Well this is just great. Another famous astronaut is dead, weakening the enthusiasm of a plethora of doe-eyed Caucasian children living in neighborhoods where ice cream trucks can roam free without suffering consequences.
Now the third-most famous astronaut, the Kourtney Kardashian of space travel if you will, has passed on, which means thousands of white kids with impossible dreams enabled by their spineless parents will set their sights on a new career. We can only hope that at least a few will focus on firefighters or policemen, but we have to expect many of these toddler refugees to flee to disastrous terrain like NBA player or journalist.
For many of these feeble parents who pat their kids on the back after their lunch money gets stolen instead of signing them up for jiu-jitsu, informing their kids that being 5’9″ without a penchant for bloodthirst when dribbling a basketball won’t bode well for their hopes and dreams will be a tall task.
The first words out of a father’s mouth should be “Delonte West” after finding out his son has ditched a prospective star-seeing gig for one of handling a ball and unloading more than your yearly tax return in one night at a strip club. The Mr. and Mrs. have to explain to a rug rat whose name is probably “Dylan” or “Tanner” that there are negatives to being an athlete if your name isn’t Magic Johnson.
Actually, they should just present “Space Jam” to him as a documentary, and turn it off after Charles Barkley gets his talent taken away. A little white lie for the one that this pasty little turd is about to commit his life to. Ignorance is bliss, and unfortunately the fantasy of dunking all over some mongoloid center who probably went to Duke has these kids over the moon.