So a Satellite Just Hit Your House

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What just happened?

A satellite just hit your house!

Holy shit!

I know!

So a Satellite Just Hit Your House

You've just been the victim of a hyperkinetic teabagging.

Is everyone OK?

Yes, everyone who lives in your house is fine. That's just you incidentally.

I know that. I don't know why I asked.

It's ok. You've had a hard time adjusting since Sheila left. Don't worry about it. Unlike the satellite damage, the hurt will pass.

How bad is it?

You've just spent the past three hours crying in your car, so pretty bad, I guess.

No, how bad is the satellite damage?

You know the vertical surfaces of your house which hold up the roof bit?

The walls? Yes.

Those aren't really there any more, or perhaps are there, but no longer vertical. In any event, they're no longer doing their job of keeping the roof aloft. You were lucky you were crying in your car when this happened. I mean, not that lucky, obviously, what with all that internal pain.

No I see what you're saying.

Because that satellite would have torn your legs off and set them on fire. Sheila only threatened to do that - she never had the stones to go through with it.

Yeesh. Everything is just gone. I guess I should call an insurance company?

That's a fine thing to do prior to an incident like this, with the intent of purchasing insurance. Calling after the fact, without that initial phone call having taken place beforehand is not.

I don't have insurance is what you're saying.

They record those conversations, you know? Ostensibly for training purposes, but also to laugh at people afterwards. It's a certainty that a recording of your desperate begging for retroactive satellite insurance will end up passed around the insurance industry.

You think so?

"Please help me mommy." It's all but guaranteed you'd say that, and it will just sound insane when it gets remixed on the Youtube later this week.

I don't know if I'd actually say that.

You would if you were following this advice guide.

So I'm ruined?

There is another option. You could try and salvage the satellite and sell it.

Will that work?

It's called industrial espionage and it works all the time. It's how the Japanese got so good at making cars.

Really?

Until the 1960's all Japanese cars had 5 wheels and were made of dried leaves. Worked awfully. Then they broke into America and stole the 4 wheel idea.

Is any of that true?

It must be, otherwise Cracked wouldn't be able to publish it.

ILT. NISSAN

Since then though, they've been pretty steady and sober.

Anyways, there are bound to be tons of buyers out there for satellite technology. You could easily make back enough to cover your losses.

Like who? Aspiring super villains?

Sure. See if you can find a count who drapes himself in molybdenum jewelry, and loves lisping about his obsession with chaos. Then ask him if he needs a satellite.

Are you serious?

No. But more realistically, you could try hitting up pornography companies.

What?

Pornography companies are completely dependent on public networks for the distribution of their product, and consequently at the mercy of governments across the world. And if the largest, stupidest government gets it in their head to do something about that...

Something like...

A throttle or outright block on certain low-moral activities. Pornogeddon. As if millions of voices cried out in frustration, and were suddenly silenced.

That doesn't sound very likely.

Given the billions of dollars at risk, it doesn't have to be very likely to be a concern. Conclusion: pornographers would love to have their own satellites capable of beaming recreational-reproduction-themed content to their rosey-palmed audience.

So how do I get in touch with pornographers?

Heh. That's cute.

What?

Like you don't know.

I get that the Internet is full of boobs, but I mean, that's like the public face of the industry. I can't just go into one of those topless chat rooms and ask Hazel Thighs if her bosses want to buy a satellite, can I?

That would actually be pretty funny. Watching Hazel struggle to piece together what the fuck you're talking about. Scratching her head, talking to someone off camera.

I wonder if confusion is a fetish yet.

Oh sure. BaffleBus.com is huge right now. Dudes in a van, picking up girls on the street, making them read
Finnegans Wake. Bewilderingly sexy.

I did not know that.

Strange times.

But you see my point. Hazel's the wrong person to ask, a waste of my time.

And at $8.95 for fifteen minutes of confused a-erotic chatting, a waste of your money as well. Yeah, I see that. That's fine. You just need to get in contact with their back office. The oily, oily decision makers.

How do I do that?

Look in the back of those local newspapers for ads for people interested in modelling.

Those are for pornography?

The ads with "Models" in quotation marks, that require applicants aged 18+, featured beside ads featuring a Thai woman offering "evening relaxation touches?" Yes those are for pornography.

