Dances with Aliens

I think I would like to live on the moon.

There are less people arguing there. Mainly because there are less people. If you don’t count the secret government installation on the dark side of the moon where we conduct our business with alien races who want to farm us for meat but also warn us against nuclear war and destroying our planet while they secretly kidnap us in the night amidst super bright lights, then the moon is, in fact, lifeless.

I would be willing to spearhead an effort to colonize the large crater area to the left of the center of the moon. I would hope that statistics would be on my side, protecting me from a large meteor impact because I would be living inside a large meteor crater. The whole “lightning doesn’t strike twice” method of wishful thinking. I would bury my little habitat with moon dust for a couple of hundred feet of thickness to protect against… something I guess. I read that in a Popular Science and it sounds like a good idea.

Water and fuel would be extracted from the Moon’s ample stores of water-ice and hydrogen. Supplies could be delivered via rocket from the Earth. I would string out a huge array of LED’s and when someone donated an item on my wish-list, I would light their name up on the moon for 24-hours. Maybe I could venture out into custom messages, “Vanessa would you like to go to the movies sometime?” Stuff like that. I would make millions or the moon would be pockmarked with all the deliveries. The pristine lunar valley would be a  junkyard of rocket husks scattered across the landscape. Martyrs for my insatiable appetite for pecan pie, Coca Cola, or stone fired pizza. I would sit in my living area and wait for a ‘thump’. Then I would go check the mail.

Maybe the military would give me a cool ray gun or missile launcher. After all, I would be the first outpost of Earth. Like Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves. I would whip my little fort into shape and protect the edge of the frontier from a race of beings who are, most likely, more friendly and understanding than my own. They would watch me from the shadows of a nearby asteroid and talk in their mind reading language about how peculiar I am, running in and out of my moon hole to fetch rocket launched treats. They would wonder how big of a douche I must be to be banished from my planet. They would also wonder why the moon says, “Carla will you marry me?” and assume I am trolling women online and attempting to woo them with a moon billboard. The aliens have conquered personal desire so they will not understand my trade system that is based on satisfying ego for canned goods.

One day they would land and three of them would approach me. One would appear hostile but he would be held in check by the older and wiser leader. They will attempt to talk directly to my mind and I will show them how to make an arm-fart. We will become awkward friends. I will learn later that the hostile alien is known by a name that is loosely translated as “Asshole” but he is deeply passionate about his friends and in a space battle in the future I will win his approval by showing aggression to my former race.

The citizens of Earth will become enraged at my defection and will be scared to think what the aliens might be capable of so they will launch an attack. A fierce thermonuclear response aimed at eliminating any and all moon people. Since I am the only moon person, the attack is against me. They won’t call it genocide though. Genocide is meant for a much bigger audience. No, the people of Earth will just be trying to murder me and shoo away the alien race. Luckily, my new friend, Asshole, will recognize the feeble Earthling attempt of murder and will invite me aboard a really cool starship. We will spend a few nights teleporting onto the steps of homes of the major world leaders, lighting bags of dog shit on fire and flying off into the night, laughing. Telepathically.

My laughter will settle and I will wipe a happy-nostalgic tear from my eye. Everyone will take a seat and look out the window at the Earth. As we suspend gravity and fire a weak thruster that accelerates us to near-light-speeds, I will look back on the fading Earth and think to myself. Jesus, that got out of hand fast. Maybe leaving Earth for the moon because of political bickering was a bit of an overstep. Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  

If you are over the whole presidency inauguration and election argument v2.0, this is for you. Let’s go do some cool shit on the moon. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

2 comments

  1. Wonderful, amusing post. I think a lot of us have entertained thoughts of moving to another planet, or sending someone we know to one. I’ve met a lot of assholes in my time – I wonder if they’re related to that guy on the moon?

    Liked by 1 person

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