Sunday, February 05, 2006

The ISS is worthless (But space sex is not)

You know, I have always been somewhat suspicious of the space program. I mean, what do we really gain from manned missions into the great beyond? There are the usual canards thrown out there, microwave ovens, pens you can use to write upside down (I’m always doing that), even Tang (how that last one is a positive still eludes me) but most of the discoveries usually mentioned as positive results of our space efforts have been proven to be stretches of the imagination if not downright falsities. Unfortunately, many people are still caught up in the romanticism of shooting people 1000’s of miles past earth’s surface into space (weightlessness is cool….) and thus accept the necessity of manned missions (I would gladly accept unmanned missions for scientific discovery as well as to keep the lid on NASA being basically a federally funded research program for our aerospace industry). I, however, know better. Fortunately, the good folks at the ISS have decided to do something so inane even the most benighted earth dweller has GOT to see past it.

Picture this, you have 3 or 4 guys up there, sitting around the table and thinking “What the fuck are we going to do today? The weightlessness thing wore off months ago, I am tired of squishing out bubbles of liquid and slurping them into my mouth, there aren’t any women up here for weightless sex, and if we attempt to rationalize this HUGE waste of taxpayer money with “Tang” one more time they are going to shoot us into the sun, so we need to think up something quick.”. What do these guys come up with? They decided to stuff an old Russian space suit full of dirty underwear, push it out the door, and see how long it would take to burn up. Not only that, they are getting Ham radio operators the world over to listen in to help them “determine how long it will take the suit to burn up in earth’s atmosphere.”. As if it weren’t bad enough that they were actually releasing this to the press they are actually admitting that they are depending on every mesh-hat wearing farmer in the mid-west to help them calculate this “absolutely essential data”. Guess what, if you fall out of the space station and aren’t somehow absolutely covered in ceramic heat resistant tiles complete with one hell of a cooling system I don’t need a Ph.D. in astrophysics to tell you you’re pretty much fucked.

Everyone, I know that you think space is cool. Space is cool. What’s not cool is wasting billions of dollars on shooting people into space when we could be doing it with robots, monkeys, or basically anything that doesn’t add 100’s of millions of dollars per flight in safety measures. Let me go on the record here as saying I am all for space sex and, should the opportunity arise, yours truly will be first in line to knock that one off the list but I don’t expect tax payers to pick up the tab. Hell, even Lance Bass knew that you had to throw down some personal cash if you want that type of high (and he was only paying for the ride up and back, the lodging was free of charge courtesy of the mostly the U.S. taxpayer). So, please tell your congressman that you would rather the money be spend on finding ways to match women’s sex drives to men’s (The most cruel of all of evolutions tricks) or perhaps increasing research into teleportation (Seriously, quantum teleportation is already being looked at and, personally, I can’t wait for the day when I can beam myself into Cabo in the winter time (Or Keira Knightly bed…). Even so, whatever the crazy things we decide to spend billions on at one point (In this case it’s pushing a million dollar space suit out a window) we must draw the line. So speak up America, you’ll thank me in the future.


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