This conquering job is getting hairier and hairier with each passing day. At the advice of that farting maniac that decontaminated the armory, gladly given after I proffered the two dead bodies for his examination and graciously agreed to relinquish possession of such to his care, I allowed him to surround this house with a force barrier designed to violently repel any cheese thrown toward it. The barrier itself is invisible and admits any substance that does not contain cheese or some other form of lactic acid. I was stationed on the porch, cleaning and repairing my assortment of ray guns now that I can freely enter the armory again, and, while doing so, was watching an unruly throng of dissidents hurtling cheeseballs in my direction. They all seemed to be very surprised when their biological projectiles mysteriously rebounded and landed in their midst. During the early morning hours, I also observed a group of eloquently dressed human females slowly moving among the houses in the neighborhood, going, as a group, from door to door. I assumed their actions were an attempt to raise support for the dissident's cause. Of the group of five women, however, three found themselves thrown to the gutter as they attempted to cross the invisible barrier. I suspect that they were spies attempting to smuggle cheese through the barrier in their blouses as it appeared that as soon as their chests came into contact with the barrier, they were thrown violently backward. The two older ladies had no such difficulty, however, and were allowed to walk easily through the barrier. I graciously allowed them to alert me to the purpose of their visit, which they falsely stated was to locate new members to attend the local Methodist Church, before I used the freshly charge ray gun in my hand to disintegrate them into a pile of soft gray ash. I thereafter zapped the other three. It appearing that the force field does nothing to diminish the ray emissions from my ray guns, I am now busily zapping cheese chunking dissidents with my just repaired ray cannon. The sight of that group scurrying about screaming as they witness the devastation of the ray is hilarious -- at least, it is hilarious to me.
The worker is still busy trying to suck all that nasty contaminated bio-matter from the armory room and I have nothing to do until he completes his job. I am still giddier than a Gixtonian Goat full of ganji-grass from a full day of having to sniff those damn farts that seem to keep blowing out of whatever end of him is pointed in my direction. I have not had the energy to do more than scan that big monitor in the main room watching the activity going on among your puny species while I while away my hours awaiting my chance to annihilate your kind as originally planned, when the door bell rings. It was these two idiots from the Federal Bureau of Investigation who wanted to ask me all these stupid questions, like why did I look the way I looked and why did I smell the way I smelled. I took about as much abuse from this Agent Scully and Agent Mulder as I could before I felt the undeniable urge to crush the life out of them both in my tentacles. Your species is so fragile and I believe my expending of physical effort was quite minimal to have snuffed the life out of two of your fellow beings. I suppose I could continue my conquering activities by crushing you each, as well, individually, but the thing I like best about the use of the ray gun is that in addition to ending the life within the body, it also leaves nothing of that body behind except a very small pile of ashes. However, in my case, I am now stuck with these two lifeless bodies and they are taking up valuable space in my front foyer. If any amount of luck was ever going to fall my way, that big farting galoot in there cleaning up the mess from yesterday's cheese ball attack will accept those dead bodies as a gratuity.
Well, thankfully the decontamination crew, or should I say the large ugly really smelly creature who rang the doorbell, showed up very promptly this morning. It simply asked me where the cheese infested area was located and slimed its way to such location without further ado. I have heard nothing but sucking sounds coming from the armory room since he entered. Uh, wait, let me revise - I have heard nothing but sucking sounds interspersed with occasional very raspy sounding farts here and there. I suddenly find myself feeling like sharing an admission that I likely could have lived my whole life without smelling those gastric omissions. They have, however, seemed to produce a highly euphoric feeling within my brain. It almost makes you forget about that smell. Almost! I think I might be burning out my olfactory system, here. Anyone have any suggestions?
OK, I had already warned that certain biological weaponry were banned from use in planet conquering wars by the GUPpies, and yet, someone has already thrown a large piece of cheese through the front window of this house. Thankfully, I was in another room, but that cheese ball exploded into chunks as it crashed through the glass and scattered bits of cheese throughout the room. I have had to abandon my efforts to repair my arsenal until an appropriate bio-hazard team can be dispatched to decontaminate the contaminated room. It's unfair!
