The Committee to Nuke Elysium

Imagine, then, in 20 or 30 years’ time, a very rich, very old man, in his dying breath, undocking his penis and releasing it to roam among the stars, where it prints off new copies of itself from lunar soil and asteroid ore, rubbing itself across the face of the very cosmos.

The future’s kind of funny-looking, but it’s probably the future you deserve.