Wednesday, August 11, 2004
The Ansari X Prize
I’m gonna win that contest. I built me a spaceship that’s going to take me into outerspace! It’s made of plutonium and s’mores, and it travels at speeds in excess of 8,000 ticks per cycle. The rocket boosters sure can make some noise, and are quite good at propulsing things. The ship seats two comfortably, or uncomfortably, if one is a horse. I don’t think I’m going to bring a horse with me, though. I’ve sent out invitations to a few folks, like Cheryl Tiegs, and Gandhi, and hopefully I’ll be hearing back from them shortly. If not, maybe the horse will have to come. That wouldn’t be too bad; outerspace is, after all, his natural habitat.
When we get to Jupiter I’ll stick the only flag I’ll ever salute* deep into that soft Jovian soil, and then take a leisurely dip in that big orange dot. Winged Memory (the horse) will collect the finest samples of the indigenous flora, with which we shall construct a palace whose splendor shall exceed even that of the Monster Plantation. Our natatorium will make the Pacific look like a puddle of piss on the bathroom floor of a casual dining establishment.
At nightfall Winged Memory will give me a massage beneath the amber glow of Jupiter’s twin setting suns. His muzzle will graze tenderly against the back of my neck. His hooves will linger gingerly in areas I normally try hard to conceal. Perhaps my towel will "accidentally" slide off my unclothed body, and fall to the ground below, exposing my manhood to Jupiter’s harsh elements, and Winged Memory’s harsher love. Away from the prying eyes and prattling gossip of Earth, Winged Memory and I will be able to end our foolish charade, and finally indulge our most fervent desires. Our love shall flow like the Thunder River; at first it shall be leisurely and serene, only to gradually become rougher and more rapid, and ultimately ending on a conveyor belt, with neither of us as wet as we thought we would be. As we fall to sleep on our mattress of spacedust and dreamstuff, Winged Memory will caress me deep within his bosom, neighing contentedly in his sleep. Jupiter will be our own personal kingdom, a private refuge from the petty minds and provincial attitudes of Earth.
Winged Memory and I can not wait to slip in through the legal loopholes that will be opened by homosexual marriage. Our love can no longer be postponed; it must be shared now. We must love openly and freely, and so we must leave this Earth behind, and travel to Jupiter. We shall accomplish that with my homemade spaceship, and in the process we shall pocket a cool $10 million dollars. If anyone else would like to go with us, I could maybe fit another row of mini-van seats in the back of the spaceship. You'd have to pay for it, though.
* the Confederate Flag
I’m gonna win that contest. I built me a spaceship that’s going to take me into outerspace! It’s made of plutonium and s’mores, and it travels at speeds in excess of 8,000 ticks per cycle. The rocket boosters sure can make some noise, and are quite good at propulsing things. The ship seats two comfortably, or uncomfortably, if one is a horse. I don’t think I’m going to bring a horse with me, though. I’ve sent out invitations to a few folks, like Cheryl Tiegs, and Gandhi, and hopefully I’ll be hearing back from them shortly. If not, maybe the horse will have to come. That wouldn’t be too bad; outerspace is, after all, his natural habitat.
When we get to Jupiter I’ll stick the only flag I’ll ever salute* deep into that soft Jovian soil, and then take a leisurely dip in that big orange dot. Winged Memory (the horse) will collect the finest samples of the indigenous flora, with which we shall construct a palace whose splendor shall exceed even that of the Monster Plantation. Our natatorium will make the Pacific look like a puddle of piss on the bathroom floor of a casual dining establishment.
At nightfall Winged Memory will give me a massage beneath the amber glow of Jupiter’s twin setting suns. His muzzle will graze tenderly against the back of my neck. His hooves will linger gingerly in areas I normally try hard to conceal. Perhaps my towel will "accidentally" slide off my unclothed body, and fall to the ground below, exposing my manhood to Jupiter’s harsh elements, and Winged Memory’s harsher love. Away from the prying eyes and prattling gossip of Earth, Winged Memory and I will be able to end our foolish charade, and finally indulge our most fervent desires. Our love shall flow like the Thunder River; at first it shall be leisurely and serene, only to gradually become rougher and more rapid, and ultimately ending on a conveyor belt, with neither of us as wet as we thought we would be. As we fall to sleep on our mattress of spacedust and dreamstuff, Winged Memory will caress me deep within his bosom, neighing contentedly in his sleep. Jupiter will be our own personal kingdom, a private refuge from the petty minds and provincial attitudes of Earth.
Winged Memory and I can not wait to slip in through the legal loopholes that will be opened by homosexual marriage. Our love can no longer be postponed; it must be shared now. We must love openly and freely, and so we must leave this Earth behind, and travel to Jupiter. We shall accomplish that with my homemade spaceship, and in the process we shall pocket a cool $10 million dollars. If anyone else would like to go with us, I could maybe fit another row of mini-van seats in the back of the spaceship. You'd have to pay for it, though.
* the Confederate Flag
