X is for Xenophile
X is for Xenophile; what could that mean?
Ask the little men whose skins are of green.
“If you want, I can show you the implant scars.”
“What?!?”
“I said I CAN SHOW YOU THE IMPLANT SCARS!”
“It’s too bright in the city to see the stars!”
“No… forget it.”
It’s really hard to talk to people in most clubs because the music is so loud. But I come to these places because they are noisy and there are lots of people. Crowds of people are usually safe, and so I stay with them. It has gotten harder, though, because sometimes even when there are lots of people around, I receive a Visitation.
When I turned around to the bar, I realized that this was one of those times when being around lots of people wasn’t safe. On the next stool, one of the Reticulans was sipping a beer. They’re the tall ones that almost look human, except for the six-fingered hands and being hermaphrodites, even the really sexy ones with the big tits who say “I wish to learn the ways of Earth-kissing.” Boy, was I surprised about that. But all in all, I was glad it was a Reticulan. Once a Reptoid dropped in next to me while I was on the bus, and I had to tell an old lady that she was going to a Halloween party. I didn’t realize until later that it was November. I lose so much time, I have trouble keeping track of things like holidays.
“Oh no, what’s happening now? I can’t have another anal probe because my diverticulitis is acting up.”
“You don’t have diverticulitis. You’re a hypochondriac. The implants should keep you in perfect health. Do you think I can get a refill of these Earth-peanuts?”
“The implants have made me impotent, and I can’t taste sour anymore!”
“That’s all in your head. Our implants don’t do that. The Rigelians use something different that might interfere with the taste centers of your primitive Earth-brain.”
“What about the impotence?”
“Buy some Viagra. According to the coded packet-switching transmissions we’ve intercepted, there are many suppliers of this Earth-drug available through your primitive Earth-internet.”
“Stop saying everything is a primitive Earth-thing, and tell me what you want!”
“According to our instruments, you are about to experience a Grade-3 Reality Incursion Event, and we wanted to warn you.”
“What the hell is a…”
“Grade-3 Reality Incursion Event.”
“Yeah.”
“This one looks like what you Earthlings call a ‘hum-dinger.’ The walls will start to melt, and creatures from the Id will storm in and try and steal your guts, but this is psycho-surreal symbolism for them stealing your courage. According to our stochastic models, you’ll need all your courage for the ordeals to come.”
“Oh God, more monsters?”
“Yes. That’s why I brought you this molecular deconjunctifier.”
“... That’s a ray gun?”
“Yes, a ray gun. Point this bit, pull this bit, and it makes other people’s bits go explodey.”
“I like the design anyhow. Really retro. Way better than that Reptoid thing that was all pulsing tubes and bone.”
“Indeed. The Reptoids totally suxxor. Ah! Here’s more delicious primitive Earth-peanuts!”
(Written, again, by Benjamin Baugh.)
Ask the little men whose skins are of green.
“If you want, I can show you the implant scars.”
“What?!?”
“I said I CAN SHOW YOU THE IMPLANT SCARS!”
“It’s too bright in the city to see the stars!”
“No… forget it.”
It’s really hard to talk to people in most clubs because the music is so loud. But I come to these places because they are noisy and there are lots of people. Crowds of people are usually safe, and so I stay with them. It has gotten harder, though, because sometimes even when there are lots of people around, I receive a Visitation.
When I turned around to the bar, I realized that this was one of those times when being around lots of people wasn’t safe. On the next stool, one of the Reticulans was sipping a beer. They’re the tall ones that almost look human, except for the six-fingered hands and being hermaphrodites, even the really sexy ones with the big tits who say “I wish to learn the ways of Earth-kissing.” Boy, was I surprised about that. But all in all, I was glad it was a Reticulan. Once a Reptoid dropped in next to me while I was on the bus, and I had to tell an old lady that she was going to a Halloween party. I didn’t realize until later that it was November. I lose so much time, I have trouble keeping track of things like holidays.
“Oh no, what’s happening now? I can’t have another anal probe because my diverticulitis is acting up.”
“You don’t have diverticulitis. You’re a hypochondriac. The implants should keep you in perfect health. Do you think I can get a refill of these Earth-peanuts?”
“The implants have made me impotent, and I can’t taste sour anymore!”
“That’s all in your head. Our implants don’t do that. The Rigelians use something different that might interfere with the taste centers of your primitive Earth-brain.”
“What about the impotence?”
“Buy some Viagra. According to the coded packet-switching transmissions we’ve intercepted, there are many suppliers of this Earth-drug available through your primitive Earth-internet.”
“Stop saying everything is a primitive Earth-thing, and tell me what you want!”
“According to our instruments, you are about to experience a Grade-3 Reality Incursion Event, and we wanted to warn you.”
“What the hell is a…”
“Grade-3 Reality Incursion Event.”
“Yeah.”
“This one looks like what you Earthlings call a ‘hum-dinger.’ The walls will start to melt, and creatures from the Id will storm in and try and steal your guts, but this is psycho-surreal symbolism for them stealing your courage. According to our stochastic models, you’ll need all your courage for the ordeals to come.”
“Oh God, more monsters?”
“Yes. That’s why I brought you this molecular deconjunctifier.”
“... That’s a ray gun?”
“Yes, a ray gun. Point this bit, pull this bit, and it makes other people’s bits go explodey.”
“I like the design anyhow. Really retro. Way better than that Reptoid thing that was all pulsing tubes and bone.”
“Indeed. The Reptoids totally suxxor. Ah! Here’s more delicious primitive Earth-peanuts!”
(Written, again, by Benjamin Baugh.)