Once upon a time, man wanted to break the speed of sound.
To do this, he engineered vehicles that sped along the ground at hundreds of miles an hour.
While the wheels spun and smoked, he sat inside rickety cages, his helmet rattling against the sides like an 8-year-old robot after too much ritalin.
This week, that era died.
Bill Murray, somone who has maintained an image of reality in a world of fake, a man who actually acted as his own Hollywood agent, a man who supports the Chicago Cubs, for God’s sake, was caught apparently drunk driving a golf cart. In Stockholm. I wanted to find this at least funny. But then it just seemed like the first part of an advert for Cialis.
And then it got worse.
Steve Wozniak, one of the founders of Apple, a philanthropist, a man who once crashed his commuter airplane, was caught whistling along at 103mph.
In a Prius.
It wasn’t funny when Al Gore’s son did it.
Now, it is merely a symptom of a race’s tragedy. And I don’t mean a grand prix.
When those of independent spirit and human resolve are suddenly caught trying to squeeze life out of golf carts (you ever been in a Prius?) then we can only pray for the next coming. Whoever or whatever it is that is actually coming.
Man has reached the point where he cannot get to Mars and make any sense of it. He can barely launch a spaceship without it having dents in its skirts seconds after takeoff.
Please, let us invite superior beings to raise us from this swamp of intertia. (Pond included)
The wise presidential candidate will be the one who will rise above the Christian failure and reach out to the future skies.
Ron Paul, can you hear me?
I bet he drives a Maserati.