Since #MeToo, men, afraid of seeming out of touch, inconsiderate—or, God forbid, misogynistic—have cut back on the amount they speak during astronaut training by an average of 82 percent. So far, we’ve had three fully female space exploration crews, and the number keeps on climbing. Will we no longer allow men to be astronauts? More importantly, can we trust women to change the tires on Elon Musk’s Imagination Rover?!
Since #MeToo, men have been afraid of making the first move. Now, a man has to ask politely before amorously stroking a woman’s space helmet at the Soylent-themed speakeasy. Does this signal the decline of flirting? Who, then, will spice up the Soylent-themed speakeasies?!
Since #MeToo, most men have ceased screaming sexually explicit compliments from the open windows of their turbo-charged street shuttles. Instead, they must silently ride around, subjecting themselves to the ravages of NPR on the shuttle radio. Who will save these men from the intellectual ravages of decades-old Fresh Air reruns?! And how does Terry Gross look so good via hologram?!
Since #MeToo, men must accept a smile from a woman as just a smile—not an invitation to cram a hand up her jetpack booster mini skirt at SpaceX’s annual extraterrestrial meet and greet. Who will keep the true meaning of a smile alive?!
Since #MeToo, we’ve seen a severe drop in men enthusiastically kissing female strangers upon return from battle—take, for example, Space Force’s recent defeat of the Russians for control of Saturn’s rings. That’s led to a dramatic decline in romantic sexual assault photography and poster sales. That’s not only bad for romance—it’s an absolute nightmare for small businesses. Who will protect the economy?! And who will protect the sanctity of a passionate one-sided kiss?!
Since #MeToo, men have been afraid to stand too close to women on public transportation for fear of a groping accusation. Unfortunately, this means women can no longer enjoy the thrill of a rogue hand swiping through their butt crack repeatedly like it’s an old-fashioned credit card machine—you know, the kind without eyeball-activated Apple Pay microchip sensors. Who will swipe these cracks?!
Since #MeToo, men are no longer free to call their coworkers well-intentioned pet names like “sweetie,” “dear,” “Moon Pie,” “my precious pudding pop,” or “Sticky Nicki.” Now, the men actually have to remember their coworkers’ names, taking up essential brain space that could be used to develop the technology for golf courses in space, which we STILL do not have. Who will build the space golf resorts?!
Since #MeToo, men have been forced to stop AirDropping 3D holograms of their genitals to unsuspecting women. Without the ability to unload their 3D dick pics, men everywhere are reporting problems with full iClouds. That’s right: The cloud is now overflowing with dicks. Who will unload the cock cloud?!
It’s been 75 years since #MeToo, America! Sure, we have entire space stations dedicated to Rick and Morty—yeah, it’s still on—but men’s rights have completely evaporated into space! When will the madness end, America?
When—oh, when!—will the natural order of the universe be restored?
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