take your socialized space program and shove it

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#26258873)

Did you see the video going around the internet last week where a 85 IQ faggot was pouting and playing "gotcha" with his 82 IQ parents about homosexuality and the word of god?

That's you. "I don't belieeeeeve in bible, i belieeeve science!"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#26258826)

I can see the slate headlines now:

Was Apollo 13 a failure because of white privilege? The oxygen stirrer was designed without input from a single person of color or LBGTWTFBBQ person, and perhaps their perspective on linear thermal expansion coefficients would have prevented this disaster.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#26258832)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27447541)

PS: apparently Rutger Hauer largely ad-libbed those lines and they were so much better than the script the director kept them.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27550589)

"we come seeking The Hole"

"what?"

"The Ginger Hole. we seek it"

"o yea. ok. here"

"o..fuck. woah. nvm. ty anyway. cya"

END TRANSMISSION

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27447534)

What makes you say EVER?

I'm sure 200 years ago people were CONVINCED that humans would never leave Earth.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27587298)

A worn couch is covered with a hand-knit afghan, and a few photographs hang on the walls. An older photo, of a young family standing proudly outside a new home, flickers on and off, its dim light strobbed across the room, casting dull shadows and light on the bare wood floor. In the photo, a young boy with brown hair has a gap-toothed grin, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. On the cap are the letters "NASA." The old man reaches up to the frame to turn the photo off, making a note to have it looked at by a tech when he'd drive into town later in the week. But before he does, he pauses and takes a long look at the boy in the photo. 

A few other pieces of furniture sat quietly in the room - a few side tables, covered with the thin sheets of digipaper displaying the covers of weekly magazines. A china cabinet held a few plates and cups, a serving dish propped up proudly, a hairline crack only adding to a kind of homely nobility of a dish that had seen so many years come and go. And in the corner of the room, a thin television. An older model, but it got the weather from New Portland and the signal was clear.

The old man quickly settles into the couch, and reaches for the remote. He sets the mug of coffee on a table, and heard the gentle hum of the heater warming the house. He hit a button on the remote, and an image of a young man sprang to life.

" - invented only a decade ago, the Kevron drive will allow humanity to expand its reach beyond - "

The old man turned the volume down. The newscaster briefly stops his narration, glancing down at his digipaper notes. He suddenly grins, his eyes lighting up for the briefest of moments before he coughs into his hand and continues in his deep baritone.

"We are being told that launch will go forward. NASA has just informed us that earlier concerns about a solar wind will not delay launch. Barring new information from Mercury station, the Hyperion mission will launch in just half an hour. The entire world is watching - " the broadcaster looks again at his notes - "nearly four billion televisions are tuning into broadcasts from around the world."

The old man picks up his cup of coffee again and takes another sip. 

"Testing for the Hyperion mission began in 2053, and now, years later, the hard work and dedication of hundreds of thousands will be rewarded as the first interstellar jump is completed."

The television cuts to an image of a gleaming starship, its silver hull jutting into the darkness. An American flag preceeding the letters, "N A S A" emblazoned on its side. The moon's gray surface is just below the starship.

"Despite funding setbacks and numerous attempts by the anti-exploratory lobby, as well as the tragic loss of the crew of Hyperion IV, the Hyperion project was completed last year. This flight represents, for all mankind, the fragile hope of a better tomorrow."

Suddenly the television displays the image of ten young men, each wearing a blue and white uniform. One, a tall man with brown hair, sets the old man's pulse quickening. The astronauts are smiling, waving. "The crew of the Hyperion mission, led by Commander Jeff Stewart, have already boarded the main Hyperion craft. They will be the first human beings to traverse across the black plains of space, to leave our solar system and - "

The old man is barely listening to the broadcaster. The camera is now focused on the young astronaut-commander. The old man's eyes are wide, and his hands tremble slightly as he lifts the coffee to his lips again. Perhaps no one in but the old man noticed the commander clutching, in his arm, an old baseball cap.

