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An Open Letter to President Trump from the Original Rocket Man

You Know, the Guy from the Elton John Song

By Sam Eichner ·
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Photo: Getty Images

"The United States has great strength and patience. But if it is forced to defend itself for its allies, we will have no choice but to totally destroy North Korea. Rocket man is on a suicide mission for himself, and his regime." — President Donald Trump, September 19, 2017

There I was, on Mars, minding my own goddamn astronaut business, when out of the blue I get word from Down There that some fucking earthling twat with a bouffant of orangutan hair and a shit-eating grin has taken to using my good name to describe the dickhead leader of the Hermit Kingdom.

Well, listen up, fucker: I’m the Rocket Man.

I’m the one burning my fuse up here alone.

I’m the one who’s not the man they think I was at home.

I’m the one whose wife packed his bags, zero hour nine AM, as if I were going on a week-long work trip to the goddamn Bahamas (I wasn’t).

It’s cold as hell up here, too. And she didn’t even think to pack my jacket. Damn it, Nadine! I miss you but you can really be a space cadet sometimes. Pun intended.

Look, I understand getting in way over your head, and simply not understanding the necessary minutiae of a particularly important task. There’s all this science I don’t understand. It’s just my job five days a week. (Yes, I saw The Martian. It’s not that easy.)

That being said, nobody cares about me up here. But you’re the leader of the free world. You can’t go around throwing out inapplicable nicknames all willy-nilly. You could start a war. A nuclear war. And then everyone will be like, “Guess we got to go to Mars” and I’ll be like “Guess I got to stop fucking around on my wife with these all these sexy alien ladies.” Kidding, Nadine. Kidding.

Truth is, “Rocket Man” should conjure up images of a lonely gent in outer space, who, separated from his family, sustains himself on their everlasting love. It should be melancholic. It should be a vague metaphor for the inexplicable distance between otherwise star-crossed lovers. It should be wistful and rueful and wonderful. It should be used wisely to heighten the drama on TV shows, like Californication.

It shouldn’t be used by the President of the United States to glibly describe a volatile leader who poses a grave threat to America, and the world-at-large. So, please, from the bottom of my heart, I beg you: stop tarnishing my legacy.

Also, Elon Musk, if you’re reading this: whenever you make it up here can you please bring me a Big Mac with fries (hold the sauce) from McDonald’s?

I’m literally starving.

Sam Eichner likes literature, reality television and his twin cats equally. He has consistently been told he needs a shave since he started growing facial hair.

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