March 23rd, 2009

  • roybot

3-piece suit aliens

i was smoking a cigarette on the porch, as i tend to do about once a fortnight, when something unusual happened. a flying saucer descended from the sky, spinning and flashing and blinking. it parked in my yard, outside the porch. a hatch opened, and green alien men filed out from it in a placid, orderly fashion. all of the green alien men were wearing tailored 3-piece suits, and had expensive watches. one stepped forward and rapped on the window. i opened the porch door and asked what they wanted.

my question was answered with another question. they asked me, did i want to be a winner? i bluntly replied that i'd asked them what they wanted first, but my puerile wordplay seemed to be lost in translation. the question was repeated, did i want to be a winner? sure, why not, i said. it was a very general classification, but a positive one.

i was then told that to be a winner, i had to be a go-getter. to be a winner, i had to be a closer. i was told how winners got a life with four audis to choose from in the morning, and 2.3 martinis to enjoy in the evening. i was presented with a blackberry pearl, and told it was a gift for me. they said i could also have nice 3-piece suits, a legion of expensive watches, and a membership to an exclusive manhattan gym. they said i could have all these things, if i got on their Ship and took a Trip with them.

however, i'd been somewhat put off by their general lack of humor, and they seemed to spout the same babble no matter which questions i asked. additionally, their flying saucer struck me as kind of gaudy, i don't wear watches, and i hate suits.

so, i refused. i gave them back their blackberry pearl. they seemed a bit ruffled, for the first time, but continued calmly nonetheless. they insisted that i'd be insane to refuse such an offer. i was told that if i was not a winner, that would mean i'd be a loser. another called out from the ranks, a catcall suggesting that i was an impossible-to-help loser, and that they shouldn't have bothered with me. the leader shushed him and said to give me a chance to be reasonable. would i be sane, do the right thing, be a go-getter, a closer, a winner?

the good-cop/bad-cop routine was the final straw. i snubbed out my cigarette (only 3/4 done), closed the door, and went inside. i then closed my eyes and leaned on the wall, letting my mind drift a little in the hopes i'd calm down and forget i'd just been pitched by a cult of alien yuppies. however, something disproportionately dramatic happened: instead of my mind clearing, i felt it floating upwards, flipping upside-down and sideways. but, when i opened my eyes, i was back in my body again. while this sounds cool, it was actually intensely nauseating, like an over-the-top amusement park ride. i felt the argument with the aliens playing back in my head over and over, asking the same questions, would i be a winner, would i be a closer, would i be a go-getter, to which i replied, over and over, no, no, no, no, no. i peered out the blinds and saw the aliens were still there, staring at my porch. they were getting into my head, trying to argue me into changing my mind -- or trick me, or simply wear me down with constant pestering and heckling. they were trying to steal my soul.

at this point, my dinner of greasy chinese food, the scotch, and my general weakness to nicotine combined with the aliens' astral noodling to mass effect. i hurled myself into the bathroom, and hurled part of my stomach contents into the toilet shortly thereafter. i noticed that while the aliens were still in my head, they were quieter and less forceful after i'd puked. i tried to stand, but had to abort midway in order to eject the rest of my stomach contents. i noticed the voices were quieter still. their energy had been partially channeled through junk food, alcohol, and nicotone. however, even with the nicotine wearing off, i still heard them. they heckled, teased, and argued. so, i stumbled back into the living room and packed a bowl. after a few puffs, the voices started to seem intensely silly. i couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably at voices, and at everything they said. my laughter seemed to terrify the alien voices, causing them to flee. and i thought this stuff just made music better....

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker