When the Moon Hits Your Eye

by John Scalzi

“Hi, Mom,” LeMae said. “LeMae, why are the people on the news saying the moon is made of cheese?” Beverly Anderson said. “How are you going to land on cheese, baby?”

“You know, she really will dump your coffee on your head,” Clyde said to Dave. “She’s been here for twenty years. She has tenure.” “We’re just flirting.” “That’s not how you flirt,” Alton said to Dave. “That’s not how you flirt,” Dave said back to Alton.

Blue cheese is, like, veins of bacteria wrapped around curds.” “I’ve never heard blue cheese described that way,” Hannah remarked. “I’m not wrong,” Powell insisted. “I mean, you’re a little wrong,” Santiago said. “Blue cheese is more complicated than that.”

“This is bullshit,” McCarthy said. “Even if he is who you say he is, which I doubt, and even if he had his own piece, which I doubt, highly, there’s no saying the cheese from one part of the moon is the same as from any other place. It’s like fuckin’ wine, man. It’s got that thing, you know, about the dirt and shit.” “Terroir,” Gutter said. They all looked at Gutter for a moment. “Yeah, that,” McCarthy finished.

Darius existed in a hazy “just asking questions” no-man’s-land between general sanity and extreme bullshit.

LeMae gave a shrug and an expression that managed to cover her disgust with the event and the resignation at the ability of men to make existing as a woman an actual trial, and the desire never to think about any of it ever again.

“He’s self-reporting,” Cyrus said. “You can’t trust rich people to honestly tell you what they’re worth. Even a duck.”

“I’m the president of the United States and I’ve been dealing with the end of the world all day long. I think I should be able to leave my shirt on the floor.” Angie looked over the tablet at him, silent. “Fine.” Boone reached down, picked up the shirt, and carried it and himself into the adjoining dressing room.

“Why are they flipping off the moon?” “Because it’s making them question the nature of reality and confront their possible mortality, mostly.” “We used to take shrooms for that,” Ted said.

He couldn’t remember if his insurance covered riots. He was about to find out.

Tony: No Randall has always been a gossipy little bitch Randall: I’m right here Tony: I know you are and I said what I said

“You aimed for Blondie. You hit Vampire Weekend.” “That’s an awful thing to say to someone.” “I was being nice,” Cassie said. “I almost said you hit Owl City.” “How dare you.” “I said ‘almost.’ I left you with some dignity.”

“I thought you were straight,” Dustin said. “I’m not straight, I’m just lazy,” Cassie said. “I don’t want to have to go looking, and men hit on me more. So it’s just a numbers game at that point.”