"Arrr, mateys! Yonder Americans be primed to snatch the stars, but D.C. be needin' to chuck the chains first!"
2024-12-23
Arrr, when Dale Skran be sailin’ past the airport in New Jersey, he spies a merry “conga line o’ ships” takin’ to the skies! “Zoom, zoom, zoom,” he cackles. In space, he dreams of more ruckus—148 sky-booty launches a year! By thunder, that be a right fine increase!
Ahoy, me hearties! Gather 'round, fer I be tellin' ye the tale of one Dale Skran, a scallywag livin' near the bustling ports o' Newark, New Jersey. As he sails past the local aerodrome, he can't help but spy the “conga line of ships”—nay, not the jolly crew of merry dancers, but mighty metal birds takin' to the skies! “Zoom, zoom, zoom!” he exclaims, likin' it to a grand parade of airborne brigands every few ticks of the hour.But lo and behold, me mateys! Dale, a captain o' sorts at the National Space Society, envisions a future where the vast heavens be as busy as his local runway. With a twinkle in his eye, he dreams o' a world where space travel be as common as a ship comin' in for a dockin'.
In the fiscal year of 2024, a mighty fleet of 148 licensed commercial space operations be settin' sail! Aye, that be meanin' there’s a launch every two-and-a-half days, like clockwork, which be over a 900 percent increase from days of old! So, hoist the sails and prepare ye telescopes, fer the skies be fillin' with swashbucklin' spacefarers quicker than ye can say “X marks the spot!”