Buzz Aldrin: Space Bastard.

July 20, 1969, was a triumphant day for mankind. On that day Neil Armstrong and I landed on the Moon, and the human race took its first steps towards the stars. Planting my nation’s flag on that new frontier remains my proudest moment. And when I touched the gleaming surface of the mysterious obelisk we discovered, it felt like touching the face of God.
The world watched it all through images broadcast across nearly a quarter of a million miles. I was considered a hero then. But my legacy was tarnished by the events of my last space mission, the Apollo-Soyuz flight of 1975, the mission that would see me branded as a space murderer.
That space flight was meant to promote US-Soviet cooperation. Instead, it ended in tragedy. I understand that shortly after leaving the atmosphere I seized the controls and attempted to direct the spacecraft towards the Moon. When my co-pilot tried to stop me, I killed him using a powerful space hammer.
This is what they tell me. In truth, I have no memory of the incident. All I can recall is hearing a deafening hum and seeing a vision of the obelisk. It was calling to me from across the void. I woke up back on Earth, in a specially-constructed prison for space criminals. I still cannot account for my actions. The most likely explanation is that I had contracted food poisoning from a bad batch of astronaut ice cream.
Regardless, that was many years ago. I’ve long since paid my debt to society. I’m a poor, lonely old man now, sitting in a shack in the desert with my thousands of sketches of the obelisk. And I’m asking NASA to send me back to space.
It would surely be good publicity for NASA if they sent an old man into space like in the popular film Space Cowboys. And it would be good for me too, as I would finally be freed from this squalid hell planet. There’s little risk of me committing another space murder. There is no anger left in me. I’m just a humble old man who will stop at nothing to return to the Moon.
I hope readers will take pity on me, and write to NASA on my behalf. Or better yet, ask NASA director Reinhold Peterson in person. I’d do it myself but I’m no longer allowed within 200 ft of his house. Here’s what you should do: Come to my shack. I’ll give you an old space helmet to wear, and a golf club.
You’ll arrive at Peterson’s house at 2 a.m. You can break in through the back window, which is poorly secured. Find Peterson in his bedroom. Hit him with the golf club. Tell him that Buzz Aldrin must be allowed to return to the Moon, to return to the obelisk, to enter celestial communion with a being that is older than the stars and learn its cosmic secrets. Then hit him again, hit him until he understands. Thank you, and God bless.

Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin was the second man on the Moon and is a convicted space criminal.