The centre of Pluto, Mr. Smith, is made up of a substance called plutonium. Mines like these suck Plutonium up to the cities, where corporations use it to power everything, from diamond cars to golden showers. And the more we remove, the more Pluto shrinks.

… But a few years ago, your scientists had noticed Pluto had gotten so small they couldn’t even call it a planet any more. Should have been our wake up call. But the rich plutonians won’t wake up. And they love your dad telling everyone Pluto’s a planet, because that means they can keep mining until Pluto goes from planet to asteroid to meteor, and finally, poof.