Yes, I had just hung up my ray gun rack, filled it with my major assortment of all kinds of top of the line ray guns and cannons, when one of nails I had used to affix such rack to the wall broke right in half. All of my expensive weaponry tumbled to the ground in a heap. I will now have to spend the remainder of my already busy day dismantling and examining each and every item in my armory so as to detect whatever damage might have occurred to any item as a result of that fall. If I had not already done so at the time I made my purchase, I would go back to that hardware store and zap the living crap out of that clerk that sold me that defective nail.
Well, it appears that I have adequately prepared your species for full annihilation, having lulled you into a sense of false security. As if some small rodent was really any bother. My brethren are approaching this solar system as we speak and soon you shall be overrun with the most hellish creatures you could imagine. Of course, those who had the opportunity to meet with me face-to-face have already found that the terror experience upon encountering my visage is so short-lived, as death follows almost immediately. The end is near. If you want, you can freely spread that word.
I am sorry that I have failed to keep my loyal minions apprised of my latest conquering activities, but it appears that the device I use to input my feeble scrawls into the electronic brain of this transmission device has mysteriously disappeared. Its prior location is scattered with tiny paw prints. I suspect sabotage. I regret the brevity of this report, but I find pressing on the keyboard keys with the tips of my tentacles to be physically uncomfortable.
Let a conquering alien go on a one-day space trip just to get his tentacles styled and you come back to find vermin have infested your home. Mr Mouse, Mr Mouse, please show yourself so I can zap the crap out of your wee little vermin ass.
Don't count me out, yet.
OK, have not been swatted yet. ttyl
House is still really quiet, but where is all the cheese? There is a lot of slimy yellow stuff all over everything, but given the way it smells, I would have let Bill Bulldog, RIP, eat it. I still have a good store of pilfered Cheerios stashed in the walls, so I am not hungry enough to venture a taste myself. What's that noise?
New day and the house is still. The horrible smell remains about the place. I think I will slip out and find some cheese. There does not seem to be a scrap of cheese to be found in this house.
Thanks to some flying space monkey which is easily likely more intelligent that the best of your kind, and whose mere presence corroborates my contention that your kind has been interacting with off-world species for a substantial interval of time, I encountered this strange website which complimented me:
The expanse of your intelligence is a void no universe could ever fill.I would imagine that statement to be an accurate assessment of my immense brain power.
I searched and searched today for one of your kind who was capable of styling my tentacles in some fashionable shape so that people would cease running away while screaming wherever I go. I could not locate a single establishment that advertised such service, and, at every one of such at which I attempted to inquire about securing such service, I was met with the running away while screaming scenario. What is wrong with you people? Have you not now continually dealt with other species of the universe for a period substantially long enough for your kind not to have gained some inkling as to what services you need to offer. Surely you understand, by now, that it is your your universal responsibility to cater to our needs? Your insignificant species seems adequately capable of extensively catering to every mundane need of your own kind. I have noticed that for every item that might possibly be needed or wanted by your kind, you offer at least two choices, and, often, more choices than would be imaginable on any planet where logic had any say in the behavior of its denizens. I do really hate to have to go off world to get a tentacle styling, but I was hankering a bowlful of Terrelian Toad Soup, so maybe a little trip is in order.
I started to crawl out of the nest this morning and found my proboscis was stuffed up so badly that I had to breath through my ears. I think I caught one of the diseases you puny humans seem to pass around among you just to sell those stupid medical products that guy on the corner was always trying to sell. "Looking for drugs?" he asked. I ignored him the first time. The next time I turned him into a pile of ash. Some of the materials he was carrying on his body, however refused to disintegrate. It just smoked and smoked and released the most noxious odors. They were so horrible, they actually cleared the blockage so I was finally able to breath normally. Those noxious odors, however, decided to homestead in my nasal passages. How does one go about catching that bug that causes your sense of smell to disappear?
