Pluto's Letter to Earth

Hello, Earth. It's Pluto. It's been a long time since our last correspondence. Ever since you saw it fit to revoke my status as a planet, the two of us have lost contact with each other. Oh, and speaking of Contact, the Jodi Foster sci-fi flick, how the hell is Jodi, anyway? I've been an avid fan of hers ever since her precocious debut in Taxi Driver over 30 years ago. She never replied to any of my letters. I hope she received that chunk of my crust that I sent her as a gift to honor her Oscar nomination for Silence of the Lambs. It's not like I'm stalking her or anything. How could I—without severely altering the course of my orbit in order to collide with violent passion into Ms. Foster and the planet she seductively inhabits? I could never do that. Christ knows I've tried. Okay. Enough about Jodi Foster. If she wants to play hard to get, that's her own whorish business.

About two years ago, a team of Earth's astronomers who all lost their prolonged, middle-aged virginity in a horrid gang-bang of the cleaning lady at their observatory agreed that I should no longer be considered a planet because I'm not up to your standards of size. That's hurtful, Earth. My 900 days of winter have gotten even colder since you stuck that knife in my back. Do you have any idea what kind of damage that demotion has reeked on my social life? Fucking Neptune was the only planet to send me a Christmas card this year, and when I opened the card, the only line written was, “Sorry to hear the news. What a shame! Hope all is well.” Jesus. It's not like my surface is fitted with a shirt that reads, “I crave Neptune's sympathy.”

If I am no longer a planet in the bespectacled eyes of your scientists, then what am I? This wretched demotion is causing me a serious identity crisis. What do your nerdy astronomers call me now? How am I categorized?

Am I a satellite? No, because I don't orbit around another planet. Demote me all you wish, but I'll never be Neptune's bitch. I orbit the Sun, just like you. So, how are we any different?

Do you think I'm a meteor? Because I've got news for you: I'm not. I've got more class, esteem, and regard for life than any of those Jihad-shrieking, suicidal mavericks. If I was a meteor, however, I'd probably propel myself in the direction of Earth, shred through your depleted o-zone layer, and demolish the observatory responsible for revoking my claim to planet-hood.

Am I some sort of an unconventional star to you—barren and frigid and modestly sized? No, I'm too small to be classified a planet, much less a star, which is why I got demoted in the first place. Asteroid, black hole, comet? No, no, and no. I'm running out of space-words here! What the hell am I? Since being demoted, my self-esteem has plummeted. At my lowest moment, I got loaded on moonshine and ether with one of Uranus' moons—shit, I can't even remember which one—and got so depressed hanging out with that galactic nobody that I tried to float into the path of a meteor shower.

But that ultimately brings me to my point. I recall Uranus' moon slurring the words “Dwarf Planet”--it was either that or “Smurf Gadget.” But “Smurf Gadget” was senseless within the context of the conversation, which was all about Earth's big “Fuck you” to old Pluto.

I can live with being called a Dwarf Planet. Do you know why? Because you can't spell “Dwarf Planet” without the word PLANET! Dwarf is merely an adjective to describe a noun, which in this case is a planet. We don't need to get bogged down in semantics here, but obviously, a dwarf planet still qualifies as a planet, doesn't it? Just because something is small or dwarfish in size doesn't mean you need an entirely different noun to categorize it. Just as a small penis is a penis nonetheless, a small planet still counts as a planet. A penis can't be kicked out of the League of Penises by a larger penis; that wouldn't make any sense, so I don't see how Earth—which isn't even big compared to planets like Jupiter—can possibly dismiss a long-time member of the club because of a bias in size.

And actually, it's pretty cool being the only planet in the club with an adjective to modify it. While the rest of you, from that kiss-ass of the Sun Mercury to Neptune with its two bull-dike moons, the whole sorry lot of you all are just planets. But me, I'm a rare breed, a dwarf planet, which is a point of pride and distinction.

So, thanks for going through all the trouble to reclassify me a dwarf planet, Earth. It makes Pluto feel special. Oh, and please let me know when the telescope, scented candles, and bottle of lubricant I sent to Jodi Foster three light years ago arrives. When the night is right, I'm going to give that sultry broad the show of a lifetime.