Ignore The Moon This Weekend, It Is Just Desperate For Attention

Okay, listen up, moon, I don’t like you and you don’t like me. So when I hear that you’re going to be at your fullest and closest this weekend I know what it’s all about: revenge. You’re obviously still pissed off about that thing where we tried to blow you up. You’re going to sit there, looking close enough to touch, but actually “some 211,600 miles (356,577 km) away.” You want me to think I can finally take a swing at you and look ridiculous as I flail about because you’re actually hiding safely away in space like the gigantic pussy you are. Forget it, I’m not falling for it. As much as you deserve it—and man, how I would like to punch your stupid reflective lights out—I am not taking part in any of your sick, pathetic mind games. NOBODY CARES HOW CLOSE YOU LOOK. Perigee this, you useless chunk of discarded Earth garbage.

Photo by Luc Viatour.