Unreal Estate for sale
Published: July 9, 2025
I was returning to our solar system from the Andromeda Galaxy in my B-triple Cosmos Cruiser with a payload of 20,000 tonnes of artificial intelligence, shipped from the AI mines of planet Scrofula and destined for the rich and family trust-funded college kids in the USA. There is growing demand for the stuff over there as the billionaires’ ball-bag progeny all want to become doctors, lawyers and politicians without have to do the groundwork.
Anyway, the bus was on cruise control, I had my feet up on the dash, a stubby of Pale in the holder and guitar porn on the nav screen when the auto went bing! We were slowing down to enter the solar system. Slipping past Pluto I was just chucking the empty stubby bottle out the window when I saw a satellite flashing a lighted sign: Open Inspection 5 billion kilometres!
W. T. effen F…??
I rolled a durrie, popped another stubby and ignored the thing. However… every billion klicks or so another satellite billboard announced the imminent approach of the advertised event. I rounded Jupiter and there it was, the final billboard: If you live on Mars you’d be home now!
Another What the?. I’m goin’ for a look.
I ignore the “Please refrain for using your cosmic space brakes – consider the residents” sign and ploughed into the red dust near a collection of silvery looking bubbles.
Another sign announced: Red Dust Acres – The premiere gated community on Mars. Buy now; prices will never be so low. Property Developer Elon Muck.
Knock me sideways with a neutron mallet.
Elon came out to meet me as I approached.
“Busy day?” Said I.
“Not yet but I think it will hot up later on.”
“Yeah. Well… um. Yeah. Hey, why are the advertisements on the way into the solar system?”
“They are for rich alien visitors. I doubt whether the scum on earth could afford to live here.”
“Why? How much is one of them… bubble things?”
“A bungalow…?”
“You’re! kidding! It’s a fukkin igloo if it’s anything!”
“It’s an architect designed Mars-adapted customised bungalow with its own space-pod landing dock. Eighty-three billion dollars”
“Fuk me with a loaded Hadron Collider! Sold many yet?”
“Umm, not yet.”
I avoided looking at the little twerp while I rolled another durrie. I couldn’t get the lighter to work.
“What the…?”
“You will have to buy some air to make your lighter work.”
“Buy some air?? Do them igloos come with air?”
“Well, with a standard bed-sit bungalow you can have air on a month by month lease or one-year deal with a ten percent discount and monthly upgrades when they are available.”
As we stood there, silently contemplating each other, a massive asteroid thing plummeted out of space and flattened the whole village.
“Well,” said I, putting my wallet away. “I’ll be off now, Mr Muck. Be seein’ yer.”
“Um, I might go home too.”
“Sure. Still got yer SpaceXX?”
“Ummm. Well… Can you give me a lift back to each? My spaceship blew up on the landing pad.”