One of my weird conditional fantasies is a one-way trip to space past all the sights if I ever end up with a terminal but not debilitating illness. What do you have to lose? Take in the grand tour, hit the euthanasia button past Pluto. Would have to be fully automated.
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I’ve written not one, but two stories with that premise
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If I accidentally become a billionaire I’ll build an Ozymandias-Bender style funerary monument to myself in space. A total eyesore on Pluto
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Beginning to realize that having vaguely influenced a bunch of forgettable randos with blog commentary on a tv show that will itself be forgotten in a few decades is a lousy bid for posterity. I need a louder, more obnoxious plan b. One resistant to bitrot and climate apocalypse


