We all love fairy tales growing up. The great adventures, the handsome princes, the gorgeous maidens -- these tales have been etched in our memories.
But what if these fairy tales are given a twist? What if the stakes have changed?
The Oh My! Antho...
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The first word out of his mouth is, "bro." It's as bad as I feared. Maybe even worse.
"Bro, this is it. We totally made it to Mars. Can't wait to start our vape shop. By the way, are you going to split that sub sandwich? It's way sloppy, but I think we can cut it in half," I hear the first colonist say as the trio of Earthlings departs the space ship perched on a red slab of Martian rock. They're three brothers, obviously. Just look at their matching noses; they're practically snouts. Or don't look, since I'm sticking my furry neck out from behind this boulder, watching the arrival of my new neighbors.
"Yeah, bro, it's going to be awesome AF here," the second colonist says, taking off his red baseball hat and wiping sweat from his brow.
He and his brothers are loud AF, too, even in the thin atmosphere of Mars. The air is still sparse despite how Earthling scientists a few years back engineered the oxygen mix with plants. It wouldn't be so bad, honestly, but the plants are these ugly, stout succulents. They installed them because they, "don't have to be watered." Except they do need water, eventually, which is why half of them are dead and the other half are dying. The plants, I mean. Not the people. Not yet.
"Bro, you smell that?" the third colonist says and sucks in air through his swine-like nostrils. "That's the smell of freedom to live the way we were always meant to: free porn, legal weed, and robots take care of all the boring shit like sweeping the floors and vacuuming. Welcome to the future, bro-skis."
"Yeah, bro, it's way different than Earth. Hashtag EEXIT," the first colonist squeals. "Hey, what about that sub sandwich? I'm hangry. Don't hog it all."
"Bro, I told you before. NASA didn't trust us with anything sharp on the flight over from Earth, so I don't have a knife. I can't cut the sandwich in half," the second colonist says.
"Bro, then how did there get to be so much mayo on that thing? You must've spread it with a knife, right? I mean, it's practically dripping off the bread, bro."
The second colonist raises his voice even more, "Bro, I got this made at Subway before we left. There's one here, too, somewhere, I think, probably."
"I thought you were watching your weight, bro."
"I am. Mayo is totally keto, bro."
The first colonist snaps his fingers. "Bro, I'm glad you're the smart one between the three of us, bro."
This conversation continues for the next 30 minutes. I listen to every word. I thought I passed out one time and was simply confused about the direction of their narrative, but, no, they literally restarted the entire conversation from the beginning, apparently forgetting that they'd already covered that ground about the sandwich and the knives. And then they high five. All three of them at once in a palm pyramid. Unironically. You can't make this up. I wish I was, because then I'd have a better reason for taking all this time describing this scene to you.
