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February was annual Homo History Month here in the U.K. To do his own bit for the camp cause, London Mayor Sadiq Khan kindly reached into local taxpayers’ pockets (never his own) to blow several million pounds on renaming one of the London Overground lines after some obscure local AIDS hospital nobody had previously ever heard of. Why didn’t he just call it the Liberace Line?

If you think that was a pointless waste of time, money, and effort, be thankful Sadiq isn’t also Mayor of the Moon—because there is now a corresponding campaign afoot to name astronomical features after our new rainbow-rulers too, in the name of promoting equality off-Earth as well as on it.

In 1635, pioneering Italian astronomer Giovanni Battista Riccioli began labeling the first observed craters on the moon after notable scientists of his day—all of whom were not only every bit as white as the lunar surface, but also male and horribly hetero, at least in public. This, says campaigning young queer-friendly Scottish astronomer and PhD candidate Annie Lennox, who enjoys “researching lobate ejecta deposits” (I’m sure she does!), was simply the beginning of the straight white male colonization of outer space.

The Hills of Venus
In an exceedingly pious recent open letter to the International Astronomical Union (IAU), Mx. Lennox notes that, on Mars, Planet of War, less than 2 percent of features are named after women, in spite of the great contribution of such female figures as Margaret Thatcher, Boadicea, and Princess Leia to our galaxy’s military annals. On Venus, Planet of Love, a convention does exist that all surface geographical features have to be named after women—but Lennox discovered a disgusting 62 percent are purely fictional women from myth and legend, like Venus herself, thereby broadcasting the subliminal “narrative that…there are not enough real historical women who satisfy the current conventions” to have a planet crater or space hill named after them.

IAU rules say that, in order to qualify to be so honored for posterity, a person has to have been recognized as having been a “significant figure” for at least fifty years after their death. Then, someone of intense but ephemeral fame will not end up being immortalized forever upon the surface of Jupiter or Pluto; without such safeguards, we may otherwise have ended up having craters perpetually christened after Vanilla Ice, Sonic the Hedgehog, or Mr. Blobby, for example—or maybe even Mrs. Blobby, should Annie Lennox get her way.

But, of course, up until exceedingly recent times, white cisheteronormative fascism ruled our globe, meaning very few individuals from traditionally subordinate groups, like women and queerbos, have ever had the opportunity to be famous for fifty straight (or not-so-straight) years. As the wannabe moon goddess Lennox says: “This inequality is the product of a historic societal structure set by and to the benefit of the patriarchy.”

Furthermore, as racist, sexist IAU homophobes dictate that “names may not be repeated between planetary bodies” to avoid confusion, historically marginalized groups are further disadvantaged by white straight males having got there first.

For instance, “the non-gender-conforming painter Gluck cannot be represented [on Mercury, Planet of Art] as there is already a Gluck crater [there] named after a cis white male [the composer Christoph Willibald Gluck]. This has an indirect exclusionary effect on underrepresented minorities; the first-come-first-served system results de facto in a white male occupation of space.” Occupation? With language like that, it’s a wonder she doesn’t accuse the Israelis of being behind it all. (As an aside, the Artist Latterly Known as Gluck was actually born Hannah Gluckstein, so they could just christen a “Gluckstein Crater” after her—but that would be deadnaming, wouldn’t it?)

In summary, then, Annie Lennox really is asking the precise retarded questions you think she is: “Why is space so white?” and “Why are the planetary spheres so straight?”

Close Encounters of the Turd Kind
Annie should be careful what she wishes for. If she wants to see what a truly racially and sexually diverse interplanetary realm might look like, she should try watching this notorious 1992 Danish blaxploitation movie, Gayniggers From Outer Space. It tells of a whole army of black homosexuals from the Planet Anus who invade Earth and kill all its women, thereby to force its remaining male inhabitants into a life of perpetual interracial gaydom, like inside a Chicago prison. Commendably homophilic, maybe, but a tad misogynistic to boot.

Has anybody ever attempted to contact any such Gayniggers From Outer Space for real? Well, the man who created the whole UFO-related “Men in Black” myth in the first place went by the rather strange name of Albert Bender—that’s just “A. Bender” in the pages of any Earth phone book. Was that the true reason the gaylien MIBs gave him a call?

William S. Burroughs, the incredibly gay author of 1950s and ’60s beatnik anti-novels like Queer, Junkie, and The Naked Lunch, should have tried stealing Bender’s name by deed poll. In later life, Burroughs became a major superfan of the best-selling texts of the prominent self-declared alien abductee and sci-fi novelist Whitley Strieber.

In his 1987 autobiography Communion, Strieber introduced the world to two now-ubiquitous images: the “Gray” alien—the ones with huge spindly heads, unnaturally pallid skin, and weird, wraparound, staring eyes like Greta Thunberg—and the so-called “anal probe,” a device apparently designed both to steal victims’ poo for space analysis and to cause forced gay erections for easy sperm-collecting purposes.

Most people would run a mile from such rectal milking, but not William S. Burroughs. Bill wrote fan mail to Strieber, begging to be bum-probed. Strieber invited Burroughs to stay in his out-of-town log cabin one weekend to see what transpired, but it seemed the E.T.s found his own full moon unappealing.

