People of Earth
I will admit that I am a great fan of your planet, and always a well wisher around important Earth Holidays such as Arbor day, and Free box day.
I enjoy some of you're Photoconductivity programs such as All in the Family, and will be sad to see the death of the production cast of the humorous show centered around the neurotic doctor and his quirky (if not slightly queer) black friend.
Your marine lifeforms have delighted my 120,500 papillae, even though my race has wiped several species of placostylus and sea otter from the pages of existence (may they never be remembered in memoriam of our conquest).
I will remember the change of you winds, from points where the temperature was too cold for me to enjoy, to the points where the temperature was too hot for me to enjoy.
Sadly, I have decided to destroy your puny planet.
Yes, I do see you all scrambling furiously in a vain attempt to gather golden trinkets and phonographs from a ransacked marketplace from my galactic fortress' telescope, and a part of me does pity you.
You may cower before my throne of a thousand ixchel skulls, begging as you would a golden titan, asking "why oh Lord of 10,000 suns, why would you doom our people to such a merciless fate of floating among the cosmos as particles?"
I, as your Emperor-God-King shall answer my faithful worshiper ants.
Frankly Earth, The clutter sickens me. Before one opens one's mouth he should ask "would The Conqueror of the giants of Canis Majoris really feel moved by my abysmal squabbles of who the next appointed governor of our simple, humble planet should be, and why I favor him to the previous appointed governor? And why am I not toiling in the tomato fields, as to gain favor of our Eternal Monarch?"
I know, I know. I may seem a bit cruel sometimes, but I feel very gracious in explaining why I have chosen your planet to be the target of my Teleforce Cannon. I must say, my dear people of earth, after listening to mindless chatter discussing which of your early century artist was better at painting portly females, or which of your gladiators will celebrate victory on Sunday and have the pleasure of ravishing their opponent's lifemates:
Do not weep for the mistakes you have made on behalf of your deceased ancestors, for they have been shaken from this mortal coil, as shall you.
So as I charge my intergalactic death machine for the next 24 hours to fire upon your pitiful blue planet, think of your fondest memories, and how much happier you all might be as cosmic dust.
But most of all, think of how rude it was for twenty four year old Jennifer Parsons of Fremont Nebraska to write such foul graffiti on my 97' Corolla while I visited your insignificant rock for some spaghetti squash
yes Jenny, Your supreme Overlord saw you do it.
-First Conqueror of the Dog Star, Lord Canus Son of Calus-
I enjoy some of you're Photoconductivity programs such as All in the Family, and will be sad to see the death of the production cast of the humorous show centered around the neurotic doctor and his quirky (if not slightly queer) black friend.
Your marine lifeforms have delighted my 120,500 papillae, even though my race has wiped several species of placostylus and sea otter from the pages of existence (may they never be remembered in memoriam of our conquest).
I will remember the change of you winds, from points where the temperature was too cold for me to enjoy, to the points where the temperature was too hot for me to enjoy.
Sadly, I have decided to destroy your puny planet.
Yes, I do see you all scrambling furiously in a vain attempt to gather golden trinkets and phonographs from a ransacked marketplace from my galactic fortress' telescope, and a part of me does pity you.
You may cower before my throne of a thousand ixchel skulls, begging as you would a golden titan, asking "why oh Lord of 10,000 suns, why would you doom our people to such a merciless fate of floating among the cosmos as particles?"
I, as your Emperor-God-King shall answer my faithful worshiper ants.
Frankly Earth, The clutter sickens me. Before one opens one's mouth he should ask "would The Conqueror of the giants of Canis Majoris really feel moved by my abysmal squabbles of who the next appointed governor of our simple, humble planet should be, and why I favor him to the previous appointed governor? And why am I not toiling in the tomato fields, as to gain favor of our Eternal Monarch?"
I know, I know. I may seem a bit cruel sometimes, but I feel very gracious in explaining why I have chosen your planet to be the target of my Teleforce Cannon. I must say, my dear people of earth, after listening to mindless chatter discussing which of your early century artist was better at painting portly females, or which of your gladiators will celebrate victory on Sunday and have the pleasure of ravishing their opponent's lifemates:
Do not weep for the mistakes you have made on behalf of your deceased ancestors, for they have been shaken from this mortal coil, as shall you.
So as I charge my intergalactic death machine for the next 24 hours to fire upon your pitiful blue planet, think of your fondest memories, and how much happier you all might be as cosmic dust.
But most of all, think of how rude it was for twenty four year old Jennifer Parsons of Fremont Nebraska to write such foul graffiti on my 97' Corolla while I visited your insignificant rock for some spaghetti squash
yes Jenny, Your supreme Overlord saw you do it.
-First Conqueror of the Dog Star, Lord Canus Son of Calus-