Journalist Report – October 6th

Lindsay Rutter
Commander, Crew 228

We Areonauts followed all planetary protection directives set forth by COVID amendments to the COSPAR treaties. And we successfully prevented the spread of the terrestrial virus into a space virus. But no matter how careful we were, there was one pest that hitchhiked its way onto our spacecraft and now can never be stopped – the Dad joke.

Dad jokes cannot be sterilized. There are no vaccines for Dad jokes. They are extremophiles of the highest order, surviving anything you throw at them, including microgravity and radiation. This is unequivocal.

It all started soon after we exited the Karman line. A crew member (who requested anonymity) let out what was unmistakably a Dad joke. For the most part, we tactfully ignored it. Still, I can’t help but think most of the crew said a little prayer that night in their staterooms, hoping that would be the end of it.

As the solar days turn to solar months, it has become clear we will see no end to the Dad joke. A pattern has emerged. First, a crew member will slip out a Dad joke. Then, there is a moment of silence, followed by a cacophony of groans. Sometimes, the crew will clear the room, essentially imposing an unspoken quarantine on the source of the joke, who is left alone to reflect on how they are no Jerry Seinfeld.

We each have been that person. And we each have reflected in isolation. But still, the Dad jokes continue.

In a last-ditch bid to rid ourselves of the pest, we wrote down the worst Dad jokes that have been committed on Mars so far, and ran the paper through the compost shredder. But this purification ceremony only emboldened the Dad joke, which victoriously resurrected itself within minutes when a crew member blurted out an all-new-low variant of the offense.

We have since surrendered defeat to the Dad joke.

It is possible that, one day, the social contagion of the Dad joke will make the fateful leap from human beings to AI beings. And should the AI community recursively self-improve the cheesiness factor, it will emerge worse than what we can even imagine today. It will be so bad, it will be almost transcendentally bad. What happens at that point – to space exploration, to consciousness in the universe – awaits latently in the realms of science fiction. Only time will tell.

Today, I transmit a rather sobering report that the Dad joke will always go wherever humans go. And now that we humans have landed on Mars, it is here with us to stay.

What to make of this, I wonder? If we couldn’t leave the Dad joke behind, is it possible to prevent contaminating Mars with other human transgressions? The wars. The corruption. The pollution.

I can’t help but fret sometimes. I’m concerned.

Why, nice to meet you, concerned! I’m Dad!

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