[ WP ] Remember that company that would let you buy a packet to 'name a star ' whatever you 'd like ? Turns out , despite all expectations , that was actually legally binding . Today , NASA has an announcement to make .

Gerald was sweating. 
 
 Gerald usually sweats. He glistened anytime he had spent more than 30 minutes away from a towel. His father was usually who he blamed, since it ’ s easier to blame the genetics of a man who died from too much cholesterol than it is to blame one ’ s own terrible ( but similar ) eating choices. But today was not a day that his profuse sweat could be so easily explained. Anyone would sweat in Gerald ’ s shoes, given what he had to do today. But Gerald wasn ’ t lucky enough to have anyone take him up on that offer. 
 
 He was in PR. His job until last month was nothing exciting, even though he was working for NASA: He moderated NASA ’ s social media pages. Day after day, he had to sift through page after page and comment after comment of the same drivel and dreck put out by people who had nothing better to do than to blame NASA for problems that weren ’ t NASA ’ s fault. “ Why isn ’ t NASA going to the Moon? Ur going to let the Chinese beat us! ” Delete. “ You should take money from the democrats and unions and use that to fund more rocket ships. ” Delete. “ STOP SENDING MIND CONTROL SATELLITES INTO THE SKY!! ” DELETE. 
 
 Ugh. 
 
 But last month, finally, he got his break. Marci was out on maternity leave. Will was fired for being too high too often. Jerry was promoted and Andy was transferred to California. NASA needed someone from PR to move up, and by process of elimination, Gerald was the last one standing ( well, sweating, but he usually did that ). He was promoted to Associate Representative of Public Relations. He could finally leave the trolls and conspiracy nuts of the internet, and work in the main office. He would draft press releases, he would toss bullet points back and forth with the other Associates and even some of the Senior reps. It ’ s what he wanted since he graduated, and he had finally gotten his break. 
 
 It had been great so far. Sure, he was still in a cube, and sure, he was still spending most of his day in front of a screen, but now he had a conversation or two a day about things that were more than “ Look at how crazy this tweet is! ” It was good enough that, even when word came in today that someone was going to have to do a presser, he was thinking he could do it. But he didn ’ t count on the fact that he would be the kid who didn ’ t step back when everyone else did at summer camp. He was too shocked thinking about what the hell he would say before he realized he had accidentally volunteered at the staff meeting. The news coming from the head office was too amazing, too monumental for him to think of his own skin. 
 
 So here he was. He was about to take the stage and he didn ’ t have any more answers than earlier that day at the staff meeting. He was still sweating. But at least now he had a reason besides genetics for it. But like genetics, there wasn ’ t anything he could do about it this time. 
 
 Makeup had told him he couldn ’ t wipe his forehead; he ’ d smear the foundation. They promised they ’ d give him enough to cover up his sweating. The kind of stuff they give bridesmaids at summer weddings. He wasn ’ t confident it would help, given what his father left him with, but for once in his life he had bigger issues than that. 
 It was time. His introduction was made and he had to talk to the reporters. He stood up, already in view of the cameras and reporters. He walked to the podium. The clickity clack of cameras reflecting the brittle state of his nerves. He placed his sweatened notes on the podium and awkwardly adjusted the mic. 
 
 He cleared his throat. 
 
 “ Hrm. Uhh, yes. Well, hello. I think we all know why we are here today. ” 
 
 Gerald ’ s attempt at humor wasn ’ t effective. He shifted his weight, hoping it would be a decent enough segue. 
 “ Right. So I guess I can get to it then. This morning, at 7:52 a.m. Houston time, we received a definitive radio signal from space that we believe can only have been from an uhh… intelligent source. ” 
 
 The room erupted. Reporters nearly leaped at him, flashbulbs blinded him, and the deafening roar of questions nearly toppled him over. He raised his hands in defense like a schoolyard pipsqueak, hoping the bully would take mercy on his cowering form. The room obliged, though more so they could get an answer to any question than anything else. Gerald noticed the silence, and pointed to the closest reporter. 
 
 “ Yes, you. ” 
 
 “ How do you know it ’ s intelligent life? ” 
 
 “ The signal is unmistakably artificial. No natural phenomenon could produce it. ” He moved on to another reporter. “ Yes, you. ” 
 
 “ But how do you know that? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t know, you ’ d have to ask the uhh.. ” He always called them eggheads. Somehow that didn ’ t seem appropriate here. “ The scientist guys… ” 
 
 “ So you don ’ t know why? ” 
 
 “ Well no, but they are analyzing it as we speak, and the early results are clear: There is life out there besides us. ” 
 Another reporter was faster than the others. “ Do we know if they are hostile. ” 
 
 “ No we don ’ t. ” Gerald said. 
 
 “ Do we know what they look like? ” yet another asked. 
 
 “ No. Just radio signals. ” 
 
 “ Do we know what they sound like then? ” 
 
 “ No. ” 
 
 “ Do you know anything at all you can tell us? ” 
 
 The woman ’ s question caught Gerald off guard. The room seemed to agree, as no one made a sound. 
 
 The problem was, Gerald did have something he could tell them. But every bone in his body told him to not say it. He would gladly die from sweating to death like his dad if he could avoid saying what he had to say right now. 
 But he couldn ’ t wait. The room was leaning in, giving Gerald an acute and sudden case of claustrophobia. His shoulders sank, he sighed. He gave up on shuffling through his notes again and stared out into the crowd. 
 
 “ We know from where the signal came. ” 
 
 A hundred voices spoke, but shared the same request: “ Where? ” 
 
 Gerald gulped. 
 
 “ A star a few thousand light years from here. ” 
 
 “ Which one? ” 
 
 Gerald thought ‘ Welp, here goes nothing. ’ 
 
 “ The star was named a decade ago, as part of the International Star Registry. We won ’ t yet reveal the person who named the star, not until they contact us. But since every nation is a party to the Star Registry Treaty, we are all legally bound to call the star, and its associated star system, the Shit Ass Balls star system. ” 
 
 For once, the room was silent. Gerald thought himself lucky until he realized he needed to keep speaking. 
 
 “ The uhh… alien signal originated from the Shit Ass Balls star system. ” 
 
 That didn ’ t break the silence. 
 
 “ We are, um… conditionally calling the originators of the signal the err… Shit Ass-ians. Although I personally think we ought to go with the Shit Ass Ball-ians, since that is the name of the system after all and well… ” He trailed off. 
 
 A reporter finally chimed in, “ Don ’ t you think we ought to call them the Shitians? It seems much easier to say, and I bet it would translate much better. ” 
 
 “ That ’ s, uhh, something we will take under advisement. ” 
 
 Another hand shot up. “ Why don ’ t we go with SAB ’ s? That way we are giving them all the proper deference to their star system name, and we can keep it short and sweet for the average American. ” 
 
 “ It ’ s uhh.. not my call. But if there are any more questions about the Shit As- ” 
 
 “ Do you think NASA is going to take heat from the Republicans for using what some consider a vulgar word? ” 
 
 “ Well, sure, but it since NASA is part of a Government that agreed to the Treaty, we are bound to its dictate. We will not want to violate another international treaty. ” 
 
 Gerald ’ s reasonableness seemed to calm the crowd. He took this opportunity to regain the momentum. 
 
 “ As I said before, we are still analyzing the data. As we get more information, we will disseminate it through our- ” He checked his notes, smiling for the first time today, “ through our social media accounts and press releases. ” 
 
 He ignored the rest of the shouts. Some poor sap in PR would have to field the questions on facebook. He could handle the rest of the press conference. 

