Open Letter to Astronaut

Dear Astronaut Executives, Board Members, PR Crisis Interns, and whoever’s still left monitoring the corporate Slack,

I hear you're looking for a new CEO after your last one heroically resigned in the wake of the Coldplaygate debacle. Tragic stuff. A man felled not by fiscal mismanagement, a hostile takeover, or even a private jet scandal—but by Chris Martin’s dreamy falsetto and a poorly-timed photo op. Corporate martyrdom truly has a new face.

Now, before you lose faith entirely in humanity (or at least in your ability to vet leadership candidates who understand the geopolitical sensitivity of British pop-rock concerts), allow me to humbly and sarcastically present myself as your next Chief Executive Officer. Here’s why I’m the best and most logical choice:

1. I Don’t Like Coldplay.

Let’s just get that one right out front. No need to scrub my playlists or comb through my Spotify Wrapped—I’ve never voluntarily clicked on “Yellow.” In fact, I once got kicked out of a Lyft for saying Parachutes was “a musical lullaby for people who find mayonnaise too spicy.”

You want leadership that won’t be lured into a PR nightmare by the siren call of “Viva La Vida”? That’s me. My ears are CEO-ready and controversy-free.

2. I Understand Optics.

Unlike your former CEO, I won’t tweet a selfie from the VIP lounge while your company is under public siege. I will, however, tweet well-timed reaction GIFs, release artfully vague statements that say nothing but sound deep, and maybe post an apology video in grayscale if things get really spicy. I know exactly how to make it look like we’re doing something while we’re absolutely not.

PR crises? I eat them for breakfast. (Kellogg’s PRios with a side of Denial Milk.)

3. I’m Not Famous, So There’s Nothing to Cancel.

Let’s be honest: low profile = low risk. I’m not a billionaire tech bro. I don’t own a yacht. I’ve never been photographed in a weird Halloween costume at Burning Man. And I’m definitely not friends with Jared Leto.

I’m basically a walking HR dream. No scandals, no tabloid baggage, and no past Coachella incidents that could resurface on Reddit. Hire me, and your background check software will literally fall asleep halfway through.

4. I Excel at Vague Corporate Nonsense.

Synergy. Disruption. Holistic verticals. I can string these words into sentences so convincingly your investors will nod before realizing I never actually said anything. I’ll give quarterly speeches that sound brave, thoughtful, and innovative—all while saying absolutely nothing of substance. Which, let’s be real, is what the CEO role has evolved into anyway.

Need a “visionary roadmap for Q4 that aligns with stakeholder values and pivots toward a digital-first resilience strategy”? Baby, I’ve got decks for days.

5. I Won’t Mistake a Concert for a Diplomatic Summit.

Unlike your last guy, I won’t mistake a Coldplay show for a Davos forum. I know the difference between a cultural moment and a corporate landmine. I also know that when a region is dealing with, say, civil unrest, human rights violations, or a minor thing called genocide accusations, maybe don’t Instagram your backstage pass with a heart emoji.

I’ll be the kind of CEO who reads the room. And occasionally, the news.

6. I’m Hilarious—And You Need That Right Now.

Your brand is bruised. The memes are flowing. Late-night shows are getting mileage out of your misstep. What you need is a leader who can lean in, laugh at the absurdity, and rebuild your image with some damn charm.

I’ll be your satirical savior. The CEO who does LinkedIn posts with a wink, apologizes with both humility and snark, and makes “remember the Coldplay thing?” into an ironic inside joke at our next investor summit.

7. I’m Cheaper Than Whoever You’re Interviewing.

Let’s not ignore the financials. You can hire me for a fraction of what you paid the last guy. No golden parachute needed—unless it’s a literal one for product testing. I’ll even bring my own coffee mug to the office and won’t expense “executive mindfulness retreats” in Iceland.

Just give me a decent salary, a corner desk, and a strict ban on Maroon 5 playing in the lobby. We’re trying to rebuild trust here.

In Closing:

Astronaut, I am ready to lead your company into a new era—one devoid of unnecessary Coldplay-related implosions, one where common sense is cool again, and one where the CEO doesn’t trend for all the wrong reasons.

I’m ready to serve with sarcasm, sincerity, and a strict musical policy.

Sincerely,

Mike “Thunder” Phillips

CEO Candidate, Coldplay Skeptic, Corporate Realist, and Possibly Your Last Hope