Tucker didn’t believe in aliens from outer space. He had more immediate and pressing concerns; like how to get rid of all the flies that invaded his house over summer. Each autumn would be spent with a squirt bottle of window cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other, clearing walls, windows, and cupboards of little black specks.
He didn’t like using chemical fly spray much. To be honest, he wasn’t a Greenie; he didn’t avoid fly spray because of environmental concerns. He avoided fly spray because he had a fish tank and life in an aquarium doesn’t appreciate lethal chemical weapons. The fish were safe.
But enough is enough! The day was hot and sticky. Tucker was cooking some corned beef to have cold with a salad in the sultry evening. Flies came from far and wide. Tucker grabbed an old can of fly spray and let the flies have it.
“That’ll teach you… you… you…” said Tucker.
The fish in the aquarium died. Its last words were, “I had told my boss back on the home planet that I didn’t want to be a fish.”
Let me make it quite clear: I don’t believe in outer-space aliens, I have never believed in aliens, and I will never believe in aliens. They are a fiction and not an overly interesting one. Which is why it was a bit strange, given my antipathy towards fictional extra-terrestrials, that I got a handwritten note in my mailbox lamenting that this blog hadn’t had a story in it for quite a while involving outer-space aliens. It was signed “Alien from Out There”.
To be honest, I saw red. If a friend (or acquaintance) wanted science fiction they were welcome to tell me to my face. I scribbled a reply at the bottom of the note that read “If you’re so keen on science fiction why don’t you write one yourself.”
The next day there was a story in my mailbox. Here it is. It hasn’t changed my scepticism about aliens one bit.
Earthlings are so tasteless. I don’t mean we eat them; I mean they don’t have much judgement when it comes to being classy. No taste. Four of us landed on Planet Earth several months ago and we have merged into the crowd while we observe Earthling behaviour.
The first thing I dislike very much is having to wear big plastic earrings with numbers on them. Mine are blue. Some others wear yellow. There doesn’t seem to be much variety in colour, not to mention variation in design. Of course we wear the horrible things to “merge in” but just how tasteless can one get?
Secondly, these Earthlings are extremely lazy. They have these two-legged servants – slaves I would call them – who do all the work. They feed the Earthlings, they milk the Earthlings, they move the Earthlings into different fields so that they have a change of view. The Earthlings do nothing for themselves. It is all done by their two-legged slaves.
The third most noticeable thing is that they have a pretty limited vocabulary. They seem to make the same word have different meanings according to the context and the intonation. I suppose it could best be described as “Blluhhhh”, although Astrzinia from our group reckons it sounds more like “Moooo”. Whatever.
Thankfully our time studying the Earthlings is drawing to a close and I’ll be able to take off these ridiculous earrings. I look forward to being able to have a decent conversation once again. And as for those two-legged servants – goodness gracious! They’re more of a nuisance than anything else. Astrzinia is taking a couple of the two-legged servants back home with her to put in the local zoo.
Well! At last! At last! The problem is solved! An alien spacecraft has landed on earth and the superior-technologied aliens are friendly! It’s proof at last that we are not alone in the universe.
Prior to the spacecraft landing the earth was in upheaval. It seemed that every country was at each other’s throats. The aliens were super-friendly but they still had weaponry that could wipe earth out in a split second. The aliens’ superior power would force the divided world to be united.
China quickly formed an exclusive alliance with them.
Of course Gavin wasn’t his real name and nor was he Jemima Puddle-Duck. Jemima Puddle-Duck was simply one of the many Beatrix Potter characters in costume at the Theme Park. Gavin arrived at work in costume and left work in costume. No one had actually seen what he looked like – which was just as well because he wasn’t human. In fact, he didn’t originate from this planet at all. He was an alien from outer space; hence the name “Gavin” because his real name was a series of unpronounceable grunts.
He arrived and left work in costume not because he didn’t want his workmates to see him but because when he commuted to work other people on the bus would wonder what was going on. He didn’t mind his workmates knowing because they were all aliens in costume too. In fact the Theme Park had been founded by aliens and the operation was used to investigate the way Planet Earth operated.
But now the Theme Park was running into problems. Fewer and fewer families seemed to visit. The costumes were looking stale and dowdy. Some new life had to be injected into the Theme Park. That was when Gavin had an idea.
All the Beatrix Potter characters threw off their costumes and stood as aliens in a brand new theme for the Theme Park. The new theme was Science Fiction. Visitors flocked. They had never seen such wonderful costumes. Those alien characters looked so real. And that’s the naked truth.
It had been a difficult time for Annie. She knew she wasn’t living in cuckoo land, but everyone else seemed to think so. No one believed her when she spoke of what had happened to her; where she had gone and why. Now she simply shut up about it except on rare occasions. If the person had asked kindly she didn’t mind too much narrating her experience, but usually she resented being pooh-poohed.
Her abduction naturally wasn’t voluntary. The aliens had been polite but firm. She had been selected because she was practical in the kitchen. They wanted to ask her about ordinary kitchen utensils. Most of them they couldn’t work out what they were for. A hand-beater for example; what was it used for and how?
Annie discovered that the aliens had every kitchen utensil and appliance under the sun, and wanted to have an entire room in the main museum on their home planet dedicated to Earthling Kitchen Gadgetry. Annie thought it quite fun to tell them all sorts of tall stories. A spatula, for example, was used for beating a wayward child. A frying pan was for smashing eggs; just place half a dozen eggs on the bench and smash them with a frying pan. A garlic press was for destoning plums. There was nothing that Annie didn’t make up a story about. Next time you go to the aliens’ museum you’ll see how wrong they have got the labelling. That’s because of Annie’s stories.
