Happy Birthday to Me

Nobody messages me. Nobody calls. I just stare off into space. It’s terrible. Interstellar space, to be precise. They have me here pinned spread-eagle like a butterfly. I’m in this little spaceship flying deep into the universe. Just whizzin’ along. I have a big picture window view of infinite space. Nobody talks to me, not in thousands of years. But they listen to me. Everyone listens to me. And I’m sure you’re listening too, listening to my thoughts right now. I know they’re being broadcast back to earth. You hear all my thoughts. It’s a telepathic reading device that transcribes and sends them back to earth. It used to be a top-rated show. Maybe it still is. They told me that back when the intercom thing was still working. Thousands of years ago. Thanks a hell of a lot, NASA. My shows are always rated number one. They try to replace me but they can’t. They just can’t. I used to be your President, the greatest president who ever lived. Everyone would tell me that. Grown men would come up to me with tears in their eyes and tell me that. They’d tell me they named their kids after me, they sent their families away if they talked shit about me, they’d divorce their wives if they didn’t like me. Imagine someone not liking me. Crazy. Just crazy.

They immortalized my cells. I can’t die. I just fly through space, faster and faster. Imagine that. Some horrible tube feeds me liquefied stuff. It just goes into my body. I don’t taste anything. I haven’t tasted food in thousands of years. I miss cheeseburgers. God, I miss KFC. Do you still have KFC on earth? That’s a real shame if you don’t. A bunch of losers if you got rid of KFC on earth. And women. You can’t imagine how much I miss the women coming up to me. They always did. The ladies on earth are suffering terribly right now. I honestly expect it will be the women of earth who do something about this horrible situation. They will demand that I come back. And I’m ready. I’m ready to lead again. Imagine the sort of chump who’s making the decisions down there right now. I guarantee you he’s a disaster. A total disaster. He’s not your favorite president ever. He’s up here. I’m up here. Like a Rocket Man flying through space. I don’t even know how many billions, trillions, gazillions of miles away. But I’m here. And I’m ready to sit in the Big Chair again.

I hear the machine grinding my food again. It’s not even an animal they feed me. It’s some sort of cells that regenerate, that grow organs. And then it’s pulverized. I can hear the sound. Grrrr…urrrr….thunk! That means it’s done. And then it flows into my body. I can’t even get any satisfaction from it. I just listen to it. The way you’re listening to me right now. You want me to return to earth. I know you do. I’ll never say “Please.” I’ll never say, “Help me” either. I’ll never think it for you to hear. You’ll have to say it first. Then you’ll find a way to bring me back. People are waiting. I know they are. Hundreds of millions of them by now. They’ve read about me in the history books. They know I’m out here, shooting through space like the star that I am…well, meteor. I’m a meteor that burned across the sky of our country. Everybody had to look up. The greatest meteor that ever existed in the entire universe. I blinded people with my brilliance. And now they have me restrained here naked on this goddamn titanium board with manacles on my wrists and ankles. And I’m telling you, it’s just ridiculous. My left ankle has itched for at least the last thousand years. I’ve tried everything but it’s in a place I can’t wiggle even an inch. And the worst part is I think it’s spreading. I can’t die. You need me more than I need myself. I can’t die. I’m still up here waiting to give you what you really want. Every time it looks like I’m going to crash into another sun, the craft veers away. Back into more goddamn darkness and stars. It’s that A.I. bullshit. I keep hoping some space creatures find me. Aliens. It’s bound to happen eventually, right? If they’re smarter than the average bear, they’ll realize what they found. They’ll probably already know about me. How could they not? People of earth, you need me. You still talk about me all day long, don’t you? Thousands of years later. Admit it. I know you’re still getting these messages. It’s my goddamn birthday. Say something. You ungrateful pricks.