Space aliens: You’re rubbish.Why waste all that time and crateloads of Galactic Groats flying all the way to our planet just to abduct a handful of country bumpkins?
These so-called superior intellects kidnap people, force them to have space sex and then dump them back on Earth with something powered by three AA batteries stuffed up their bottoms.
In the words of the intarwebs: “UR DOING IT RONG”. People are laughing at you, for crying out loud. And not in a good way.
Listen, Space Aliens, I know you’re reading this on the Inter-Galactic-HyperWebs - why don’t you pay attention for a couple of minutes and try a different tack?
For example: Ask first. It’s not much. You might find your media image improving into the bargain. For a small payment of Earth money, I could run your PR department for you.
There’d be less of this “puny humans” business for a start. We don’t like and, and you’re creating brand hostility which will be impossible to fix in the long run.
This one’s for free:
“Greetings fellow Galactic Citizen! I represent the Planet Koozbain Other-World Research Agency. Here’s my card. We are offering you, sir or madam, the unique opportunity to travel into space and engage in the delights of Space Sex with a many-tentacled being of our choice.
“There will be no lasting physical or mental effects, bar a small device we wish to implant in your bottom. It will vibrate pleasantly for your delight and play a selection of tunes from the musical Les Miserables. What d’you say? LOL.”
Good Lord, even I’d sign up for thrashing almost tentacle-free sex with an offer like that. What could possibly go wrong? It’d be a badge of honour, rather than a mark of borderline psychosis.
Perhaps, my alien friends, if you’d have done it like this in the first place instead of piling in with the anal probes, you wouldn’t have got the crap beaten out of you on Independence Day. By Jeff Goldblum, of all people.
You’re a laughing stock.
I am not mad. I just need a new battery in my implant.
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