Professional Advice from a Licensed Dog.
In these disturbing times of political turmoil, pandemic risk, and economic uncertainty, what a warming comfort it is to know that billionaires can joyride in space. Imagine my delight at the historic space flights of Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson…excuse me. SIR Richard Branson. Of course, I didn’t actually witness these events since I was stuck in traffic in my nine-year-old Prius, slowly inching my way to my crap, low-wage job.
In case you can’t tell, Budleigh, I’m being sarcastic. I think it’s unfair that outer space is just for the wealthy. Do you agree?
Please share your down-to-Earth wisdom with us. (See what I did there? With that pun, there? I just made that up!)
Be well! A real smart-ass in Seattle
You might not enjoy hearing this, but I cannot rail against billionaires as I am one.
Apparently, this advice column business pays rather well, I’m told by my unpaid intern Per Se who handles all my finances. I find “Money” quite confusing, so at Per Se’s urging, I assigned to him control of my assets, investments, and savings. He says he’ll only alert me if funds run so low that I can’t afford new tug-tug toys. Per Se insists that I’ve a million billion “moneys”, which is like 10 in dog years, so I’ve no worries.
I mention this because despite my enormous wealth I was denied a berth on the historic flights of both Jeff and Sir.
While I’m grateful that these two risked their lives to prove galactic travel safe for Canines, I resent that they pooled their tremendous resources to bar me from outer space. It speaks to the very worst species-ism! Maybe even voter intimidation.
But the preponderance of blame falls on the National Aeronautics and Space Administration or NASA. (Professional credo: “Whatever you say, Mr. Bezos!”) This federal agency requires all potential “astronauts” to submit an extensive “questionnaire” about their “health” and “fitness” for such conditions as “gravitational acceleration” and “G-force”. Oh, and whether they’re a “dog”.
Seriously? C’mon, this isn’t rocket science!
Among the impertinent and intrusive questions in this survey:
How tall are you? (NASA height requirements are between 5 ft. 2 in. and 6 ft. 3 in.)
Obviously, this is a trick question to weed out the four-legged and the measurement-challenged. I happen to be the ideal height from my weight. So, I had Per Se fill in, “Scruffy black with white markings.”
Spatial reasoning: In the pictured three-dimensional shape, predict the color of the unseen face.
Again, tricky. My response, “Grey! Just not as grey as the rest of the grey.”
Number sequencing: Find the next number in this sequence – 1, 2, 6, 21, 88.
Played it safe here! Pretty sure we’re talking about “moneys” again. My answer, “Scruffy black with white markings.”
General knowledge: What is the correct order of the planets moving out from the sun?
Street sign. Hydrant. Brown grassy patch. Garbage can. (They never put that away!) Something grey. Something bigger and grey. Street sign. (Maybe the same one.)
Do you get motion sickness?
Only when I dig up and eat too many motions.
And for this, I was turned down for space travel? Very well, Jeff and Sir! You’ll be hearing from my unpaid intern shortly.
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