I am quickly discovering that a lot of the people who are lining up daily like to smoke while they awaiting their turn to climb up and become part of the pile of people I have to zap every day. I am asking you to stop that practice please, and no, it has nothing to do with the smell, the smoke, or, especially, the fact that such affects your health. I mean, after all, in a few minutes, you will be turned into ash anyway, whether you are healthy or not. I really have no concern about your health. What does concern me is all those damn end parts of those smoking sticks you are throwing on the ground. Do you really know how unsightly they are? I have been seeing them everywhere I go, and surely do not want my temporary home to be surrounded by millions and million of such.
Well, I tried the idea that James gave me, but I didn't get a single picture. That's OK really, though, as I was not all that crazy about keeping up with who got zapped on the last round anyway. So, we are still working on a hit and miss system . . . well, or, we will be on such as soon as puny humans get tired of lining up for me to zap each morning. Surely some of the members of your race are smart enough to at least attempt to fight back. I was so hopeful that all the research I did on your species was worth it and I would find it was going to be exciting to see what kind of defenses you come up with to keep me from zapping you into extinction.
Oh, I forgot to tell you the contest. As I am almost sure none of you know exactly what I look like, as any who have seen me have been already disintegrated, I think it would be fun to see how everyone believes I look like. Drawn or photoshopped or any other method you can think of is within the rules. I really expect that none of you kind is creative enough to come up with anything, so it will likely be the purpose of this contest to see if anyone has guts enough to pony up to the bar.
I think I might like meeting one of these sharks. They sound like an very interesting species. From what little I have learned so far, I am surprised they are not in control of this planet. Maybe they are and no one yet knows. I am not too sure I do not also want to meet this fellow Charley who blew all those houses down in Florida. He sounds more evil than that Big Bad Wolf that was chasing after those three talking pigs in a story I overheard the other day.
Your species is so strange. I have been watching these contests where some of your brothers and sisters are trying to outdo each other in physical contests. I cannot understand the significance of being able to swim faster or jump higher or fly longer than your competition. Where I come from, no one cares a whit about things like that. In our world, he who has the biggest ray gun wins every time. I have yet to find one among your kind that has anything as close to what I have, so, according to the laws that dictate the outcome of things, I win in the end. Hence, my lack of zeal at zapping the crap out of every puny human that crosses the sight-line from all six of my eyes. They had a contest last evening that was highly enjoyable where puny humans were competing against beasts of other sorts. As you continue your games here and there, I am still pleased there are so many who have lined up to assist me in getting my daily amount of zapping completed. Although I am not in a big hurry to finish, I still have a job to do.
I grew fearful about climbing out of my nest this morning after hearing and reading all of the stories about the bad occurrences of Friday the 13th, but found my hunger would not subside so as to allow me to loiter beneath my tribble fur blanket. I therefore arose and ventured forth in a search for some repast and libation. I encountered this one very strange looking fellow at on sidewalk cafe who was was sucking down a continuous line of shakes that were being prepared by some skanky slut in a halter top. I was entranced, however, as I had never seen anyone from any planet just drop a live whimpering puppy into a blender and thereafter churn such into a liquefied solution of puppy blood, hair, and internal organs, pour it into a glass and serve it. I didn't stay long, as the whole scene was beginning to turn my stomach. I went next door to a more eclectic establishment and had a sumptuous meal of spotted owl and bald eagle, with a side order of rhinoceros pate'.
I had such an enjoyable breakfast that I forgot about the date and, as I left the dining establishment, I allowed my guard to fall. I never expected to be hit full force in the face by a gust of solar wind. It blew Pluto into my eye and I am having a devil of a time trying to remove it.
It seems there is a documentary dealing with a couple of different species who previously tried but failed in their attempts to conquer your planet that is supposedly going to be exhibited at many different sites tomorrow. I advise you not to run right out to watch such, because everything you see will not be as bad as what you will see when I come around to visit you with my fully charged ray gun. I would really hate for too many of you to get the wrong impression.
Wow! This is such a lovely planet. Here I awoke a bit sore from the dance at Khan's palace a couple of light years past Alpha Centauri, as your species calls that distant shining energy generation ball of hydrogen. I am a bit behind on daily quota in my zapping mission and I really needed to zap a whole bunch of you puny humans today to catch up. I was expecting a miserable day of having to travel here and there to locate one hundred thousand idiots in a group close enough together so that I would only need to use one K-cell battery's worth of energy to convert to ash with my ray gun.
