Jeff Bezos’ phallic rocket deserves all the ridicule it gets


To paraphrase Ronald Reagan, in his own portrayal of fighter pilot John Gillespie Magee Jr: Today Jeff Bezos slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God – in a rocket that looked particularly offensive for the job.

New Shepard, the semi-reusable device that blew up Bezos and his co-passengers just beyond the limit of Earth’s atmosphere, wasn’t just phallic: it was practically a sculpture of an erect penis. The tweets wrote themselves, starting from stunned at nasty smile at frankly happy to the skillful renderings of the rocket as well, well, exactly what it looked like.

The Well Named angry, striking at the basic truth of what Bezos has accomplished: not just the feat of becoming the richest man in the world, but the perfectly perverse triumph of funding his own space flight with his own titan’s money. business, one that sustains itself with ruthless “efficiency” taxes and works its chronically underpaid staff to exhaustion, or worse. This is a triumph of unmistakably masculine pride, and the i can’t not see it in the Amazon logo is the perfect emblem.

Once Bezos and his crew’s brief round trip is over, the space is perfectly free from our filthy anatomical activities for now. But we’ve already been busy filling it not only with junk, but with our own sexual vocabulary. Science fiction is full of sex – not just Jane Fonda’s weightless simulated striptease in Barbarella, but the violent outbursts of HR Giger Xenomorph, specifically and cruelly crafted with phallic rape in mind for the shattering Extraterrestrial movies.

Sex and space have ways of colliding in real life. Think about all the themed rockets sexual vocabulary years of cold war motivated by the envy of missiles. Think about the message from NASA’s Curiosity rover when it landed on Mars: “SCALE CRATER I AM IN YOU !!!

Think about the theory of panspermia, the idea that life could be sown throughout the universe by tiny organisms that can survive outside the nurturing embrace of their home planets – perhaps ejected into outer space by surface explosions , or transported there by other means. Like Neil Young said After the gold rush: “All in a dream, all in a dream / loading had started / stealing mother nature’s silver seed / to a new home in the sun.”

Think about it: an evolutionary saga spanning several millennia in which the potential protagonists spend a shocking proportion of their tiny lives obsessed with their genitals. And millions of years later, we’re laughing here at Jeff Bezos’ rocket, half-seriously wondering if he didn’t really notice its shape when he climbed aboard.

Dreaming of human endeavor beyond the upper atmosphere is not incompatible with snorting the space phallus of a serious billionaire. Bezos and his ilk are doomed (or blessed) to live in a post-Freudian culture where anything long or straight is an unfortunate outline of the disaster of conception, and no amount of money will change that.

It is their self-seriousness as much as anything else that deserves to be laughed at. Elon Musk, future captain of his own funny rocket, had a lot of stick recently when he shared a serious little poem that aimed at enemies: “Space represents hope for so many people,” he bleated, as he burst into flames. those rightly furious at the relative indifference of the billionaire class to the climate of urgency.

Musk and Bezos and their comrades deserve much harsher consequences for their heavenly law than ridicule, but as long as we stop saving our world for ourselves and wait for someone to stop us from buying things on Amazon at the interior of our variously overheated and over-cooled houses. , the ridiculous is what they will have.

And if you pay as much as Jeff Bezos for an unmistakably phallic rocket with an insanely short flight time, you deserve everything you get.

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