Divine Advice for Buzz Aldrin

Dear DA,

I’m writing this letter on behalf of David Scott (Apollo 15), Charles Duke (Apollo 16), and Harrison Schmitt (Apollo 17). All of us have been on the moon and we’re all still alive thanks to moon radiation, but Dave, Charlie, and Harry are well aware that the young people today are more concerned with their Miley Cyrus and Pokemon–whatever the hell those words mean–than men who have actually set foot on the fucking moon.

Before we go, we wanted to set a few things straight for that weaselly Elon Musk fellow. The guy sounds like he was squirted out of a moose pimple and some idiot named it. Maybe he would have made it as an astronaut if not for his caved-in chest and his rickets, but I doubt it. Back in my day, people had the sense to know that just because a feller was rich didn’t mean he wasn’t a jackass, and any man vain enough to get hair plugs doesn’t belong on the moon, let alone Mars. Much bigger things to worry about, Elon.

Anyway, Elon, NASA has always been obsessive-compulsive about bringing people home alive. God knows, me and the boys couldn’t have cared less. Why die in a rocking chair when you can explode in a rocket? I’d go up right now if they’d let me, the cowards.

NASA thought men with wives and children might value their lives more because NASA scientists are a bunch of bed-wetting virgins. You get yourself a steady wife and spend some time with your children, Elon, and you’d hop on one of your half-assed rockets right this second.

Every day for months, I was hungover in a gigantic fucking gyroscope, then studying astrophysics. Then a bunch of doctors and scientists would prod me like an impotent panda, and what do I come home to? My damn wife hassling me over some lipstick stains she found in the laundry, and I’d already told her a million times I was too drunk and crazy to remember anything unrelated to going to the moon.

As far as you damn kids fighting over everything, I’ve had it up to the moon with all of your nonsense. At first I advocated for science and reason, but seeing how I just want all of you to die (or at least shut up), I’ve switched sides. Inject sawdust mixed with horse urine for all I care. Go to Antarctica for your precious space wall or Miley Cyrus or whatever.

I’m sure you hear enough griping from crazy old men, so let me finish with one nugget of wisdom.

While it’s true every generation is appalled by the stupidity and ingratitude of the ones to follow, in this case, our shame and disgust are completely warranted. Take $100 to get vaccinated and stop destroying the planet, Elon.

Edwin Eugene “Buzz” Aldrin
PS: I wasn’t kidding about the moon radiation, and it also makes you high as a motherfucker.

Dear Buzz,

Though your letter is addressed to Satan and Me, it appears that it was actually written to Elon Musk. I’m sure the mix-up has something to do with you being a thousand years old. Either that, or it’s the chip the CIA put in your brain to keep you quiet. You and your co-conspirators have been trying to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes for decades, but thanks to some MAGA slobs on the internet, people are finally learning the truth. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that something nefarious was happening when you took up with two-bit bike race cheater Lance Armstrong. I guess we all wanted to believe in the American Dream so badly that we were willing to buy any bullshit our corrupt government was selling. The Russkies believed it, too, which is all the spooks cared about. Had the world not been so caught up in the Cold War hysteria, everyone would have realized that there was no fucking way the US had the technology back in 1969 to pull this off. I can barely get to the moon now, and I’m Jesus Fuckin’ Christ.

The evidence of your devious plot is overwhelming. You got the fucked-up shadows that don’t make any sense, the flag blowing in the non-existent breeze, the lack of stars in the background, just to name three. I could go on, but if the sheeple are going to keep sticking their fingers in their ears and going “la, la, la, la, I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you,” then I’m not going to waste my fucking breath. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him think.

Just so you know, this isn’t the kind of lie that can be forgiven after a death bed confession. You deceived the American people and you tried to deceive your God, and for that, you’re going to spend eternity with your pants (and body) on fire.

Dear Buzz,

I’m assuming you got your nickname “Buzz” from fucking beehives and provoking bees into stinging your dick. That’s how Tim Allen got to be called “Buzz” Lightyear. Anyway, I have a confession to make: it was I who faked the moon landing.

I’ll admit, I was a little sloppy. I’m still kicking myself for putting a giant industrial fan on the set, because people noticed the waving flag right away. And would it have killed me to put a starry backdrop in the scene? The truth is, we were behind schedule and the set designer had the flu, so we just couldn’t pull it together. The shadow thing was the DP’s fault. I mean, what the Hell do I know about lighting? I guess you get what you pay for. Maybe it’s because I was hanging out with Ed Wood so much at the time, but I figured nobody would care about the details.

The one thing I am extremely proud of is getting all 400,000 conspirators to keep their mouths shut for 50 years. It took a lot of blackmailing, mind control, and threats of eternal damnation, but somehow, not a single person has ever come forward with the truth.

P.S. I love watching that video of you punching that conspiracy nut. Way to commit to your character.

H. Seitz
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