I was never quite sure how I kept ending

I was never quite sure how I kept ending up here, but it was starting to piss me off. Was it because I'm a sucker for a sob story? A compassionate fool? In any case, here I was

listening to rich people complain. Amazing. No matter their wealth they cried. They whined about it all. Children sucked. The poor sucked. Environment sucked. Scientists sucked.

They would build high-rise towers, gated communities, and artificial islands. It was easy looking at the common man through tinted glass. But they had to take notice when

some disgruntled urbanites, led by Tom Morello and the ghosts of Tom Joad and Malcolm X, tagged LA Street Phantom art on their Lexuses (Lexii?). "We could move to the moon," said

Buzz Lightyear. "To the moon...and we'll stay there!" Donning his helmet back on, the assorted name-dropped ex-celebs merely watched the toy astronaut fly away into space.

Only to watch the famous toy crash into the moon. Fortunately, this was only a minor setback and awkwardly anounsed "I'm all right everyone" and with that

we all breathed a sigh of relief. It was ridiculous. It wasn't at all what I had hoped. I'd spent millions attempting to identify the Man in the Moon & these idiots were f'cking up

my life's work. I made a mental note to have each one of them flambéed with a nice béarnaise sauce when this was over. But the Man in the Moon's identity was still unknown and I ne

ver got his phone number or email address. I was daydreaming about fresh tarragon and egg yolks when his daughter Luna dropped by and caught me off guard.