Y’all leave the moon alone!

In the past week, Elon Musk shot part of a SpaceX rocket into the moon, and North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un fired another missile into the ocean. Maybe Elon is trying to mess with our ocean tides. Maybe Kim hates whales. Whatever the case, I figured I’d better check in on my buddy Jim Bob Jenkins.

While Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon, Jim Bob was the last. And still is. He is the proverbial man in the moon, left behind by Apollo 17 in 1972. So, I figured this would be a good time to give him a holler on the iPhone. I have an iPhone 14-something-something, while he still has an iPhone 0.

ME: Hey, Jim Bob, how ya doing up there?

JB: What the hell, bro?! Why y’all shooting at me?

ME: Whoa! Whoa! I haven’t shot anything at the moon since my dad would take me down that dirt road out in Possum Holler to shoot the moon and defend ourselves from rabid road signs and bottles. Don’t worry. I think Elon Musk was just curious what would happen.

JB: It blew a hole 65 feet wide and 18 feet deep in my backyard—that’s what happened.

ME: Dude, you ain’t got a yard. You ain’t mowed grass since 1972.

JB: Well, yes, that is one of the advantages—not to mention all the Moon Pies you can eat. Still, how am I gonna ever open my beach resort on the Sea of Tranquility if guests are more scared than an oil tanker crew traversing the Strait of Hormuz?

ME: Hey, the president says a deal is imminent.

JB: I guess the 49th time’s the charm. I didn’t sign up for that $100,000-a-month insider trading deal on Truth Social. Anyway, please pass on to your buddies down there that it’s dangerous to be shooting that stuff my way.

ME: I think that rocket was pretty much empty when it headed your way. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.

JB: Oh, no it wasn’t. Dude, that thing was packed with stuff!

ME: Like what?

JB: Well, there was a map of Atlantis, Colonel Sanders’ secret original recipe, a few hundred thousand pages of files about some guy named Epstein—oh, and the Key to Happiness. Oh wait. Never mind. It’s just the key to some storage unit in Toledo.

ME: Whoa! Are you telling me you’ve got the Colonel’s secret recipe? The 11 herbs and spices?

JB: Actually, there are 14 herbs and spices. I think he said 11 to throw everybody off the trail.

ME: Clever. Can you give me a hint?

JB: I’ll give you one you didn’t know—heroin grease.

ME: That explains a lot.

JB: Well, I got to go. I ain’t got time to sit around and shoot the breeze—which, coincidentally, we don’t have on the moon. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to setting up the karaoke bar at my beach resort.

ME: Do you need me to send you any music?

JB: Nah, got plenty. “Fly Me to the Moon.” “Moon River.” “Moondance.” “Bad Moon Rising.” “Blue Moon.” “Harvest Moon.”

ME: I sense a theme.

JB: Nope, chosen totally at random. Well, tell your buddies like Elon to leave the moon alone for a little while.

ME: We don’t talk. I’m in the tax-payin’ class. He’s yacht class, and I’m kayak class. Besides, he’s more concerned about sending folks to live on Mars.

JB: That’s just crazy talk. Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids. In fact, it’s cold as hell.

ME: So I’ve heard.