Looks good, Mitch. Can you make it move forward a little bit? You know… just roll a little towards that crater-like object. That’s a crater? No lie? Hmmm….
Oh, hello. Just watching the Curiosity rover on Mars. No, we’re not glued to the NASA web site staring at the same low rez images everyone else is poring over. God, no. When you have friends in the world of science, that gets you access, my good fellow. Big Green, of course, has an official mad science advisor in the form of Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and thrice honored diplomate of the international college of lunatic physicists. When he heard about this Mars rover at a recent loony conference, he built himself a little home made telemetry device that allows him to … well … take command of the Mars rover. (“Oh, no you didn’t!” we said. But oh, yes he did. )
This telemetry thing isn’t about science, though. Don’t say it’s about science. It’s about much more selfish pursuits. Let us face it – Big Green is hungry, friends …. hungry as a dog. We haven’t had a paying gig since… well, since last year. Our promoters at Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., have yet to shell out the money for an interstellar tour. Plainly, Big Green has to take matters into its own hands. And whereas some bands turn to their trusted manager, agent, tour promoter, etc., we have only Mitch Macaphee. And as mentioned before, he’s freaking crazy. That’s what is called a telemetry-producing situation.
So how do we leverage this? Well, I’m trying to get Mitch to send commands to the Curiosity rover. We need it to be our arms and legs on Mars. Why? Because there’s this little venue at the foot of Mount Olympus (tallest known mountain in the solar system) that would hire us for a three-night run if we could just get their attention. Can’t afford to ride out there ourselves. (Not in this economy, damnit.) Curiosity can act as our booking agent on Mars. And before you ask, don’t sweat it. We’ll give him the standard 15%. We’re not bad people.
So, okay, Mitch … can you make the Rover say, “private dressing room, behind the stage”? How about, “pitcher of gin and tonic every half hour”? Well, try again, damn your eyes! He’s letting that owner off way too easy.