Quit faking it. Of course you probably think that due to the looping filaments of glowing gas extending much farther from your central star that you're off the hook, but I do believe that you're the first nebula I have found to be completely full of sh*t. You are what is referred to in the streets… as a trick ass bitch. And you, you!, will never be my only one.

Hello. You star clusters just don't get the picture. Judging by this 'picture' us humans obviously do. We caught you guys with your galactic pants down, and your space dicks whipped the fu*k out and Earth has had enough. This is the most ridiculously slow and unacceptable orgy we have ever seen and we have seen a lot. You guys get TV out there? No? What about all your favorite NY sports teams in stunning HD? Nothing? No entertainment value. Fu*k space.

Look at this sparkly bag of sh*t. You wouldn't even know if there was a problem with your shiny attitude, because your head is so far up your star-ass! All of the asses of your stars. — And look at that little piss-ant spiral galaxy in the lower right. If that guy doesn't hide the fact that he loves Gossip Girl and the occasional space reach around, then I'm not a human stuck on a really small planet, writing hateful things about, oh I don't know… Fu*k Space maybe?

The moon has long been associated with romance and the search inside the human soul to find meaning in our world. To this I say, did you guys forget werewolves? Yeah, cos they will, along with being seriously sexy young men seducing Kristin Stewart in a forest, rip your fu*king fingers off, shove them in your eyes and asshole, and then feast on the corpulent remains of your once stupid face. PhotoShopped or not this does not make any sense. The moon is dangerous. No way. No thanks.

This is about the scariest thing I've ever seen. It's like Dracula took a sh*t after eating a gallon of glitter glue and motor oil. You'd think that being the unofficial Lord of the Undead he would stick to blood, but it would appear that even Dracula has fallen for the magic of space. Fu*k both space and now, sadly, Dracula. Let's look at the stats, hmm? No oxygen – below zero – radiation – Oh I don't know…fu*k you and, yes: fu*k space.

Alright you guys. Break it up. Go home. What? You are home. Well fu*k my hand! Get a job sir! You'd think that my tax dollars go to helping the people who need it, but here you folks are, light years away from any sense of dignity. Hanging out at all hours of the space-day, looking for something to smoke or shoot, drinking all types of dust. I say again…fu*k space.

You folks just don't get it. Do you? Right in the middle of SPACE, where everyone (with a seriously high-powered telescope floating above Earth's atmosphere with the ability to compile composite images of the universe using infrared, ultraviolet light, far-field gravitational lensing, and radio waves) can see? You guys make me want to spray my favorite shag carpet with vomit, induced from eating a wig and a broccoli Hot Pocket at the same time. I could probably squat down, right now, and make something that has more grace and courtesy than you two fly out of my ass at the speed of s*it! Do not ever test me.