Disappointed, Burroughs took matters into his own hands, cutting a crop circle into his lawn in the shape of a huge erect penis, in the hope joyriding homosexuals from the Planet Poofter would spot it from the sky one night, beam down into his bedroom, and gang-probe him, although tragically it seems they never did. Fun fact: William S. Burroughs was a lifelong methadone addict.

Deep Impact
I have recently written elsewhere about deluded scientific attempts to contact woke aliens, although I could find no examples of NASA et al trying to dial specifically homosexual entities, just left-leaning ones in general. I did find a few online academic articles with initially promising-sounding titles like “From Constitutional Psychopathic Inferiority to AIDS: What Is in the Future for Homosexual Aliens” and “The Propriety of Denying Entry to Homosexual Aliens,” but disappointingly these transpired to be mere public health policy documents, in which the “Aliens” referred to were in fact potentially diseased foreign immigrants to the U.S. of distinct uranian leanings—or Gayniggers, if you prefer.

Indeed, there have been increasing complaints from the queer community that astronomers have not been trying hard enough to make any hot gaylien contacts. As part of their new “Beacon in the Galaxy” project, the Nazis at NASA have proposed sending a digital message, in binary code, out across the galaxy, in the hope it will forcibly penetrate the ears of E.T. In imitation of a famous plaque once contained on NASA’s previous 1972 Pioneer 10 space probe, one such transmission will contain an image of a pair of white cisgender humans, one male and one female, both by implication heterosexual.

This wholly outmoded privileging of the normative caused annoyance amongst certain members of Homo non-sapiens down here on terra mentally infirma, as exemplified by a piece in leading U.S. gay mag Them titled “Let Gays Send Nudes to the Aliens, You Cowards,” in which NASA was criticized for devising bigoted images of “this (literally) binary-coded pair” rather than, say, explicit pics of two big black trannies rimming one another atop an asteroid instead. “If NASA can send nudes of straight people…to space, it is a moral imperative that NASA also let queer and trans people take their shot at the aliens,” argued the article’s author, James Factora.

Factora disapprovingly quoted NASA as explaining that they chose to broadcast their binary humans in binary code because “binary is likely universal across all intelligence…as it involves only two opposing states: zero and one,” which Factora humorously pretended to find a profound insult against nonbinary Earth trannies. This was meant as a half joke: but, as Bill Burroughs proved, some people out there really do actually think like this…

A Rocket Up Uranus
In the 1993 Queer Studies text Fear of a Queer Planet (sample wholly temperate chapter titles: “How to Bring Your Kids Up Gay” and “Tremble, Hetero Swine!”), editor Michael Warner specifically bemoaned the fact NASA’s Pioneer 10 probe, with its sickeningly straight plaque, stood as an eternal reminder of our bigoted home world’s innate and highly prejudiced heterosexuality, which “speeds to the ends of the universe, announcing to passing stars that Earth is not, regardless of what anyone says, a queer planet.”

To try to rectify this, a whole school of queer sci-fi arose, whose authors happily imagined being abducted away to the Star-System Woolly-Woofter, where medicine had become so advanced even AIDS could now easily be cured. Such gay-colonized spheres, with high-camp names like “Splendora,” were imagined as “The Israel of the Gays,” realms where at last such endangered effeminates could remain free, safe, and unmolested by their fellow man—unless they actively wanted to be, that is.

But it’s one thing when sci-fi writers talk like this. When actual scientists join in, you know our entire Earth civilization is doomed. Astrophysicist Neil de Grasse Tyson is supposed to be America’s leading pop-science communicator. If so, why is he arseing around going on podcasts to answer complete non-questions like “Is outer space gay or straight?” by claiming the universe is somehow “on a spectrum” just like gender allegedly is? Mike Tyson could have talked more sense here than Neil Tyson did.

Heads Up Their Own Black Holes
What did Professor Tyson mean by this? A distressingly lengthy online essay, “Space Is Gay, and It Has an Important Lesson for Us,” by queer “stargayzing” enthusiast Ruby Anderson, provides an answer, of sorts. Being “a dyke immersed in astrology culture,” if not necessarily actual “astronomy culture,” Ruby “set out to find queer people who had an intense love for space and ask them if they thought space was gay,” receiving “a resounding YES” in collective reply.

Ruby easily contacted unearthly entities like Moiya McTier, “a Black astrophysicist who identifies as bisexual and pansexual,” who “believes space is gay, because it has no technical orientation.” There’s not really any objective up or down in space, you see, scientists just created an arbitrary “galactic North Pole” somewhere out in the void, then chose to measure the coordinates of everything from that ultimately random point. This is precisely the same—precisely the same, you understand?—as how social labels for human sexual orientations are also all completely arbitrary, hence the 1,001 gender identities now available on the market.

And there you have it: The universe itself is already inherently gay. So Annie Lennox’s entitled whine that there aren’t enough queer astronomical features standing out and proud there within the inky blackness is wholly false anyway. Doesn’t she know Freddie Mercury has an entire planet named after him?