It was NASA's Orion going up.
The g's pulled down hard on me.
It was just me and the two girls.
Max and Frank were at mission control.
My fat vibrated so hard that when I'd return back to Earth, I'd shit out the excess ten kilos.
The girls were dressed up as tarts.
We had jet packs that would get us around any tricky terrain, or if the buggy died.
But there was no chance of that.
It was 2019 and technology was self-replicating.
There would be no rendezvousing with a spacecraft orbiting the moon.
We were the spacecraft.
The suit we were wearing could get us back to Earth if need be.
I had three deck chairs.
The girls had suits on that were translucent.
NASA had learned a lot about the jellyfish.
Everything should be transparent.
And if we were to get the sponsorship from the big corporations, it was on one condition, keep it fucking sexy.
The rays coming down on the Sea of Tranquility looked exquisite when passing through Megan and Rebecca's spacesuit.
They both had on flamingo red lipstick.
And pink bikini briefs that changed colors every ten seconds, to keep the punters interested.
I emptied a bag with Nei Armstrong's remains. I refused NASA to take Buzz Aldrin.
'He's always asking for upfront fees, just to talk,' I told them adding, 'we need true patriots who are prepared to do the hard yards for God and Country alone.'
Buzz tried to knock me out at Houston.
I got a good punch in his guts.
'I'm too old for this shit,' he said and climbed back into his box, marked 'Second Man on the Moon.'
That's where most of his anger came from, always being second best.
The g's pulled down hard on me.
It was just me and the two girls.
Max and Frank were at mission control.
My fat vibrated so hard that when I'd return back to Earth, I'd shit out the excess ten kilos.
The girls were dressed up as tarts.
We had jet packs that would get us around any tricky terrain, or if the buggy died.
But there was no chance of that.
It was 2019 and technology was self-replicating.
There would be no rendezvousing with a spacecraft orbiting the moon.
We were the spacecraft.
The suit we were wearing could get us back to Earth if need be.
I had three deck chairs.
The girls had suits on that were translucent.
NASA had learned a lot about the jellyfish.
Everything should be transparent.
And if we were to get the sponsorship from the big corporations, it was on one condition, keep it fucking sexy.
The rays coming down on the Sea of Tranquility looked exquisite when passing through Megan and Rebecca's spacesuit.
They both had on flamingo red lipstick.
And pink bikini briefs that changed colors every ten seconds, to keep the punters interested.
I emptied a bag with Nei Armstrong's remains. I refused NASA to take Buzz Aldrin.
'He's always asking for upfront fees, just to talk,' I told them adding, 'we need true patriots who are prepared to do the hard yards for God and Country alone.'
Buzz tried to knock me out at Houston.
I got a good punch in his guts.
'I'm too old for this shit,' he said and climbed back into his box, marked 'Second Man on the Moon.'
That's where most of his anger came from, always being second best.
