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Now that We’re Here Colonizing Mars I Really Want to Go Back to Earth
This place fucking sucks.
What a thrill it was to bridge the vast emptiness of space and set foot on a foreign planet. A new home for humankind! Those were the days.
The excitement and urgency of building our first settlement. The constant amazement of looking out through a porthole and seeing Mars. The Red Planet! Our new home.
Well, it’s been two years since then and I can honestly say that I fucking hate it here.
The initial excitement has faded into a dusty, dull, orange routine. A routine I know is going to last until the day I die. Why didn’t I think about that earlier? Before I signed my life away and agreed to a one-way trip to Mars?
One nice thing about this colonization is that it might be the first time in human history that we aren’t claiming a place where people already live. That’s comforting, I guess. Doesn’t mean we aren’t repeating old mistakes though. People are already petitioning to build single-family domes out beyond the main complex. Did we really come so far just to build more suburbs?
Speaking of suburbs—I thought Arizona was dusty. This place IS dust. Even with all the filters, my boogers are so brown I had to stop eating them. They’re all crunchy now.
And the air smells bad. It’s recycled through the air scrubbers so it smells like ozone and my roommate’s sweaty-ass exo-suit. I swear to God he’s the sweatiest human being I’ve ever encountered. It’s not even hot!
We eat nutrient mush for every meal up here. Occasionally with salt. I miss Indian food. And Mexican food. Good pizza. Real coffee. Weed. We got our first apples this season and everyone was so excited to try them. They tasted like shit. Fuck this place.
Every once in a while Elon comes by in his fucking Mars Roamer. He’s the only person that has one. What a smug bastard. He’s the most awkward, douchy, weirdo but I swear he’s fucking just about every woman here. He’s going to be the Ghengis Khan of Mars and I haven’t gotten laid since that one time with Lisa on the trip over.
Both women in our dome told me they just want to be friends. There’s literally no one else, so…I guess I’m Single Eric on Mars.
I set up a Bumble profile but there’s no “Mars” location yet so I only ever match with women on Earth. They all say it’s so hot that I live on Mars. They say they would totally hook up with me if I was back on Earth. Sure, Melissa. They never used to say things like that when I actually was back on Earth. Must be a fun little fantasy—to imagine yourself dating a guy who’s 250 million miles away so there’s no chance you’ll ever meet. At least I’ve gotten a few nudes.
I started an OnlyFans—not for sexy stuff—just showing people back on Earth what I’m doing out here. I actually make a ton of money on it, but…there’s nothing to buy here. Literally, we don’t have an economy. Everything we make just gets distributed around to the other domes because otherwise we’d probably all die. I sent my dad $300k and told him to buy a ridiculous car for me. He sent a pic of him driving it down the Strip in Vegas with the top down and two women in the back seat.
I am filled with regret.
It’d be so easy to end this. Every day I think about stepping outside without my suit and quietly freeze-sphyxiating to death. But something always stops me.
Is it because Jarrod still owes me a nitro pop? Or because one of Elon’s concubines winked at me and I think I’ve got a chance of nailing her behind his back? Could be either (those nitro pops are the only good food on Mars).
Or it might be something deeper—like the animal urge to prove that fucker Ricky wrong.
Right before I left Ricky told me I was an idiot and it was going to be terrible on Mars. He was absolutely right, but will I ever admit it? Not on your life. I will keep sending upbeat videos of me fixing hydroponics back to Earth until the day my organs fail because there’s not enough gravity here. Fuck you, Ricky, Mars forever!