Well, as things go in my life, I opened my door to see a long line of people begging to be zapped today. There was easily five hundred thousand backed up for miles and miles. It was unbelievable. I do not ever remember a time in my life when I have found such a cooperative species to conquer. I have them voluntarily collecting themselves into a big pile out in the yard as I write this. As soon as I get the word that they are near completion of this huge pile of human flesh, I will go shine my ray gun on the pile until there is nothing left but ash. I will be a day ahead of schedule, which means that I can take tomorrow off. As it is Friday the 13th on your planet, I must accede to local rules and avoid any unnecessary activity on the morrow.
I am getting so many continual requests that I delay zapping the crap out of some of you puny humans that I have taken the requests to my cold cold heart. I have come up with something that might be quite entertaining for all and will give me a way of finding which of the whiners is worthy of putting on the end of the list. I seem to have already moved some guy calling himself Turning Spoke for using my likeness in some silly film without having received the appropriate permission to do so. As such, the rest of you are no higher, currently, than No. 2 on the zap list. So, how do you get dropped toward the bottom of my list? Here is the plot.
Allow yourself to discharge the liquid biological waste from your body while still wearing your clothing or attempt to wet your clothing in such a way that it appears you did so, then take a picture of yourself or have your mother do so, and send it to me with a message telling me whether you actually allowed your liquid discharge to flow upon your clothing or chickened out and poured water upon your clothing to simulate such. I will then display the pictures and allow everyone who wants to drop down to the bottom of the list to guess who actually did discharge in their clothing and which ones did not. Those who correctly guess right get a free pass until the last day of zapping before I put the planet up for sale as fully conquered and ready for settlement. So, get those pictures made and email them to me before the end of this week.
The rumors that I am nothing but a disgruntled intergalactic furrier are without any factual basis.
Have you ever met one of those individuals that seems to be weird and bit slow like they have a few screws loose and rolling around inside their cranium? Don't you imagine they think of themselves as perfect and that you are likely a bit weird? I bet they wonder why you stare at them and talk about them like they weren't there. earthlings! I am so very glad that I am not among such pitiful species. There is not a single brain among them all. Zapping targets is about the only good use for them, it seems. Almost to a person, they are too stupid to even be worth taking to Io to use as mining slaves. Now where did I leave that crate of K-cell batteries. I need to make sure this ray gun is fully charged.
My assistant has been imaged while on the job. When I find the person responsible for having outed such a hard working member of my staff in such an undignified manner, I will zap more crap out of such entity that all of the rest of you puny earthlings will think he or she was made out of such.
The convention is going nicely. I have been trading notes with some of my contemporaries about new torture methods, better idea about who to choose to spare and use as slaves and which ones to disintegrate, and what kind of new ray guns are in development. The All-Seeing Eye had a booth set up, but was not making individual views into the future. It just publicly opened its portal for all to view into. While most of it would be uninteresting to you earthlings, there was one thing of which you might have taken notice. It was the disclosure than there was a strange correlation between the Kerry/Edwards ticket and the plot of The Manchurian Candidate.
I know none of you silly soon-to-be-zapped to crap earthlings give a shit about anything I have to say, but just for your information, you do have time to kiss your ass good-bye right at the moment as I am busy being the guest speaker at The Universal Convention of Planet Conquerors tonight. I had to leave yesterday before I had time to inform everyone of my plans just to get here in time for the last evening's banquet. I had forgotten that I had agreed to take Ming the Merciless' place this year at the speaker's podium. Thankfully, his assistant called me to remind me about the forecast of an imminent attack from Flash Gordon was coming his way.
Now that you all know my current position, you can see that you have a bit of a head start now, right? Do your very best to conceal yourselves, because when I get back, we are going to have a great time playing Hide 'n Seek. Olly, Olly zap the guy hiding behind that tree.
I was wanting to zap the crap out of some idiot and was unable to find one. I did, however, find a whole busload of assholes with silly grins all over their faces and zapped the holy crap out of them all. I love my job!
