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Mankind's foray into space
So, mankind is turning it's monstrous face once more toward the stars. On behalf of space, let me say "stay right where you are, you ape-descended, bacteria-covered, TV-worshiping, poop machines."
Obviously, the Apollo 11 astronauts did not really sojourn to the moon. In the 1960s, humans simply did not have the technology required to shield astronauts from the Cosmic Rays that would have altered their very genetic structure. If they had truly journey moonward, Neil Armstrong would have skin as pliant as rubber, "Buzz" Aldrin would be made of rocks, and Michael "the other guy" Collins would be able to ignite the air around him with a jaunty "flame on!" Then, if they every made a cartoon series about the Apollo 11 crew, they would have to replace Collins with an allegedly cute talking robot for fear that young admirers might set themselves ablaze.
The first thing you intend to do is journey "back" to the moon. I put "back" in scare quotes to indicate that I know the real truth. While mankind has popped a few of it's tin cans into nearby space in the past, the Apollo moon landings were just as fictitious as the movies Star Wars, The Wizard of Oz, or Rudy.
But I digress.
If you were merely traveling to go the moon, I shouldn't take umbrage. It's like when someone who lives down the street erects some tacky little playhouse for their diaper-filling offspring in their backyard. You might not like it, but it's only their backyard and they can befoul it as they wish.
Mars is next on humanity's Go Everywhere and Leave Trash on It list, and if I could be persuaded that this would be the end, I shouldn't mind this too terribly much either. Mars has only two forms of life: giant spiders and jerkwads. I know, I know, with their enormous foreheads and flashy laser pistols that Martians seem very advanced to you humans, but to the rest of the universe they are the rednecks of space-faring peoples. Jax Zozzznxxxix has made an entire (pathetic) career out of telling jokes like "if you got a Pranticlan 9 propped up on pressed jarntagon cubes in your docking bay... you might be a Martian!"
The problem is, you would never stop. To my eternal chagrin, I know you people by now. You shall never be satisfied until there is a Starbuck's erected on Rigel 7 and people all over the galaxy are forced to watch Survivor: Neptune.
Stay home, won't you? Space-travel can be such a trial on a Superion as it is, what with the asteroid storms, electricity-sucking space bats, vast empty spaces, and Klingons. The last thing we need is a bunch of damned human tourists asking "how many light years to the next rest stop" and "can you take a picture of my fat, ugly wife and I over by the humming monolith?"
I shudder to think of the possibility of you oxygen-junkies actually making it all the way to my beloved home world of Superion! Oh, you'd befoul its gorgeous tranquility with your passing of gaseous excretions and leave behind your damned Big Gulp containers.
You know, there are plenty of places left on Earth to explore. Do you realize how little of your oceans you've actually been to? Go bother the damned Atlanteans instead of us. You deserve each other.
On behalf of the intelligent races of the universe, let me say: "humans stay home!" We do not want your human waste. We do not want your sports utility space vehicles. We do not want your rap music. We do not want family-sized bags of Funyons. We do not want your Carrot Top. We do not want your cell phones or toe-nail clippings or extreme sports or Elvis movies or talk radio or plastic port-o-johns.
In short, we do not want you.
Space is infinite, and so is your potential to be a pain in the proverbial ass.
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