For The Sake Of Earth
Shortly after the aliens arrived, they were escorted to Washington, DC for a meeting with President Kardashian.
The aliens claimed they came in peace. “We come in peace”, they said. (See)?
Just then I burst through the door of the Oval Office, shouting “AND YOU GO IN PIECES!” (The line was edited so as not to offend the guests). The aliens were shocked for a moment, until I broke and cracked a smile. Everyone had a good laugh, especially the aliens, who were big Dolph Lundgren fans. The aliens’ laughing, though, sounded like that sound you hear when you accidentally call a fax number, so that made things kind of awkward.
After the awkward silence, President Kardashian addressed the visitors.
“I’m glad to hear you come in peace. I–”
I burst through the door again.
“Not now!” the President snapped.
I left, head down.
“As I was saying, I–”
“Pardon me for interrupting”, said the lead alien, the one who called himself Volpar. “But, I have to say, Madame President: Your breath REEKS.”
“Excuse me? RUDE. And that can’t be–I rinsed with mouthwash, like, five minutes before you arrived. My breath should be minty fr–”
“EWWWW!” sounded the aliens in concert.
Volpar, holding both of his noses with his crab-like pinchers, stated “Madame President, in our world, mint” he said with a shudder, “is considered the most foul odor imaginable.”
“Well, excuse me for not knowing everything about you…things”, the President responded. “And as far as bad breath goes, like, you should talk. I was trying to be polite, but I guess now I have to say it: YOUR breath smells like burning sulfur! Yeah, I know what that is–how ya like me now?”
The aliens laughed their receiving-fax-transmittal laughs. “Well, we consider that a compliment”, said Volpar condescendingly. “On planet Zorqon, burning sulfur is considered the sweetest smell imaginable.”
Talks devolved from there, and–long story short–I am writing this letter to you from Zorqonian Sulfur Mine #2702, where I have been enslaved since shortly after Galactic War I began.
Luckily, the Zorqonians have perfected time-travel postal delivery, so I hope this message reaches you in time, citizens of Earth. Unfortunately, Zorqonian time-travel postal delivery, as amazing as it is, is also notoriously inefficient, so I don’t know, it’s a crap shoot.
Anyway, my message is simple: For the sake of Earth, WHEN THE ZORQONIANS ARRIVE, DESTROY THEM.
Or, STOP THE KARDASHIAN FAMILY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE. I mean, really, either one would work.