Well, well, well. If it isn't the great space baron himself, Jeff Who, turning his New Shepard into an impromptu Roman candle. Yes, dear reader, while you were worrying about the price of a pint, the Blue Origin rocket decided to audition for a Michael Bay film mid-flight, scattering its fiery ambitions across the Texas desert.
This, of course, casts a rather inconvenient shadow over NASA's already wobbly Moon plans, because nothing says 'lunar dominion' quite like a billionaire's explosive tantrum. The UK's space sector, bless its cotton socks, is now on high alert, probably because they fear their satellite launches might be mistaken for competitive fireworks displays. One can almost hear the collective sigh from Portakabin-sized mission controls in Cornwall.
The irony is magnificent: we're meant to be reaching for the stars, yet we can't even keep our rockets from becoming sky-high IEDs. Thankfully, no one was aboard this particular joyride, unless you count Jeff Bezos's ego, which is still in low Earth orbit. As for NASA, they're now frantically checking their Artemis blueprints for any signs of Blue Origin's stench.
Meanwhile, the government has convened an emergency space panel, which I assume will conclude with a solemn recommendation for more gin at launch sites. Until then, I'll be here, weeping into my Beefeater, watching the Empire crumble one exploded booster at a time.
