With the Inter-Galactic Homestead Act of 2024, SpaceX and competitors have started launching one-way colony ships out to unclaimed real estate on what we currently think of the outer edges of our solar system.
The colonists are mostly climate refuges from Bangladesh and South Florida who haven’t been allowed into the floating cities like Nuevo New Orleans and New Kalkuta.
https://www.cnn.com/2018/12/17/world/most-distant-solar-system-object/index.html
Boxed it up and buried it in the ground
Boxed it up and buried it in the ground
Burned it up and thrown it away
The girl is away for a few days.
I was supposed to go along, but I couldn’t get the various insurance companies, doctors and pharmacies to fulfill my prescription for Chorizo.
In the meantime I’ve been here, somewhat with the functions, yet clearly declining. It’s like being asked to do The Time Warp, but actually being unclear if you’re actually making any god-damn sense.
Get Frank Miller on the phone!
I’ve got the next epic graphic novel in the pipeline. Here’s the pitch:
The inevitable happens and Donald Trump arrives in Hell. What A Dump! Donald sets out to build a new real estate empire and brags, bullys and lies his way to the top to fight it out with the Devil himself.
Themes:
With all the hooplah and hype over block chain and crypto currencies, I wonder if I could start a market for SteveCoin…
That is you give me a dollar, and I give you a random piece of paper on which I e scribbled “Steve owes the bearer a dollar. If you’re lucky he’ll give you more or will do you a favor.”
Of course, these are tradable on the open market for SteveCoin, that is, anyone you want to trade it to for whatever you agree on.
Clearly I should get all fancy and have a serial number on each one so we could have an app that tracks market activity.
Stay tuned!
Here it is. Long promised, the web site that launched a thousand blog posts. Not much about here, now. However everything’s got to start somewhere.
Stay tuned. Remember, space travel is not possible without Chorizo.
I’m having lunch again, with Dr Benway. He’s concerned again by both my divorce and my unpaid bill.
“How have you been? How’s the writing going?” He asks with a sideways glance.
“Miserable” I say with a crappy French accent, just for fun.
“Well, you’ve got that going for you. Great art never came out of anyone feeling fucking happy”. He dinged his fork against his water glass and signaled el mesero. He pauses, gives me a brief look of the kind I know all to well these days.
“That means you won’t be settling my bill today.” The uncomfortable truth needed no verbal reply. I shifted in my white linen suit. “There’s the other thing.” I told him.
He put his fork back in his shaved fennel. This was the cue for the waiter to refill our water glasses. “thank you asshole” the doctor says, toasting the waiter with his water glass.
“I’ve done it” I tell him.
The doctor smiles. He seems to pause to rub his crotch. “You have the ear?” He asks.
Welcome to the Last Tiki Bar on Mars, a novel. Read more here.
