Mars or Bust IP

Grampa tried to pull a quarter out of my ear again, but I was having none of it. I mean, Jiminy Crickets, how many times does he think he can fool a kid?

All right, I understand the guys retired, but get a hobby or something. Or go pull quarters out of the dogs ear. Night after night I go through the same darn ritual.

“Night, night, little man,” he says. “Oh? What’s this I see hiding behind all those potatos? Hold on now. Let me get it before it falls in.”

I mean, come on! I’m eight years-old. That’s not a head of lettuce up there. It’s a fully functioning brain. Capable of incredible things. And when I’m old enough to understand them all? Watch out, brother! I’ll be pulling more than quarters out of some kid’s ear by the time I’m ready to retire. I’ll be too busy building skyscrapers in space.

I’ve been saving up for first-class passage on a space shuttle to Mars. I figure by the time I’m old enough, it will be a common enough occurrence. I only hope I don’t get car sick like I do now. That could be pretty ugly, or it could be incredible fascinating. Imagine your soupy vomit floating around the roof of a space shuttle. All those carrot slices and corn niblets swirling around your head looking for a place to go splat!

Once on Mars I would build myself a log cabin. Yes, I know. There aren’t any trees on Mars. I’d be bringing my own. My plan is to live in a log cabin, so that when my first born grows up and becomes a legend throughout the galaxy - I’ll be the first legend, by the way - people can tell their children how my son was born in a humble log cabin. But it would only be humble from the outside. Inside would be full of boisterous family members getting ready to show the world how smart they are.

I’d have three sons and two daughters. And I’d feed them a steady diet of Fruit Loops and milk. That’s all I ever seem to eat and just look how I turned out. I got brains practically coming out of my ears.

The only downside is that in order to have these children, I would need to marry someone to be the mother. At this point in my life marrying a mom feels a little creepy. As big as my brain is I’m as yet unable to wrap it around this dilemma.

Perhaps I’ll throw some Coco Puffs into the mix and see if I don’t come up with a proper answer. Ah, these youthful days do try ones patience. I’m ready for space NOW! But I’ll have to wait it out. All because none of todays adults seem clever enough to build some sort of time travel device. Pity that.

But maybe that's what I should have been doing in the first place. That’s it! Of course it is! That must be the plan all along! And not only will I be doing mankind a service, but I’ll also find out if cows will be able to survive on Mars. If not? I’m just not going. Because Fruit Loops without milk is no breakfast at all. I may as well be eating grass.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. That’s what comes of having an enormous thinking machine like the one I’ve been blessed with. Hold on a moment. There’s someone knocking on my bedroom door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Grampa! I’ve come to say goodnight.”

Oh, brother. I better get some of my time travel thoughts on paper. And quick. Before he starts asking me to pull his finger.