They say you can’t own the moon.They also said reusable rockets were impossible.They were wrong twice.
Phase 1 – The IdeaIt started at 3 a.m. after my third cup of jasmine-flavored Red Bull.I looked up, saw the moon, and thought, “Mine now.”That’s the entire business plan.
By 4 a.m. I had registered Lunar LLC, applied for a trademark on “The Moon™,” and added a “Buy Now” button to my bio.First pre-order came from a bot selling NFTs of clouds.Momentum.
Phase 2 – Due DiligenceMy legal team (a group chat named “Space Law & Order”) told me international treaties prohibit celestial ownership.I told them treaties are just EULAs for planets.They quit before breakfast.I hired new lawyers; they quit after lunch.Progress.
Phase 3 – FinancingI sold 0.000001 percent of Moon equity for $69 million.Valuation: $6.9 trillion.Investors asked what our revenue model was.I said, “Tides.”They nodded thoughtfully and wired the money.
Phase 4 – Public ReactionThe internet exploded:– Flat-Earthers demanded a “Flat Moon Roundtable.”– Astrologers sued, claiming I’d changed everyone’s rising sign.– NASA subtweeted, “bro.”
Engagement skyrocketed.Success smells like server smoke.
Phase 5 – MonetizationI launched Moon Plus, a subscription that removes ads from lunar phases.Basic users see sponsored craters (“This Eclipse Brought to You by NeuralSocks”).Premium tier lets you rename the Sea of Tranquility to “Sea of You Upgrading to Pro.”
Merch sold out instantly — mostly black hoodies that say “To The Moon (Literally)”.
Phase 6 – Unexpected ProblemsApparently, controlling the tides affects everything.Coastal cities called.Surfers threatened to unionize.My data center in Shanghai went offline for six minutes — proof, I think, that gravity is decentralized.
Also, the moon blocked its own sunlight for tax reasons.
Phase 7 – Exit StrategyIn a gesture of corporate responsibility, I gifted 10 percent of The Moon™ to the public.The public immediately launched a DAO and tried to sell it back to me.We call that “a healthy market.”
Reflections from OrbitPeople ask if I regret it.Regret is for those who invest in stable assets like emotions.I prefer volatility — of stocks, ideas, and occasionally oceans.
The real lesson?Dream bigger.If someone says, “You can’t own the moon,”ask if they’ll take Dogecoin.
The first step toward interplanetary civilization is usually the lease agreement.Mine was with my landlord.
When people ask why I’m obsessed with colonization, I tell them the truth: I’m not. I’m just tired of driving across town for bubble tea. Every great vision starts small — a spark, a prototype, a napkin diagram scribbled during a particularly strong caffeine episode.
Last month, I realized that before we terraform Mars, we should probably learn to terraform our personal space. So I began Project Living Room 1.0. The goal: create a self-sustaining habitat capable of supporting one human, two houseplants, and unlimited Wi-Fi for at least six months.
Phase I — Atmospheric OptimizationStep one: replace oxygen with motivation. I installed a diffuser that emits “hustle particles” every hour. Productivity skyrocketed until I forgot how to rest. Phase I complete. Morale: dangerously high.
Phase II — Renewable SnacksEvery rocket program needs fuel; mine just happens to be dumplings. I built a closed-loop supply chain from freezer to air fryer to mouth. Waste heat powers my tea kettle. Energy efficiency: 92%. Joy efficiency: 110%.
Phase III — Artificial Intelligence (For Plants)I connected my monstera to an old neural-net prototype. It now texts me motivational quotes like “Grow tall, king.”Sentience is trending upward. Concern: mild.
Phase IV — Public OutreachNo mission is complete without branding. I drafted a 40-page whitepaper titled “Democratizing Serenity Through Furniture.” Investors were confused but intrigued. One asked if there’s a DAO. I said yes; there wasn’t, but now there is.
The Philosophy Behind the JokeSatire is a mirror, not a mask. When we parody ambition, we reveal how close our real ambitions already are to parody. My living room colony isn’t about Mars or dumplings — it’s about the absurd lengths we go to make ordinary life feel epic.
Tech culture loves to promise transcendence: “Change the world.”Sometimes the world just needs better lighting and a cup of jasmine tea.
The TakeawayBefore you colonize Mars, colonize your schedule.Before you build rockets, build rest.Before you seek infinite growth, try finite gratitude.
My living room is thriving. The plants are happy. The Wi-Fi is strong.Mission accomplished — until the next update: Project Balcony 2.0.