"We are now receiving live video of the Hyperion." The broadcaster's voice cuts off as a cool, clear female says, "All systems checked. T-minus five minutes to ignition." The broadcaster again: "And that is mission control, monitoring the Hyperion's flight from New Washington Base."

The Hyperion starship is now in full view. It's engines are glowing blue, and a roar from the television shakes the living room.

The woman at mission control begins to count down. "T-minus one minute to countdown." The old man's heart begins to race. The voice of Command Stewart is suddenly heard, deep and rich, "All engines in the green. Oxygen check. Navigation check." A pause. "Lithium warp matrix, check. Mission control, we are all clear."

The woman's voice, "We are all clear. Thirty seconds to intiation."

The Hyperion's engines burn even brighter on the screen. They roar with tremendous fury.

"Five."

The old man bites his lip.

"Four."

The engines' glow has turned from blue to hot white. The television's image is shaking.

"Three."

The Hyperion appears as if it will shake apart. An image of the crew of the Hyperion shows the jaw of Commander Stewart set tight.

"Two."

The old man has balled his hands into fists.

"One."

The Hyperion's engines suddenly cut out. For a heartbeat, it seems as if they have shut down completely. But then -

"Ignition."

- they explode in a dazzling swarm of lights. The hull of the ship snaps out of view, suddenly present, and suddenly absent. The view of the inside of the Hyperion's command module suddenly turns off.

The broadcaster, wide-eyed, seems taken aback as the camera shifts to him. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Hyperion has launched. We are not sure what we are seeing, though we remind readers that communication with the Hyperion is impossible for the first minute of the Morgenste jump. I repeat, NASA has anticipated that communication will be lost for the first minute of the Morgenste jump - we cannot say with certainty whether the Hyperion's launch was successful. If it was, we...we should be hearing from them any moment."

The old man grips the cup, tighter and tighter. His eyes look towards the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick. A minute passes, but it seems like an eternity. A minute and ten seconds. A minute and twenty.

The broadcaster's face is pale. "For those of you just joining us, if the launch of Hyperion was successful, NASA informs us that we would have heard from the crew after approximately one minute. It has now been...one minute and thirty seconds. Although it is too soon to tell, it seems we must face the possibility that the jump was not successful, and that the crew may be lost-"

And then, the voice of Commander Stewart. "Mission control, this is the Hyperion. Launch successful."

Cheers of pure, unadulterated and laughter erupt from the television. The broadcaster cannot stop grinning, for once at a loss for words, leaning back into his chair with disbelief. The television cuts to mission control in New Washington, where paper is flying into the air. Men and women are seeing hugging each other, a few are shaking hands. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," the broadcaster says, still grinning, "The Hyperion mission has successfully - "

The old man is no longer listening. A hand covers his mouth as he shakes, tears streaming down his face. He looks up again at the photo of a young family, and a young boy with a tattered baseball cap. An image of the starship Hyperion flickers onto the television, its hull strong and true, racing into space, racing into the universe, a machine born of strength and courage and bravery and daring.

Outside, the frost has melted. The sun burns through the birch trees - a new day.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27587516)

On the other side of the Earth, crowds rejoiced in the streets as shouts of "Allahu akbar!" could be heard emanating from the mouths of the millions gathered in the mega-favelas of Africa, Asia, and South America. They were not celebrating a triumph of the Global People's Republic (formerly the imperialist rulers of the regions known as North America and Europe). Rather, the pulsing throngs celebrated the deaths of any members of the haram sexual deviants of the GPR, no matter how minor or nonexistent their contribution to the war effort may have been. This was only natural, as the global war between the GPR forces and the Caliphate mujahideen continued to rage across most of central Asia and Europe.

Both sides were in agreement, however, that tales of past humans "going into space" were nothing but fantastic children's stories. Remnants of a more savage age.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#27645993)

http://xoxohth.com/thread.php?thread_id=2596961&forum_id=2

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2664315&forum_id=2#39443634)