously procure you an instant divorce AND sound exactly like the tortured, regretful sobs of the million idiots who believed a billionaire ever wanted to do anything but own more shit and followed him into space slavery!)
We can leave their stupid-ass corpses there in California as a permanent stupid-ass Body-Worlds-esque art installation entitled, “Why It’s A Stupid-Ass Idea To Burn A Tenth Of Humanity’s Resources To Be The First One To Put A Box On A Rock When We Haven’t Even Remotely Figured Out How To Stop Shitting Up THIS Rock Yet.”
Also, they already have mass transit in tunnels, Elon; they’re called “subways.” I can see through your plans to slip around without being detected, you shady little homunculus.
(Seriously, it’s like wrangling goddamn narcissistic five-year-olds.)
The next person who suggests the solution to all of our 2,000-year recurring collective core problems is to spread to the stars like an intergalactic plague of flabby locusts gets to find out just how far behind someone’s eyelids I can lick when I’m extra motivated.
— 🔑
