Aliens and lazers.

So a certain forum on which I can occasionally be found has a section about UFOs and aliens, with the question, "Do you believe?" Because I am being birthday-lazy a day early this year, I am just posting a rant from there here. I never claimed to not be lazy, so don't look so shocked! (Sorry you have to be subjected to this again, Bowman.) Really, though, I'm just boring and have nothing to say to the masses tonight. Woogity boogity boo.

There most certainly is intelligent life out there from other planets. When I go to the store in Hick-land (where I live), the rednecks tell me, "You don't look like you're from around here, bo-ah." I say, "I'm not. I'm from the East Coast." They say, "I can tell." Then I tell the rednecks that I am not from the East Coast but am actually a spy from another planet, "Uh, Jasper, I'm from another galaxy, brother," I say, but they always think I'm joking. "That queer-looking sissy bo-ah from the ocean state says he ain't from around here, and he means it, by golly! Bubba, get me ma gun." Then the rednecks make fun of me for my educational pursuits, for the fact that I voted for Kerry but still love my country and because they think I look gay and and think that gay people are either evil or funny. So I get upset and send a message to my home planet to come and get me. Because I'm not finished with my work here (that being to study Western philosophy in an attempt to get to the true nature of what it means to be human so that we can figure you all out before we take over the universe and everything in it), the elders of my planet refuse to come and get me. This is very annoying, since the Earth body they picked for me is too large and hairy, and it's hot in the Bible Belt. So I beam the elders back an official letter of complaint. In order to shut me up, they do allow me seven lazer obliterations after this. So I hunt down the redneck who made fun of where I come from and displayed an apalling homophobia, and I use one beam on his fat ass. One on the rest of him. Three on his huge pickup trick. One on his tractor and another on his mailbox, just because that's funny. This makes me feel better, so I can stay here and complete my mission. I'm patriotic. I work hard for my planet and our cause of interplanetary conquest. Okay, intergalactic conquest. I do get paid a lot of alien bucks for my work from the elders, but I can't use it on this planet. You humans and your lowly plastic and paper money. Damn you. So yeah, I believe in aliens. I ain't from around here.

Thanks to "Sgt. Slaughter" for letting me share his story with you. But, between you and I, I think he might really be from another planet. Seriously. That dude is scary.