If I drop 20 pounds, like I’ve been meaning to do right after I organize my sock drawer, I live 2 more years.
Huh.
Most definately not worth it.
More chocolate anyone?
In 2029, I’ll be 75. I’m not keen on calling it quits at that age, based on how well my parents and grandparents were all doing at that age and beyond. So I’m glad it’s gonna be a miss.
The Death Clock says I’ll check out in 2042. Which means that if nobody screws with Social Security, I’ll get full benefits right up to when I kick.
Couldn’t the force of (several?) atomic warheads theoretically change the direction of at least some of the resulting chunks?
Not that I don’t appreciate your graphic imagery. Maybe you should work for Hollywood.
But then you have to track and, target, and deflect a bunch of small chunks rather than one large chunk. You haven’t changed the mass of the asteroid, so you have to expend the same net amount of energy to change its course–and the rubble will be impossible to divert.
Keep in mind that asteroids are probably “rubble piles,” made up of different sized hunks of rock, and a lot of bounders, pebbles, and dust, held together by gravity. You couldn’t get a clean break. You’d mainly turn it from a bowling ball into buckshot. And we don’t really understand the internal structure of asteroids at all, so it’s really hard to say what effect an asteroid-busting nuke would have.
To be fair, there are serious concerns about what effects an asteroid-diverting nuke would have on a rubble pile, too. But basically, you want to put as much energy as you can into changing the orbit of the asteroid. If you’re expending energy to blow the asteroid apart, that energy is essentially wasted because it’s not doing what you want: getting the thing off its collision course.
You wanna talk imagery . . . The first time I saw these results presented, they set a stuffed dinosaur under an IR lamp. Halfway through the talk, the dino started melting and the building manager made them turn off the lamp so it wouldn’t ruin the table, catch fire, or both.
Please. I’ll be young enough that I’d take her from you and dance the night away! 
Besides, those Soviets be damned, it might be time we let loose them Minutemen and Peacekeeper missiles for a really fuckin’ huge fireworks display.
Tripler
Fireworks woooooo! I’m getting my little party hat on already . . .
I figure by 2029, we should be getting some nice gold stars for our cloning technologies. So all we do is clone a young Bruce Willis, an assortment of wise-cracking cohorts, and we send them up on our shuttles (assuming the fleet still isn’t grounded) to drill.
And I, for one, have total faith that it’ll work because Harry doesn’t know how to fail.
Lessee, I’m due to kick the proverbial bucket on July 10, 2043, according to that there Death Clock thing… I’ll be 75. Yeah, right.
Shirley, girlfriend… you wouldn’t happen to have any dark chocolate, wouldya?
So there’s no End-of-All-Things Dopefest in the works now? Rats.
(Hey, no tempting luck, I’m grateful…)