Sunday, January 07, 2018

Houston, Pandemonium Base Here. The Presents Have Landed.

Thank goodness for Elon Musk and his Falcon Heavy. You need every one of those 64,000 kg of lower earth orbit payload to deliver the perfect suburban Christmas. Why just the wrapping paper alone needs a two-stage solid rocket booster to clear the launch pad.


You see son, in some countries all you get for Christmas is a wooden bee, a piece of string, and a chocolate fish.



Look Dad, I can clean and jerk in the 90th percentile weight division.



Daddy last time I was in this choo choo the boiler was actually operational. What happened? Uhm, winter came to Houston?



All aboard the Little Green Caboose. Remember, if the train starts to slide down the big mountain, don't stand around gawking at the politically-incorrect Indians-in-tepees illustrations, put on the darn brakes.


You know what a lawnmower is son? Uhm, Dad, come on I don't even know what a lawn is!


So Brooklyn, can I buy you an Old Fashioned? That's the one where your glass of milk comes from a one gallon plastic Safeway jug instead of a recycled glass bottle hand-filled this morning at your local organic micro-farm.



After this Houston eating tour we may need that Shuttle Carrier Aircraft for an airlift out.


Luckily this generation is used to eating organic mashed peas out of a squeezy tube, should have no problem adjusting to space life.



Mommy would you be a cosmonaut or an astronaut? Actually no, a taikonaut, which sounds suspiciously like someone who pilots a hot pot.



Daddy, did this nice astronaut just give me some STEM? No son, that's actually a mundane terrestrial candy cane.



Daddy is this a monster truck? No son, things are just bigger in Texas.


Team Two Phat J00ster. The combined web commentary is so vacuous space suits are highly recommended.



Houston, we have a problem. I wore the wrong colored vest into the control room and Gene Kranz was not amused.



A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away the U.S. taxpayer owned a lot of cool rockets.



Saturn V, still the most powerful rocket ever built. Progress seems to have slowed a bit since then, although in fairness dads carry the kids now instead of orbiting the moon, so that's something.



That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. Actually it's not because Ryan is being lazy and won't walk.



You went to the moon in that thing? You're braver than I thought.


Wear your helmet or I'll put you in concussion protocol.


Look, some street art, must be a hipster zone. Nothing says gentrification like handwritten chalk menus.



First toddler Christmas. Failure is not an option. This could be the worst disaster J00ster has ever experienced. With all due respect sir, I believe this is gonna be our finest hour. Or hours. And hours. It's remarkable how long it takes to open half an Amazon distribution center worth of presents.



Haddy Paddy is always happy, even when she has no idea what she's just opened.



Clearly Santa isn't vegetarian. Luckily there's not a lot of green stuff up at the North Pole.



Kids these days have no idea how good they have it. Actually parents these days have no idea how good they have it with one-click ordering on Amazon Prime standing by.


Haddy knows a hipster accouterment when she sees one. That's what happens when your sister is named Brooklyn.


Remember kids, they're not Indians they're First Nations. Uhm, Uncle Jared, is that part of the First Order? Yeah sort of kid, you know, Chief Grouchy Hux and his Storm Warriors.



Too many cooks in the kitchen? Ryan, how about you man up and go help Uncle Jared with the bbq.


I'm dreaming of a white Christmas... Hang on, no I'm not. No #bombcyclone here folks, just a rousing Cantopop number on the gold-plated microphone I scored in Secret Santa. China Inn here I come!


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