The man of the hour is so high on his own farts he's building a pipeline to import dinosaur farts. Not that he's a dinosaur, after all those makeovers, he even almost looks human. No wonder he wants to leave earth, we're running out of his favorite fuel in only a few hundred years. His fleet of methane-thirsty sky leviathans need to be ready to get him to his moon lair before he's stranded down here with the apes. The engineers keep insisting methane is an efficient rocket propellant, but that is exactly the sort of cover story one would expect from a man whose personal energy policy consists of huffing his own press releases.
If optimism were a construction material, there would already be beachfront property on Mars complete with valet parking and a frozen-yogurt franchise. His companies are powered by a management philosophy best described as "What if a caffeine overdose became a corporate structure?" Deadlines arrive, explode, and are immediately replaced by even more ambitious deadlines.The good news is we're meeting one deadline: His head will be big enough to shield Earth from the sun before it's really a problem.
