Friday, August 05, 2011
Fast or Feast?
Having worked in mental health, I just rolled the old eyes and thought "Here we fucking go. The next sentence out of his mouth will be about the antenna he has in his brain, and he'll round it off with an announcement that he is the next Messiah with a message for us all". Loonies tend to go down the same couple of roads. They are either scared shitless of the television and how it is looking at them funny, or they think they should have a channel on it all to themselves and tell everyone important messages from on high.
Interestingly no one else seemed to think this man was a mentaller, and people got awfully excited "Alien intelligence, how interesting, and you say it is because the information carried a high level secrecy rating that that is the reason no one else knows about these Alien liaison agencies, telling us how to fly into space". I'm exhausted by the chatter about UFOs and the like. I just couldn't give a shit about aliens or their vehicles. This planet is already wearing me fucking thin and the stars, apart from the sun as I like a decent tan in the summer, can kiss my arse and fuck off while they are doing it. In the next breath, someone else was harping on about how we have never, actually been to the moon, yet the moon is incredibly close compared to even the nearest star. "Oh no" said this one "There is no way anyone has actually set foot on the moon. It was just propoganda, to poke one in the eye of the Russians".
Where were those fucking Alien Navigation Experts then, hhmm? Does anybody know the answer?
Well, I know why the Aliens did not help spacemen get to the big, dumb moon. It is because they were not interested in petty earth squabbles about who was the fastest up into space, or Communism vs Capitalism. And who can blame them? I am a human and both of those things bore me rigid. If I had one eye, and a very long forehead, and lived in a jellified crater, I can't for a second see myself getting all revved up about either of those questions. And especially if I were a one-alien-genius Universal Navigation Expert, then the idea of directing a bunch of bickering men in oversized white suits and heavy boots, to the equivalent of the corner shop, would leave my rubbery green skin, entirely cold.
Why would the aliens want a human baby? Human babies are pains in the arse. I bet alien babies can go more than half an hour between breastfeeds, or whatever aliens have instead of breasts and don't howl the place down all night. I don;t believe aliens are remotely interested in us, anymore than we are interested in dust
And what is with the anal probes? Are the aliens who visit Earth pervs?
I think this is an important question to know the answer to before we start voyaging among the stars, what if aliens see us humans as sex toys?
I don't want to be seen as some kind of Rampant Rabbit (tm) for something that looks like Jabba the Hutt.
These people with antennas in their heads in touch with the aliens should be pressed for more information. Waterboarding is quite effective I have heard.
Word verification: Hoelise. A lady of negotiable virtue called Elise.
UFO folks, other than the fact they haven't a life,are anal retentive. It's a universal hobgoblin-thing, too. Mankind has got to have its demons. What propounds the general attitude with regard to outer-world creepy-crawlers may have something to do with fastidious parents foisting their proclivities upon their children. A father who insists his pencils and biros are pointed north; a mother who insists one's socks be balled-up and positioned militarily within the confines of a designated top drawer. Such silly shit, and more of it through adolescence can conceivably procure a morbid interest in the bizarre. Hence: these fucking aliens. You see what happens? The aliens, those magnificent, mind-bending creepers, who tend to spill from mysterious space ships, are the errant parents incarnate.
All it tells me is that Sigourny Weaver's got profound issues.
I do not have 'issues' but I do have a flame thrower so just watch yourself. Plus, you spelt my name wrong.
You'll regret your rash words when the aliens come after you and you're found two weeks from now, in the middle of the Mojave desert - crying for your mummy, with a coal shute where your arse used to be.
Profoundly, I apologize to you for the misspelling: forgetting the "e."Really, I will remember it, forevermore. "E," for (e)dgy.
The Mojave "thing," sounds appealing. Haven't had the opportunity to visit. A random fly-over could be intriguing. My "mummy," if she were here, would bid me a fond adieu. However, the installation of a coal apparatus, on or about my posterior, as you strongly suggest, is quite disturbing. Rather unpleasant, as far as I can tell. Neither coal, nor a by-product, exit there, as I speak. Changes to residue would be a shock. Also, a rude appliance, as you suggest, would render me irritable. In a lifetime filled with fraught, irritability is not good. It would, in fact, render me, edgy. To boot, I'd likely develop a need to place a parenthesis around my "E," to thwart forgetfulness. In any event, Sigourn(e)y, you look marvelous, still.
Enoch: I am extremely untidy, and am afraid of all tidy people, but annoying as they are, they are generally way too busy ironing and tidying their knicker drawers to have to time to anally probe anyone. I shouldn't think about it. Like I said - Aliens - not that fussed about us.
Sigourney - for fuck's sake don't encourage him with chat of coal holes and whatnot. Jesus Christ!
But, on the positive side, if you were a one-alien-genius Universal Navigation Expert, you might, just possibly, have some sort of inkling of a clue as to where best to navigate your fucking commas.
Word Verification: oushanc, a Gallic vehicle of disreputable provenance.
Company Voluntary Arrangement
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