Okay, so I’m out walking the dog tonight. It’s a nice, clear night, stars are out, I’m having a good time, and then it happens.
I see a shooting star. Wait, that’s a bit of a misnomer. I see someone trying to FUCKING CRASH LAND THE DEATHSTAR STRAIGHT INTO MY NEIGHBORHOOD!!! You know those movies with the huge extinction-level meteors crashing through the atmosphere? It was BIGGER.
Okay, not that big, but sweet holy fuck, it was huge. And then it flares up and poof, gone. And I’m sitting there in my freshly besoiled jeans, trying to piece together if it’s time to duck and cover or not. And, needless to say, nobody else was around to see it. Believe me, I checked. Which of course makes it kind of hard to explain why you have to toss out a perfectly good pair of pants.
So screw you, cosmos. I’ve had enough of your mindfuckery. It wasn’t bad enough you had to inflict women on us, no, that was just a running gag. You still have to run up and kick us in the jewels when we’re least expecting it. So you can take your flaming sky rocks and shove them where the sun don’t shine.
Don’t automatically blame outer space; it was just as likely a piece of space trash left behind by one of a multitude of orbiting folks up there. Take only pictures, leave only footprints, har…
Heh. I hear the big ones always look closer than they really are. I remember back in high-school, my calculus and science profs were out watching a meteor shower. One was unusually bright and lasted a long time, and they thought this one was pretty neat. Afterwards, they realized that it was a point-source, and therefore had been heading directly for them.
So next time, if there’s a big tail you can relax - it’s the city next door that’s getting flattened.