It was late afternoon when I joined my friends at the small house halfway up the hill. I’d been sitting in my office, lost in thought, when the phone rang. It was Ed, his voice crackling through the line. “What’s this I hear about you roaming around the North American continent last week?” he asked.
I leaned back in my chair. “What’d you hear?”
“They tell me you and your boss took a business trip down South,” he said.
“That’s right,” I confirmed.
“Well, go on then,” he pressed.
I started to explain, but my words stumbled out in a mess—barely nine of them before I trailed off. “It was… terrible,” I muttered, and then, suddenly, inspiration struck. “I’d like to welcome you to Mars.”
Ed laughed. “Mars? What are you on about?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I continued, playing along, “tonight we’re taking a quick trip to the Red Planet. A strange place of sand dragons, rusty plains, and people in flowing robes—like kimono dragons, but angrier. It’s home, and we love it.”
“Home?” Ed chuckled. “You’re losing it.”
“Picture this,” I said. “You step off the ship, gather your belongings, and exit to the left. Out there’s the Polynesian Resort—flowers, earthy vibes, a little slice of Hawaii. Except it’s not. It’s Mars. Sand everywhere. Sandinistas, even.”
“Sandinistas?” Ed echoed, confused.
“Yeah, man,” I went on. “Mars has caverns, tunnels—like my Slurpee cup. Two straws at the bottom, right? One’s got a hairline crack, so the suction’s shot. Just like Mars. Compromised. Maybe an asteroid hit it, or some treaty meeting went south.”
“You’re comparing Mars to a broken Slurpee?” Ed asked, incredulous.
“Exactly,” I said. “And get this: Mars is a planet for men. Built by men. We don’t need women taking our jobs. For centuries, Mars men have stayed home—cooking, raising kids, washing dishes—while our wives went out to earn a living. But now these new Mars women want to flip the script. I won’t stand for it. A man belongs in the home.”
Ed snorted. “You’re unhinged. Mars isn’t even a place to raise a family—it’s cold as hell.”
“True,” I admitted. “It’s a red planet, sure. A suffocating, demanding octopus of power. Evil, even. But it’s ours. No chewing gum allowed, though—Singapore rules apply. We’d frown on that hard.”
“Frown on gum?” Ed laughed again. “You’re a riot. Hey, speaking of Mars, you hear about that jelly donut the rover found back in 2014?”
“Yeah,” I said, shifting gears. “NASA’s stumped. One photo, no donut. Next week, bam—jelly donut. Pineapple Island, they called it. Maybe the rover kicked it up. White and red, flipped upside down. Freaky stuff.”
“Freaky’s right,” Ed agreed. “So, what’s your deal with Mars, anyway?”
“I’m obsessed,” I confessed. “I even snagged Mars@AOL.com years ago. I host meetings—second Wednesday of every month, room 22B. Teacher’s lounge by day, Mars club by night. Refreshments if you’re lucky. I just want to talk about it—what Mars means, what it could be. You should come.”
“Maybe I will,” Ed said. “You’re weird, but I like it.”
“Stop by anytime,” I added. “Bring something to share. We’ll talk Mars ‘til the moons rise—Fear and Chaos, orbiting like thugs around a kingpin. It’s a wild planet, Ed. Wild.”
He hung up, still chuckling, and I leaned back, staring out the window. The day was fading, but in my mind, I was already on the Red Planet, sand under my feet, dreaming of tunnels and donuts and a world turned upside down.
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