Exciting Rub Get full excitement from our trained team of exciting rubbers. This is exactly what you think it is. 555-226-2234

Ok, I found one.

So call them satellite man!

It was just a voicemail, but they say I can show up at their office any time tomorrow.

-later-

Ok I'm here. Euu. It's one of those light-industrial office parks. Like in The Office, but less glamorous. You sure these people will want to buy a satellite?

I'm more sure of this than I am of anything else in this guide.

That's comforting?

It is. Now go on in and show these groin-merchants the pictures you took of the satellite.

Ok. He's just looking at me like I'm an idiot.

Do you look like kind of an idiot?

No.

Are you sure? How are you dressed? Are you wearing jeggings or something? Sock for a hat?

No just regular person clothes. He's looking at me like he has no interest in buying a wrecked satellite at all.

You're going to have to sell it a bit.

How?

Explain how they'll be able to use this technology to distribute pornography after the ground-based internet is destroyed by locusts.

His eyes widened fractionally.

That's good.

Now he's saying he is interested, but he needs to check with his boss first. He'll be back in a minute.

Success!

It sure seems that way.

You're a natural salesman. A real Don Mad Man.

I guess so. The guy's back now. He says they're definitely interested, and his boss wants to see me upstairs.

Well don't keep the big oily man waiting.

OW FUCK OW!

What happened?

I fell down the stairs!

How?

I slipped!

You've got a million dollar deal going to waste here. You get up those stairs now!

Ok.

Well?

OW FUCK! IT HAPPENED AGAIN!

TRY AGAIN CAREFULLER.

I think there's something funny about these stairs. They're super slippery and there's no handrail.

STOP OVERTHINKING THIS.

All right. OW MY TEEF!

You hurt your teeth?

And my legfs and croftch. Ths stairs are lubricated!

Oh I get it. Heh.

HEH WHUT!?

Tell me, are there two or three guys videotaping all of this?

Yesh.

They were just fucking with you. It's called slapstick porn. Non-nude, not explicit, very hot right now. They pegged you for an idiot, and figured they'd run you up the lube stairs a few times.

They just laughing and laughing, and one guy is rubbing himself in his pocket.

Yeah, not explicitly sexual, but still, it's enough for some people. On the plus side, if you sign whatever they give you to sign you could probably make two or three hundred dollars. There's no shame in being an accidental whore.

Uh think there is.

Oh yeah, definitely. I will definitely mock you later when chatting to the other advice guides. But for now, you could use the money, right?

Buh mah house and teef is ruined! Two hundreh bucks wont fix that!

Well it's probably the best you'll be able to do. You seem to have overestimated the value the pornography industry would place on a demolished satellite.

I ovehestimated? Yur the one who tohld me...

One thing you're going to have to learn is to take responsibility for your own decisions. It was this kind of sheepish mentality which led to your home being split by a satellite in the first place.

That's bullsh... actually, yuh partly right. Buying thish home was Sheila's idea.

Which you agreed to. Own your mistakes man.

Wow. Thes has turned into a pretty heavy life lesson.

A man cannot truly know who he is, until he sees his reflection in a doomed communications satellite. Aristotle would have said that had he lived in a different era.

Jesuh Chrise. Is therr ny requiwment at all to been an advice guide?

Completely unregulated industry fella. It's kind of shocking really.

So I'm completely bonhd.

Not completely. I've just been doing some research, and it turns out most space-faring nations have signed a treaty which promises to make right any damage from despaced objects striking the earth.

You've juh now been doing some research? Shouldna that have been done righ ah the starh? Or several years before the starh? Wha kind of experh are you?

The one that got here first.

Son of a bish. So they'll pay for everyhing?

Presumably. It might take awhile. I imagine several hundred lawyers and diplomats have to get involved first.

Sounds complicahd.

It's a pretty sensitive subject for them, lots of PR implications. Which means your ties to the adult-industry will probably be made public.

You muthafachr!

Thanks for participating! If you're concerned about what effect this sudden bout of low-moral behavior will have on your chances of getting back together with Sheila, please feel free to consult our guide, How To Rebuild Your Reputation After Accidentally Making Strange Porn.

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Related: 'Hype Houses' Are Just Zoomer Communes

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