Column By Mike Bibb
“Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, And let me see what spring is like, On Jupiter and Mars.”
Fly Me To The Moon by Bart Howard, sung by Frank Sinatra, 1964.
“The Trump administration aims to accelerate the construction of a nuclear reactor on the moon, Transportation Secretary and acting NASA Administrator Sean Duffy wrote in a memo distributed internally on Monday.”
The New York Post, Aug. 4, 2025.
In a move reminiscent of Christopher Columbus and other old seafaring adventurers, President Trump is contemplating placing a small nuclear reactor on the surface of Earth’s only moon, and to make sure we do it first.
To declare it official, we’ll raise the Stars and Stripes above it.
Sort of staking a claim to the place.
I thought we already had Old Glory unfurled somewhere up there. In fact, I’m sure of it. The Apollo 11 Mission stuck one in the ground on July 21, 1969. I saw the event on TV while stationed at a Marine Corps air station overseas.
Believe other moon landings have also placed a few.
“Yes, Mike, there’s several United States flags ‘flying’ up there, but they’re just for bragging rights. A nuclear reactor would really be making a national declaration. It’d be like saying ‘We’re here to stay, so don’t get any bright ideas about trying to take it away from us.'”
Using much more diplomatic words, of course. Wouldn’t want to upset the esteemed dignitaries at the United Nations who, by the time this event takes place, might be known as the UN + Moon.
Possibly, Trump has imagined that if we can’t have Greenland, then the Moon is the next best thing. It’s a little further away, super cold at night and super hot during the day, and doesn’t have much air to breathe or water to drink, but we can fix those minor inconveniences.
Plus, a brand-new nuclear power plant can provide all the electricity we’ll need. Even decorate the place with Christmas lights so Santa can find his way. Elon’s EVs will recharge even faster when hooked directly to the reactor.
Best of all, flight crews to Mars and beyond can stop by for a cup of decaf, catch up on MLB or NFL sports scores back home, and learn the latest Democrat accusations against Trump.
“Fill it up, buddy, and check the O2 levels. We’re on our way to the Red Planet to see if it’s feasible to spy on Russia from 130 million miles away. It’s a matter of national security, of course. Never know what that sneaky Putin dude is up to. Catch ya on the flip-flop. Adios!”
Wow, kind of like a deep-space Xtra Large Circle K — complete with a deli, snacks, beverages, showers, cell phone charging stations, NASA tee-shirts, American Eagle jeans, a Popeye’s Louisiana Kitchen franchise, local real estate listings, and CNN providing unbiased Earthly news over multiple 120″ screens.
“The View” really could be the view, as the hosts — exiled from Earth for being so ridiculous — look down on their former home and spout endless gibberish about whatever it is they think is wrong with Republicans and their orange leader.
Of course, venture capitalists and corporate governing boards would naturally wonder if the new nuclear reactor could provide sufficient power to light up a Super Walmart, Home Depot, and a lunar Disney World at the same time without having to import additional LNG, wind, and coal supplements.
There’s a lot to consider when colonizing a place, besides the usual everyday stuff. Police, sanitation, and garbage pickup, for instance. Someone has to provide these services if society is to remain safe and clean for Amazon to make overnight deliveries.
In an environment lacking considerably less gravity than Earth, a person will have to make adjustments to their daily routines. Walking the dog becomes more challenging if Rover suddenly decides to chase Fluffy the cat, who has already leaped several hundred feet into space. Not certain arthritic shoulder joints and stainless-steel knees could withstand Rover’s unexpected tug on his master’s leash, or if they’d return to the surface in time for lunch.
Meanwhile, in the White House’s Situation Room, an anxious president and cabinet members will be mulling over the seriousness of Russia, or China, or a Confederate California deciding they may want to build a Moon Mall or rocket truck stop of their own.
All this sounds great, but shouldn’t we nail together a Motel 6 and IHOP first? Construction and maintenance crews need a place to stay and eat while erecting the reactor.
Competition is good, except when it menaces the New World Order of things. If so, it immediately becomes a “Threat to Democracy,” requiring the combined wisdom and intelligence of Congress to resolve.
Since there’s an obvious shortage of those two elements in the nation’s capital, an outcry of “Impeach the SOB” becomes the solution. Unless, of course, the SOB is one of your own SOB’s.
Then, calmer voices will probably suggest, “This is an urgent matter requiring an in-depth, transparent investigation into the unsubstantiated allegations against a respected member of this administration. We’ll get back to you on that — sometime in the future.”
Which implies a trip to Mars and back — with a couple of stops at the Moon — will probably happen much sooner than learning if a particular SOB is really the SOB he’s accused of being.
I suppose SOB could also be the Mars Mission statement inscribed on the side of the spacecraft: $pending Our Billion$.
When millions become billions, then trillions, you know we’re probably not getting our money’s worth. Apparently, space goes on forever, and so does our government’s spending.
Brain teaser — Can you fathom “Minus $37,000,000,000,000 in the hole and going deeper?” I can’t either. Other than if we’re talking 37 trillion miles, it would be about 77,083,333 round-trip trips to the Moon @ 480,000 miles per trip (240,000 miles each way).
Still baffled? Try this: 77,083,333 divided by 365 days = 211,187 years. So, we could send a rocket to the Moon, and back, every day for the next 211,187 years before we’d reach the dollar figure (in miles) our government is currently in debt.
Making it even more personal, $37 trillion divided by 330 million people in the United States means every man, woman, child, baby, and soon-to-be baby already owes $112,121.21 to Uncle Sam and his tax collectors.
A family of five would have to write a check to the IRS for $560,606.05. Which makes one wonder, what is the purpose in paying income taxes every year if a person is already so far behind he’ll never catch up? From the very first day of his life, he’s worth less and owes more as the mental misfits we send to Washington continue to concoct absurd ways to spend it.
Going backwards in time, 211,187 years ago, we’d be doing our chores in the Paleolithic Period with rudimentary tools, no cell phones, no national bankruptcy looming, and no one claiming to be going crazy from something called Trump Derangement Syndrome.
The President says he’s going to analyze the debt problem just as soon as he climbs down from patching the White House’s leaky roof.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Maybe, 37 trillion others!
