When Gilmore first arrived on Earth, he wasn’t sure what to expect. As a proud Plutonian, he had traveled across the solar system to visit this strange little blue planet, drawn by rumors of its wild traditions, boundless entertainment, and an odd obsession with something called “freedom.” What he found was beyond his deepest cosmic imagination.
His first taste of America came in the form of a hot dog—a simple yet profound creation of meat, bun, and inexplicable toppings. “Back home, we eat nutrient pods infused with plasma energy,” Gilmore explained, “but this… this is magic.” The combination of mystery meat and mustard activated sensory receptors he didn’t even know he had.
Then came football. Stumbling into a sports bar one Sunday afternoon, Gilmore found himself immersed in a new kind of warfare—one waged on a 100-yard battlefield, where massive humans clashed over an oblong ball. At first, he struggled to understand why time seemed to stop every few seconds and why humans in stripes held such great power over the game’s fate. But by the third quarter, he was screaming, “GO BIRDS!” alongside a group of diehard Eagles fans.
Las Vegas was next, a shimmering mirage in the desert where humans gathered to lose money and test their luck. Plutonians had their own version of gambling—high-stakes asteroid racing—but nothing prepared Gilmore for the flashing neon lights, the free drinks, and the overwhelming urge to put all his currency (a pouch of rare Plutonian ice crystals) on red. “I was up for a while,” he admitted, “but then I bet it all on the Chiefs, and we all know how that went.”
As Gilmore traveled from city to city, indulging in cheeseburgers, road trips, and an unhealthy amount of reality TV, one thought began to take hold: Pluto should be a part of this.
“I get it now,” he declared at a press conference he held in front of the White House (after trespassing onto the lawn and demanding to meet the President). “This country is a beacon of fun, chaos, and deep-fried creativity. Pluto has spent too long on the fringes, ignored by the galaxy and even demoted from planethood. We want in.”
His proposal was simple: Pluto would join the United States as the 51st state. It would offer abundant natural resources (mostly ice), new cosmic tourism opportunities, and, in return, America would finally recognize it as a planet again. “Let’s be honest,” he argued, “if Nevada gets to be a state, why not Pluto?”
The movement is gaining traction. A petition has already reached thousands of signatures, and there are rumors of a Plutonian delegation arriving to negotiate terms. Whether or not Congress will take the proposal seriously remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: America has gained its biggest extraterrestrial fan.
Pluto for the 51st state? Stranger things have happened. Just ask anyone who’s been to Florida.
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