Neil deGrasse Tyson was born outside the known universe, inside a black hole where time is relative. I’d tell you the name of his solar system, but to your miniscule human brain, the characters alone would make your eyeballs explode, which would be very messy for you. So let’s call the magical realm where Mr. Tyson originated* Fuck-Yeahica. He is flibber-ducat years old and witnessed the Big Bang first-hand, as he was on the team that created it. This makes him your God, so, in the immortal words of Beyoncé, bow down, bitches. Mr. Tyson has indicated that he does not require ritual sacrifice as a worship tool; just please open a damn book once in a while, and he’ll be happy.
*”Born” is such a pedestrian word, and not at all indicative of the laser shows and interstellar fish frys that occurred.
Like most Fuck-Yeahicans, Mr. Tyson learned the galactic sciences by the Earth age of one-and-a-half. These included The Mysterious Formula of Wearing a Mustache in a Pleasing Way, The Qjhdfjahahfuist Equation of How to Thrive on a Planet Full of Idiots While Still Making These Inferior Mortals Feel Good About Themselves, and Space Teleportation Via Unicorn. His adventures with his space unicorn, Winkles, were broadcast on his holographic variety show Neil to Your Leader. They came second in the interstellar ratings after season 438 of The Simpsons.
As a youth, Mr. Tyson enjoyed many hobbies. He cured Adult Onset Assholism in his universe while in grade school (your Earth college). Unfortunately, Assholism still runs rampant on Earth, as humans are just a bunch of dicks**. He embroiders throw pillows with mathematical formulas and gives them free of charge to needy scientists. And, of course, he won not one, but three gold medals in the 400 Meter Wormhole. Not all was fun and Stargates, however — his mustache nearly overtook him at age five and had to be surgically removed for a short while. This was a dark time for Mr. Tyson, nay, all of existence.
**This will all change once the Official Matriarchy takes over earth in 2097. Violent crime will drop to a miniscule number, and repeats of The Golden Girls will air on every channel all day long in honor of the World Vice President, Betty White.
Eventually, it came time for Mr. Tyson to leave Fuck-Yeahica and fulfill his purpose, which is to save Earth from the Great Robotic Panda Wars of the twenty-fifth century. Once he was dispatched to save humanity from themselves, Mr. Tyson faced quite a few challenges. Earthlings treat one another differently based on the amount of melanin in skin, which is monumentally stupid, and the reason that Earth has not been invited into the League of Super-Cool Planets. Jeez, get your shit together, Earth — the League holds some badass four-dimensional bowling nights. Since moving to our planet, he’s found an appreciation for Earth boobs, which is why he married a lucky Earth woman, who taught him how to love. He taught her how to harness the space-time continuum to watch any miniseries whenever she wants to. They have two children, and travel bi-planetarily often so that their kids can enjoy the benefits of Fuck-Yeahica, such as single-payer health care.
Mr. Tyson was appointed by President Bush to study the future of US space policy but, unfortunately, could never get the president to pronounce “nuclear” properly. Currently, Mr. Tyson is an astrophysicist at the Hayden Planetarium, but this is merely a cover for his true mission, which is to foil the plans of one nerd who is, even as you read this, building the first robotic panda prototype, Mr. Snuggly. Mr. Snuggly looks like a widdle cuddle monster, but its true purpose isn’t snuggly in the least. That name is really misleading. Good thing Mr. Tyson could never be fooled by such pedestrian tactics! So watch out, Justin, and stop trying to end the world already, damn; put your misery into a Tumblr like the rest of us.
In the future, Mr. Tyson will leave Earth once his mission is completed. A grateful planet will send him off in style, led in celebration by our leader, Blue Ivy Carter. Where will he and Winkles go next? No one can know. Except for them, presumably. But as much as we’d all like to tie Mr. Tyson up in our living rooms and hug him until he giggles, we must allow him to help other worlds.