I had to zap the crap out of four different idiots today just to get something for breakfast, some fuel for this primitive vehicle that seems to be the current mode of transportation on this backward planet, then another when I wanted to sample this "Sno-Cone" item that seemed to be painted all over this tiny building with a long line waiting in front of it, and lastly I zapped that idiot that refused to pull off the road when I was in a hurry. I continued to observe the worthless beings on this planet and have discovered that they have disguised financial exchange documents in these little machines sitting here and there about town. From what I could understand of the crude mechanism was that you fed it a small card of some synthetic material and it would provide several documents you could trade for materials and services in the local area. I was not in possession of one of the synthetic material cards, so I gave the mechanism a good zap with my ray gun and it began to spit out all those little green documents, you know the ones, they have all these pictures of old members of the species supposedly in control of this planet. Now in possession of a large handful of these documents, I entered an eating establishment. I knew that was what it was from the smell coming out, the odor of a large slab of meat roasting over an open flame. I tried everything they offered and it was all edible. Everyone was so nice that I gave them the whole handful of documents in exchange for the food and service provided. Maybe not everyone on this backward planet deserves to be zapped. Maybe I will just zap the ones who can not cook worth a crap. Sounds like a plan, doesn't it? You can learn some amusing phrases by watching the educational video appliance occupying a major space in my new home.
I was doing a bit of investigation on a few matters I thought I had better clear up before beginning my big push to take over this backward planet like finding out who really shot J.R., who it was that framed Roger Rabbit, and what number and letters were responsible for bringing today's episode of Sesame Street when I came across this package of something called "cigarettes". I actually discovered them through spending a long time observing this earthling female in the eating establishment, not a high class place in my opinion, who seemed to take one of these cigarettes from the pack, light it from a horribly small flame-thrower made out of some really cheap material, and then suck the smoke from the burning material within the cigarette into her mouth over and over until she had depleted a large amount of the flammable material within the cigarette, then she would snuff that one out and immediately remove a cigarette from the pack and repeat the process. I was unable to understand the attraction of this exercise, so when she excused herself to powder her nose, and, although I am not understanding the purpose of that exercise either, it was what she told everyone she was going to do when she left her seat . . . but anyway, she left and left the cigarettes on the table. I decided that I would help myself to one of them, and did so. I easily lit it with my ray gun, and regrettably, forgot to take into account all other factors, so, as well as lighting the cigarette, I disintegrated the window to the establishment, six cars and about half a dozen pedestrians. That cigarette was great. When the girl came back, while she was looking at the destruction caused by my inattentive use of my ray gun, I asked her where I might obtain my own set of cigarettes. She said that I would have to roll my own, but did offer to sell me a small clear sack full of the flammable material for some sum of money. When she refused to consider a handful of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish as an alternative form of payment, I zapped the crap out of her with my ray gun and took the remainder of the cigarettes she had in her possession as well as several clear bags of the flammable material she said was necessary to construct the cigarettes. I plan on dismantling one of the previously constructed cigarettes so as to discover the manner in which such are constructed.
A reader had the audacity to ask me why I happened to choose this certain blog to commandeer so as to brag about my exploits as I move around in order to conquer this backward world. Well, of course, I used my handy dandy ray gun and zapped the crap out of the little bastard for disturbing my nap in asking that question, and for those of you who might be wondering, yes, I do sleep with my eyes open, so don't assume I am awake just because I am looking at you -- people get the crap zapped out of them for making such mistake, but let us get back to the issue. Although the questioner is no longer around to benefit from my answering of his question, I will do so for the benefit of those whom I have yet to zap the crap out of with my handy dandy ray gun. I chose this particular blog because it was so aptly named that it provided the location from whence I came. Now, please step forward in single file so that I may commence zapping the crap out of you.
