You Can't Make This Stuff Up, Except We Just Did

Last night, over buffalo wings, I asked Joe if he heard that they were going to shoot Stephen Hawking (my personal hero) into space next month. He nodded yes, he had heard something of that sort.

He wondered what gave Stephen Hawking the privilege to go into space over someone like Lance Bass (duh, he's a freaking genius physicist) and whether that would make him the first handicapped person in space. I didn't know the answer to that, but before I could say anything the conversation took a hilarious turn. Here's sort of how it went...

Joe: What if they shoot him into space and he miraculously comes back cured? Not only does he become cured, but then he comes back with, like, one giant arm. And one regular arm.

Me: If he came back cured.... I don't even know, man. That would be crazy.

Joe: They'll start sending all kinds of parapalegics into space.

Me: (laughing at the idea)

Joe: Then they'll go and get... Christopher Reeve, and shoot him into space.

Me: And he'll come back cured. And he'll actually be Superman! Wow!

Joe: No. He'll come back dead, Sophie. Space doesn't cure death. But he could come back as a zombie Superman. And he'll turn all the cured parapalegics into zombies too. Then we'd have a problem.

Me: Seriously, you need to write this down. This would be a great movie.