In 'packing For Mars,' I Tried To

Wisdom Comes With Age, But Keep It To Yourself.

Many People Will Find This Book Disrespectful. There Is Nothing Amusing About Being Dead, They Will Say. Ah, But There Is.

I Dont Fear Death So Much As I Fear Its Prologues: Loneliness, Decrepitude, Pain, Debilitation, Depression, Senility. After A Few Years Of Those, I Imagine Death Presents Like A Holiday At The Beach.

The Nobility Of The Human Spirit Grows Harder For Me To Believe In. War, Zealotry, Greed, Malls, Narcissism. I See A Backhanded Nobility In Excessive, Impractical Outlays Of Cash Prompted By Nothing Loftier Than A Species Joining Hands And Saying “i Bet We Can Do This.” Yes, The Money Could Be Better Spent On Earth. But Would It? Since When Has Money Saved By Government Red-lining Been Spent On Education And Cancer Research? It Is Always Squandered. Let’s Squander Some On Mars. Let’s Go Out And Play.

The Human Head Is Of The Same Approximate Size And Weight As A Roaster Chicken. I Have Never Before Had Occasion To Make The Comparison, For Never Before Today Have I Seen A Head In A Roasting Pan.