The world seems a shaky enough place as it is right now. You’d think you’d always be able to depend on certain things, like, for example, THE F’ING PLANETS STAYING PLANETS. What, a bunch of guys get together and decide that an entire planet gets yanked? Yeah, yeah, yeah, Pluto is smaller than a lot of the solar system’s moons. It’s still a serious demotion. And what does Charon do now? I mean, you go along thinking you’re Pluto’s moon for, what, 70 or 80 years, and now you get told that your master isn’t even a planet? It’s like finding out that the Prince of Wales is actually a mechanic from Kentucky. Now Charon needs a shrink, and Pluto has a massive identity crisis. I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit.
You know why they picked Pluto to snuff, don’t you? Because it wouldn’t screw up schoolkids all over the world trying to remember the names of the planets with the mnemonic sentence “Mary’s Violet Eyes Make John Stay Up Nights Pining.” So if they kill off Pluto, they still get to throw their weight around, and Mary still keeps John up nights but he’s not pining. He’s just up. What is he doing? Is he doing something filthy? Being up pining sounds quaint; it sounds sweet. Just being up, thinking about Mary, invokes something darker. More sinister. I’m telling you, I don’t like it.
What if they had decided that we were living on a star? Would we have had to move? What if they’re not done yet, and they announce tomorrow that Earth is a large cosmic dust bunny? And that they want us all to move to Saturn? What if Saturn makes my allergies worse? And will they allow dogs?
I didn’t need this right now.