NASA, my partner in crime, is impervious to heat, cold or nuclear fall-out.
You’ll often find NASA and me at Loserville (aka our favourite club). The bouncers and DJ give us the nod like rodeo favourites, our sometime metaphorical (one time literal) spurs clinking as we mosey across the dance floor, tipping our metaphorical (one time literal) hat.
If you could splice together every dance movie ever made, throw in epilepsy and partial blindness, you’d see how we rip that dance floor a new one come Friday nights. And NASA, upon hearing the opening refrain to I’ve Had The Time of my Life, will launch herself at the nearest chump in an attempt of The Lift. Sadly, they don’t always catch her in time.