Tales of the Parodyverse

The Round Robin Chapter Six: The Squire Weighs In


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anonymous
Thu Dec 18, 2003 at 08:58:38 pm EST
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It began, as most things of this nature do, as a misunderstanding. It wasn’t that these were necessarily a prideful society, or an arrogant race…they just disliked being disrespected. You’d be hard pressed to find a group of intelligent life forms that wouldn’t object to having their name misinterpreted by a group of social “scientists” that were too concerned with fame and their own notoriety to verify the accuracy of their findings. And, you know, it was all well and good for this society to be able to transverse the galaxy at speeds considered to be impossible by the teachings of modern physics (as applied to most societies—obviously not theirs), but really, they only wanted what most emotional beings wanted…they wanted to know, quantitatively, if there was any other life in what they understood to be the universe.

Of course, they also understood the implications of this. They had a…unique…physiology, and they realized that most beings probably wouldn’t be able to understand their oral language, as they didn’t have a larynx. Or a language association cortex. How they communicated, instead, was a release of a free flowing energy bubble that displayed an unlimited amount of color…and every color simulated an emotion. Within this color, then, was a situation-specific illustration of the particular being’s thoughts or feelings at that point in time. Of course, their gender structure would probably be a bit confusing to other species, which tended to only have either one or two. They had thousands, which proceeded to have variants. Sure, this is going to have the geneticists among you screaming “horseshit” among other things, but keep in mind…for most species, they only need a combination of two different genotypes. Our species at hand is, for whatever reason, a bit more complex, probably due to the fact that they don’t have any great need to reproduce, as they have extremely long life spans, have no concept of war (and in fact are a very placid group), and spend most of their time expanding upon their knowledge of the universe they come into contact with through their own personal experience, and absorbing what we would consider pot through their epidermal membrane.

As to their name…well, that’s complicated. The translation from their language to English sounds like Giant Killer Slugs, which is actually tremendously offensive to their scholars that have managed to get some kind of a grasp on the English language. I’m sure you’ll appreciate how difficult it is for them to actually understand what it is our language is about, and how it sounds, as they have no real ability to produce sounds—they rely on heavy translators, approximately the size of a small football field, which are capable of flight, among other things, and are often confused as space ships. As a measure of protest, this race has sent envoys to our planet in hopes of horribly confusing the general populace and making a complete mockery of our scientific method. So far, it seems to be working splendidly, as the general media has begun typecasting this fine race as a group of mass-murdering hooligans, rather than a sedated, pot-absorbing elitist scientific race.

Mass-murdering, by definition, is a slippery concept…you can’t exactly hold someone responsible for absorbing, well, roughly 10% of a given city’s population if they happen to have a very soluble epidermal membrane—especially one that is given to be attracted to pliable carbon-based life forms. It’s borderline speciesist. And this is a phenomenon that’s more likely if they’re threatened, as their epidermal membrane is stress-sensitive, and I can’t think of something more stressful than having a small handgun the size of a 6’2, 295 lbs man’s fist pointed at your head. Well, rough location of your head, as you’re basically a slimeball, but I don’t know that I’d recommend telling that to one of these guys.

Now, I know what you’re saying…you’re questioning the morality of slinking away from an absorption scene when another planet’s authorities are in the midst of trying to question you. But when your emotion bubbles are throwing up visual signs consistent with mass panic not seen since the Great Depression or the second Bush’s “election”, you can’t fault our fine viscous friends for being annoyed with the stupid chimp-like bastards who keep shooting lead projectiles into their ample, doughy midsections, can you?

And who are they to try to apprehend your communications device? Sure, it gets better frequent flier miles than Delta, or even Air Force One, and its defense mechanisms make American military technology look like something out of the Paleolithic, but that’s still not enough, legally on any planet, for such a vapid search and seizure. It’s one thing to take away civil rights from your citizens, but when you start treating intergalactic guests as if they’re inferior just because of their skin color, then you have to raise up the proper amount of liberal guilt, cause riots in the streets, demonstrations, chants of “1, 2, 3, 4, Dubya, We Still Don’t Want Your Fucking War”, and incite militia members to go about recruiting the paranoid, schizophrenic, homeless, and other leading party members of the Democratic party to overthrow the current government in a peaceful, bloodless manner that includes telepathic surgery so drastic that it ends up revealing that Republicans really don’t know what the hell they’re doing after all, and other unmentionable actions discussed in prophecies since the dawn of time.

So, you see, intrepid readers, it is not an act of wanton illegality that brings our fine species to Earth, on the day they happened to encounter Earth’s Just A Bunch Of Heroes and hapless John Ontheway…it’s more a situation of reverse social anthropology gone horribly awry, due to the unfortunate xenophobia of Earth’s dominant “intelligent” life and the simple fact that few members of this group of beings look very realistic in a Santa’s outfit…especially due to the fact that when they move around, they release sounds consistent with that of flatulence released by roughly the entire offensive line of a prep school football team after having consumed a healthy amount of Mexican food.

I can only ask you, then, as a fully credible journalist of the GothaMetropolis York Squire, to treat any odd-looking species with respect, as you can’t ever tell if they’re benevolent, hungry, or about to atomize reality as we know it.

I remain ever yours, hungover and hating the holidays,
Jennifer Spriggins


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