COUNT GURUCULA: Hey, how come we send people into Space but we don’t help the poor?

I re-shifted in my deck chair, still searching optimum comfort. The sun level was good but the self appointed guru was wafting for a response. Again he asked,

COUNT GURUCULA: Hey, how come we send people into Space but...

ME: Space? What about war, that unending and dedicated past time of ours?

CG [encore with more poignancy]: Yeah but listen, how come we can send people into Space yet mother earth is dying?

ME: I’ve never heard of oil! Sorry, continue...

CG: Yeah but listen, how come we send people into Space yet the sick with their cardboard walking sticks...

ME: Pharmaceutical companies never exploit anyone! Oh, space, you were saying?

CG: Listen…

On and on it goes. I realised I couldn’t kill this self-resurrecting beast. I drew a diagram hoping to illustrate where mankind puts his efforts; thick arrows with large capitals emphasising ‘ WAR', ‘ OIL', ‘ PROFITEERING' and skinny arrows with small fonts on ‘science’ and ‘immigrants’; it was a master class of my design skills. 

Still, Count Gurucula was having none of it. The real enemy of mankind was Space. A contented silence absorbed in to the glazy sunshine and I lost track of time.

ME: Hey, how come we use all our resources on war yet there's all that space above us?

The Count nodded. The real enemy of mankind is Space. I had conceded, there was certainly lots of it.