“That’s absolutely fascinating, Annie,” said the nurse. “The doctor will see you in a minute.”
Poor Mrs. Mabel Bloxham had been chosen at random and abducted by aliens. They were taking her back to their home planet for investigation.
Normally Mabel wouldn’t have minded. In fact, she would enjoy the adventure, but in this case they had snatched her away and she was without her medication.
She asked the aliens in the flying saucer on the way (she did so via the exfibbertranslaticator) if they had extra advanced medical knowledge and could zap her back to full health. They answered that human physical makeup was so different from theirs that their advanced medicine would offer no advantage. That was why they wanted to examine her to learn more about the bodies of Earthlings. Then they might be of help.
Mrs. Mabel Bloxham’s problem was that she had no legs. Her legs were artificial. She had to take pills to stabilize things.
Upon examination the aliens were astounded. They had no idea when they abducted her that she was legless.
The aliens were from an advanced civilization. They had no word for war. They had no word for pain. They had no word for bad. They simply spread kindness throughout the universe. Which was why, when they arrived on Earth to help the humans, they cut off everyone’s legs.
I have no doubt that you have heard of genies in bottles. Genies pop out of uncorked bottles to grant the cork-poppers three wishes. Of course it is just a silly fairy story, it certainly is, but the basis of the myth is firmly grounded in a reality. Unfortunately at the present time I am not in a position to disclose my sources, but they are true and reliable.
About a thousand or so years ago one of the more advanced civilizations in our galaxy happened to come across Planet Earth. Tourists from the alien planet began to flock. The aliens were enamoured by the simplicity and backwardness of the Earthlings. The aliens played all sorts of tricks because they loved to see the surprise on an Earthling’s face. The aliens would indeed grant wishes.
This activity didn’t last for long. The Head Gazompher of the alien planet made a decree: all recognizable dealing with Earthlings had to cease. We must not interfere with the evolutionary process of creatures within the Cosmos. By all means watch them in an invisible way, but do not meddle in their affairs.
To cover their footprints, so to speak, the aliens concocted myths about genies granting wishes. Genies popping out of bottles became rooted in Earthling mythology. The Head Gazompher (I’m still alive) is well pleased.
There is a phrase that the natives use on the Planet Dismusious that goes: Éðß¿¿ ƣŶƛź ḝ ⅌ℱ℥ӝҤӃ. Literally translated it says: He who likes not turnips should not fish.
Of course the word used is not “turnips” as they don’t have turnips on Dismusious. Nor for that matter do they have fish. Nor do the Dismusiousians have any word to denote negation such “non” and “not”. In fact to a non-Dismusiousian the phrase is quite meaningless. However, with a little help from an erudite bunch of alter-aliens a semblance of meaning can be deciphered.
Strictly speaking it is a warning – when conjurnicating don’t wedleidong else you could harm the qiesllon. Mrs. Masie Brown of Wisconsin said she had never heard anything so stupid. One has nothing to do with the other and both convey no meaning whatsoever.
Professor Lola Fitzsimons was able to point out a few home truths to Mrs. Maisie Brown.
“You,” said Professor Lola, “are a shameless bag of cow manure. You judge everything by earth’s standards. But there are other ways of skinning a cat elsewhere in the universe. You suffer from a bad case of ethnocentricity. When it comes to the way inhabitants on other planets do and say things, your racism comes to the fore. You are caught is the all-devouring whirlpool of Earthling superiority.”
“All I can say in response to that,” said Mrs. Masie Brown, “is Éðß¿¿ ƣŶƛź ḝ ⅌ℱ℥ӝҤӃ. So put that in your pipe and ԋԀ ðՆԿŶƛỼ it.”
Sometimes (quite often actually) I feel as if I’m being watched. It’s nothing really. It’s just that every time I go somewhere everyone and everything looks. In fact, once or twice I’ve put my hands into my pockets just to ascertain whether or not I remembered to put on my pants.
There’s nothing unusual about my appearance that I know of. I’m really quite ordinary to look at. In fact, when I left my home planet (somewhere up near Sirius – I’m not allowed to say) I thought the Department of Shape-Changing did a pretty good job of making me look like an ordinary Earthling.
But here on Earth it’s mainly the cows that stare. I know that the Crowdacians (they’re from a planet fairly close to mine, and they’re our greatest enemy) take on the appearance of a cattle beast. They’re so good at it that often I can’t tell a real cow from a Crowdacian. The Cow is one look that our Department of Shape-Changing has never been able to master.
So when I see a herd of cattle I stop. They all stare, and I shout: “Ha! Ha! Ha! Milking time! Go home! Milking time!” That usually sorts them out. The fake-cow-Crowdacians can’t stand that. They stamp their feet and drool at the mouth. So that’s one way I get to determine who is who.
But now I’m faced with a terrible conundrum. To make myself appear even more normal of a human being I got myself a pet cat. Every second Earthling seems to have a pet cat. And now I’ve discovered that my cat in fact is a Midconsevarian in disguise. At first I didn’t know where the planet was that Midconsevarians came from. But now I know and it’s not nice. I love my cat but have strict orders from my Department of Shape-Changing that I shouldn’t associate.
What am I to do? Everything and everyone stares. I love my pet cat. I want to go home. I asked to be relieved of this terrible cross (goodness, I seem to be taking on the language of an Earthling religion). I have been told that I am on a sixty year contract to stay on Earth.
So a warning to others: think twice before volunteering to do a spell on Earth. It can really suck.