Anyway, that’s not the issue. The real issue is you folks are circling the drain, and we all kind of know it. You’re done. It’s not a question anymore. You see that, don’t you? Nuclear missiles pointed at everyone, and all you want to do is elect the loudest, most aggressive idiot to have the codes. It’s weird, really. The whole goddamned planet is rigged to blow, and you’re throwing lit matches at it.
Whatever. We’re not shrinks. You be you, humans. No judgment.
But here’s our point: Could you just go ahead and torch yourselves already? Because we have stuff to do with the place.
We have a whole plan set out: A couple million years of evolution, upgrade the ol’ noggins, grab six sets of opposable digits... Then get right to the basics: The wheel, waterparks, planes, and probably some crap with computers. Maybe less porn and religion than you guys. That always felt a little excessive.
You’ve done what you were going to do. None of you are going to Mars. You’re not even going back to the Moon. As explorers and inventors, you’ve hit the wall. You’ll crap out a few more reboots of 80’s movies, change your facial hair a few times, and then Poof! Probably by nukes, or maybe an environmental collapse. But you’re not building space colonies, and you’re definitely not getting raptured.
What does it matter to you whether it happens in 20 years or, say, this afternoon? Do you really, honestly need to stick around long enough to actually see Charlie Sheen’s drug-induced death? Or the dog mess Trump’s going to make of the presidency? Couldn’t you sketch that out in your minds already?
You’re not using the corner office to accomplish anything, so maybe give the next guy a shot now rather than later. That’s all we’re asking. One of you guys said the meek shall inherit the earth. Well, here we are. Nothing meeker than a roach. And we are ready to do some inheriting.
Close this down now while you still have a little bit of dignity. It’ll be better that way. And don't worry about your dogs. We'll just eat 'em.
Bye for now.