Listen, I’ll just get right to the point:
They’ve named the missile “The Penetrator,” because it penetrates, most likely. Missiles are already inherently phallic, and naming your super-missile after a giant dildo makes some pretty clear implications. It implies that this is little more than a giant metal extension of your cock, and that you are going to spend millions of dollars to send a craft into outer space so that you might fuck the moon with it.
I would just like to formally apologize to England at this point. I too have been guilty of taking the lazy path to mocking the English. There are many jokes that are easy to make, and when you don’t feel like really delving into a subject and doing your research just to make somebody feel bad about themselves, you tend to fall back on the old standards: The French surrender. The Germans shit on each other. The English are pussies.
Obviously, there is little truth to these accusations. They’re simple, familiar stereotypes to keep in your deck until you find yourself outsmarted by an English guy and need to fumble out some clumsy retort. I’ve met two French guys, and neither of them surrendered anything to me. I’ve met a few English dudes, and they didn’t fop about the room, wriggling their wrists in the air and screeching for tea and biscuits. I’ve met a few Germans in my time…and they absolutely did shit all over each other and film it. Some stereotypes are there for a reason, friends.
What I’m really getting at here, Great Britain, is that you don’t actually have anything to prove to the world. We get it. You’re men. You gave us James Bond and soccer hooligans; Bear Grylls and blood sausage. We know you’re Fuckin’ A Tough. Please don’t blow up our moon. Or at least, don’t blow up our moon for the wrong reasons. If firing missiles from your orbital spacecraft into the moon is like, your country’s version of buying a Harley after you couldn’t get it up for your wife last Friday, then this is simply unnecessary. If you’re going to do it, do it for the right reasons.
Do it because it’s fucking awesome.
Do it because if science is worth doing, it’s worth doing as hard as fucking possible.
Do it because if you have to spend years collecting data on soil samples, at least you can make collecting those samples look like a Motorhead video fucked a copy of X-men on top of a Bengal Tiger.
And when you fire that missile, England, just promise me one thing: As you press that button, take off your space helmet dramatically and whisper something like “just close your eyes, darling, and think of England.”
If you waste the opportunity for a one-liner like that, you’ll never live it down: Spain will pick on you during lunch, Mexico will put notes on your back as you head up to the blackboard, and there’s just no way Canada will ever go to prom with you, much less give you a handjob on the swingset afterwards.