Elon thought it was brilliant marketing. The media ate it up. You think it’s cool.
Newsflash folks – I’m pissed.
I was living large. Minding my own business, sporting SpaceX’s new spacesuit. It was all about me. All about comfort. All about hyper-cool. No paparazzi, flying under the radar and living the dream baby. With Mars still decades away, I had it made. None of that deep-space crap for me. I’d be gone before I had to deal with stuff.
At night, I’d slip out and cruise the streets of L.A. Sleek, silent, fast. I was a rolling chick magnet. Stylin’ behind my smoke-gray visor, and sporting the American flag on my shoulder (I never take a knee). Anyone who knows me, wants to be me. They don’t call me Starman for nothing.
But then, Elon goes bat-shit crazy on me. Last Friday night I pull into the garage, just another day in paradise. I’d had a good day. Made an appearance at a local school, encouraging young kids to sign up for math and science courses. Spent a few hours at the old astronaut home swappin’ stories and lies. Out of nowhere (I’ve got a bit of a blind spot behind me) these two goons grab me and hit the “off button.”
Next thing I know, I wake up and it’s pitch black in the room. A hissing sound is all around me. Sounds like stuff is creaking and groaning. I start to hear this rumbling, then the room starts shaking. Before I know it, I can feel myself moving but still can’t see a thing. I gotta’ tell you, at this point I was thinking “what in the hell is going on???” Then, BLAM! the walls of the room blow away, I look around, see a bunch of stars out in front of me. I look down and see that I am strapped into my ride. But I can’t move my arms or legs. The top is down but I can’t reach the top up switch. The stars are spinning and I’m thinking – man, did I get smashed last night and not realize it? Then, WHOA!, I see the bloody Earth staring at me. I realize, HOLY CRAP, I’M IN ORBIT. This is not good. I don’t like heights. If all this isn’t enough, Bowie starts blaring through my monster Bose woofers and tweeters. OK, I’m calming down now…I love Bowie. I can’t believe it. Elon just gave me up for some hype. I’m in outer space. Like I said, not good.
Hey, space is tough. Temperatures range from blazing hot to hundreds of degrees below zero. No air. Stuff flying around at thousands of mph trying to punch holes in my suit. Why would any self-respecting suit want to give up Starman for Spaceman?
Let me read you into a dirty little secret – Elon’s doing some cool stuff, but Mars is still decades away. That meant I had it made. Someone else was going to be dealing with all that nasty stuff. By the time the suit was going to go fly for real, I was going to be retired and hanging around the museum. But noooooo. Now it’s me out here. But there is a bright side. Hey Elon, news flash bro’. I’ll be swinging back by your neighborhood in a few thousand years. I’ve got the high ground, I’m pissed and coming for you.