Alas, it appears I made a mistake. I zapped the poor pimple-faced clerk at Radio Shack yesterday because he would not take my zapped goldfish in exchange for the gross of K-cell batteries I needed to supply power for my ray gun. I lost my temper because he did not seem to understand the galactic exchange rules. Well, my bad! because, after returning to this hovel that I commandeered upon landing on this backward planet, I pulled out my copy of the bestselling Handbook of Out-of-this-World Travelers. I found that the rules regarding the current exchange rate was referring to something called Pepperidge Farms Goldfish. Oh wow, do I feel like I have rat's ass egg all over my face. Still, it was worth having to own up to a mistake to remember the sizzle of those zits on that pimple-faced asshole when the beam of my ray gun was melting is face. If you want to make something of my mistake, just remember that I have enough K-cell batteries to power my ray gun long enough for me to find out where you live, to come over, and zap the crap out of you for giving me a load of your bullshit. Mind your P's and Q's -- if you know what's good for you!
They say this brings happiness.
Well, if you thought that mice, cats, dogs and birds stunk when you zapped the crap out of them with a ray gun, you ought to smell what a tank full of ugly orange colored fish smells like when you zap the crap out of them. I sure am glad that I finally found the right size battery to power my ray gun. Take my advice, when you purchase your next one, make sure it does not take K-cell batteries. Do you know how hard they are to find? I finally found a place called Radio Shack that sold all kinds of cheap electronic equipment, but thankfully had a good stock of K-cells. I bought a gross. And speaking of gross, do you want to know what is really gross? The face of some stupid pimple-faced Radio Shack clerk after you zap the crap out of him with your ray gun. It seems that he was unfamiliar with the galactic exchange rate and threw a fit about me dumping a pocket load of zapped stinky orange colored fish onto the counter as payment for the 144 K-cell batteries. He got so hot he looked like he was about to explode. I felt it was only fair to assist him in his quest by giving his fat head a little zap from my ray gun and it exploded in such a lovely array of colors.
As it is my mission to take over this planet, I really do not feel it is my place to warn any of you current denizens about anything harmful coming you way, but this is really important. Take your thumb out of your butt and listen up! Better yet, pass this warning along to everyone you possible know!
If some guy in a green uniform and a Mountie hat knocks on your front door announcing some research they are conducting on the spread of deer ticks, and asking that you to take off your clothes and dance around so that you can be inspected for signs of deer tick infection, DO NOT DO IT! This is a SCAM! They only want to see you naked.
I only wish that someone had taken the time to warn me. My embarrassment at the fiasco almost left me with the feeling that I was unworthy of being the conqueror of this planet.
Like some guy from my planet would say such a crappy thing to a member of the female species. People on your planet are so weird, it is almost too easy to come up with a scheme to vanquish the minions of this rock. But then again, it seems like most of the people on this planet are trying to push it off on me without a fight. Now, I am wondering if it is worth conquering, if so many are looking for some way off of the planet. I was standing around on the corner in my spacesuit, still wearing my helmet so as to keep the climate control working, because the corner on which I was standing was in full sunlight and the ambient temperature was somewhere in the triple digits on the Fahrenheit scale, the normal scale used for gauging temperature on the galactic scale. So, here I was just standing there, observing several strange looking members walking around with their pants hanging off of their ass or having crammed their bodies into clothing that was likely for someone a few sizes smaller than the denizen dressed in such, hair colors being of unnatural colors and in some of the strangest styles seen on any planet. I almost forgot I was on Earth and thought I had somehow been teleported to the Galactic Nuthouse Mental Institution on Corious Prime. Oh, and to whichever one of you owns this stupid bulldog, could you please get it to stop humping my leg?
*This line was spoken on That 70's Show by the geeky little guy to the red headed Amazon.
I listened to the most ridiculous conversation between these two men. One said something about the names of the baseball team, like it would not be written on the back of their jersey or something, and this second guy kept asking who was on first while seemingly having no understanding of what the other guy was saying. The whole fiasco was being broadcast on a planet-wide basis from some antenna in that strange looking city on the east coast of what some call North America. The name of the city escapes me, but it seems that I recall the owner's name was something Turner. The level of intelligence on this planet never ceases to amuse me. That there are those among your pitiful species that actually imagine they have any intelligence above the level of some jungle primate is almost amazing to the nth degree. If I didn't have my lower left arm in a sling due to an injury I received in yesterday's handball match against King Kong, I would have already conquered this backward planet. That guy has one of the nastiest serves in the universe for a little guy.