Last week I read somewhere that the Phoenix Lander has discovered soil on Mars that's very similar to the dirt I'd find in my backyard. I had to laugh because unless there's also a Guatemalan houseboy named Ricardo buried in that dirt, I'm assuming that's where the similarities end.
This finding suggests we may be able to grow vegetables on the Red Planet -- unappetizing crud like asparagus, Brussels sprouts, spinach and other crap that does not qualify as actual food.
To me, the thought of turning Mars into a vat of vegetables is exactly what's wrong with America.
See, when I was growing up, Mars was frightening. Martians were not friendly -— even Ray Walston seemed all eyebrows and hands. But now, in a culture overrun with do-gooders, we want to turn that angry planet into a salad bar.
Instead, I think that if life can be cultivated there, why not send all our criminals there? I mean, Australia is already full.
Finally, food from other planets raises a larger dilemma: What if we were to discover the perfect steak on Venus, but that gorgeous piece of meat has an IQ that matches ours? Could you eat something as smart as you, even if it made the mouth water just thinking about it?
Imagine stumbling upon a river of glorious ice cream on Jupiter, only to find that these succulent scoops happen to be practicing Buddhists. Would you have them for dessert?
I suppose I would. But then again, I had a UPS delivery man for breakfast. What can I say, he fell into the pit.
And if you disagree with me, you probably smell like cabbage.