Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Canadian Space Program
The Canadian Space Program languishes.
They can barely coax a four seater as far as Yellowknife, let alone launch a space station.
All Canadians drag a heavy anchor of shame behind them, because of this.
Imagine if Ottawa established a vibrant new agency, and Canadians pushed towards the stars!
Imagine handsome strong men and beautiful capable women dressed in uniforms which honor the fabled Leafs and Habs with their blue and red colors!
Imagine transmissions coming in from amazing new worlds, in both English and French, eh?
Sure, no one would have any idea what those excitable French were saying, but so what?
Alors! Allons nous!
Some chick and her cats are launched towards Mars.
They travel at umpty billion kilometers per hour, but it feels to them as if they are floating like dandelion fuzz.
Canadians pour into the streets, cheering.
In an access of enthusiasm, they take Detroit and Buffalo, and launch them into space as well.
Soon there are Timbits on the moon.
Can anything stop the Canadians?
It is discovered that the dust of the lunar surface is just like snow.
The 2018 Winter Games are awarded to the moon, under the auspices of Canada!
Drunken lumberjacks shout and pummel each other in a spontaneous expression of joy and national pride.
Winnipeg, gloriously inspired, brings the Stanley Cup home to Canada, and they don't even have a team!
All across the north, it is a new day.
From space, the chick and her cats broadcast on Christmas Day.
"In-fucking-credible!" she reports, and the news media repeats these now famous words endlessly.
It's better than a visit from the old-ass Queen of England any day.
This could be your legacy, Canadians!
Up! To work!
To the very heavens!
We have lift-off!!!
Oh hell yeah.