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Have you ever had that dream where you are in a perfectly normal situation, only you are naked? When I was in the womb, I would often be haunted by the dream of being born where I am completely naked in front of all the hospital staff, the doctors, even my parents. What would happen would be complete embarrassment in front of everyone, causing me to scream uncontrollably because it would just be too much to bear.
Well, when I was born, that horrible dream actually came true. Just like the dream, I came out, naked as a jaybird, and there were doctors and nurses all staring right at my naked body. I was so mortified, I had a complete mental breakdown right there on the spot, and started a sort of combination between crying and wailing.
They immediately put a blanket around me, and my parents took me home. The incident filled me with so much shame; I couldnâ(TM)t even muster up the confidence to talk to my folks for another 2 years, and even then just basic words like âmommyâ(TM) or âdoggieâ(TM).
But you know what? Iâ(TM)ve gotten over it. Iâ(TM)ve never accidentally showed up in the nude in any public place. In fact, I never take off my clothing except on special occasions, like taking a shower or doing naughty things with women.
So I was thinking about this today, and it occurred to me that you never see aliens in the movies wear clothing. Human beings are the most advanced species on the planet, and we have all sorts of good shame about our nakedness. Except for the nudists. But Iâ(TM)ve to meet a sober nudist, or even a nudist who was capable of building a space ship. Iâ(TM)ll bet you not one of the NASA scientists are nudists. Perhaps that one guy that caused that Mars lander to blow up. He was probably a nudist.
It stands to reason then that it is an intergalactic truth that shame is directly proportional with technological innovation. Why then, do we never see aliens wearing clothing? It makes absolutely no sense. My dog doesnâ(TM)t wear any clothing, and the lack of shame she has for her nakedness is reflected in her desire to lick spilled bacon grease off the carpet. Discover a way to achieve faster then light travel? She canâ(TM)t even discover a way to let herself out side to poop.
Now, as many of you know, I love science fiction movies, and the more plausible they are, the better. Which means, I want to start seeing aliens wearing clothing. A civilization advanced enough to fly across the universe to visit Earth would have to be so shameful of their bodies, that they cover every bit of skin on their scaly alien exterior. It only makes sense.
E.T. wouldnâ(TM)t be naked like you see him in the movie. Heck, that guy can build a radio powerful enough to escape our solar system using nothing but some kitchen pots and a Speak-n-Spell.
But what you didnâ(TM)t see was E.T.â(TM)s wang. You never see the alienâ(TM)s wang. Here they are naked, but they are lacking naughty bits . Why? Because it takes technology to make a sci-fi movie, and the technologically inclined feel uncomfortable about showing wangs. So we end up with naked aliens with no visible way of reproducing. Thatâ(TM)s just insane.
This whole thing could be solved by showing the aliens wearing cloathing. And for some reason, a reason I don't quite understand at this point, I think that most aliens would wear golf themed sportsware
Once again, I can't sleep. I really hate not being able to sleep like this. It's nearly noon, and I'm very, very wide awake, sitting in the dark.
The television is becoming annoying, so I've put on some Lindsey Buckingham in the CD player, sitting on my bed with nothing but a dull turned down LCD display spreading light. And for the last half hour I've been just sort of deep in thought, trying to work out the things that are the mysteries of the universe. I'm contimplating the science and philosophy debate that goes on endlessly, with the off hope that I may reach that point of 'aha!' and have the answers.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize that the questions I ponder really aren't that important. For example, I've been watching these 10-10-220 ads on TV with the lovable Alf, and I started to wonder what has been going on in Alf's life since his TV show was canceled.
Did he hit the booze? Did he have a house in Malibu, throwing outrageous parties involving snorting cocaine off the breasts of models?
No, of course not. Don't be silly. Alf was just a puppet. But the show--and now the commercials--present more questions about this fictional character then they answer. Nobody has ever taken the time to deconstruct Alf as the literary hero he is.
And the conclusion I came to was, that for the most part, it didn't really matter what Alf did, or who he really was supposed to be. And as I was ready to move on to the next topic to churn over in my brain, like a bolt of lightning a question was implanted that I need to know an answer to. A question that, if left unanswered, will gnaw at me until the day I die.
Does Alf celebrate Christmas?
We don't know. Alf came from another planet. Melmac, if I recall correctly. Yet nothing was said of the faith based holy days, if any such exist, that were celebrated on Melmac. Are the Melmacians (is that correct?) Christians? Jews? Do they hold cultural roots in Malmac's equivalent of Africa and have their own Kwanzaa? Is there even a single religion on Melmac? Could the planet be filled with hundreds of different faiths, cultures and rituals like our own Earth?
As you can see, this ends up creating a near monsoon of question upon questions about the possibilities of religious and cultural exploration of other life. Yes, Alf is fictional, but good sci-fi makes us think about the science fact that we have yet to discover. What if we do meet up with a real 'Alien life form'? Would they stick with their own traditions, or would they adopt a spirituality and culture closer to their new home?
I just don't know.
As luck would have it, as I was about to embark on a week long journey of deep meditation, yet another thought jumped into my brain.
Now, I've said it before, and I'll say again: I love... I mean, I really LOVE robots. What I haven't pointed out yet, is that I also LOVE llamas. Alpacas, specifically, but all llamas are wonderful in my book.
So, I got to thinking, what would happen if some scientist were able to come up with a merger between two of my most strongly loved things? A robotic llama (or 'electric llama').
At first I thought it would be neat if they just had electric llamas. But what would be really cool is if they were able to make robot llamas that were able to fly in outer space. I mean, be able to go from one planet to another exploring new worlds.
It was at this point, the 'aha' feeling came to my brain: Alf is the Melmac equivalent to a robotic Llama. Think about it.
1. Alf is confused. He thinks his planet was destroyed, he eats cats, and basically mooches off this Earth family. In turn, Llamas are also often confused, they eat cats, and if you told one that the Earth had been destroyed in order to make him get off the planet and explore, the llama would probably believe you.
2. Alf is never seen pooping. Yes, he eats, he devours food, but not once do you ever see him on the toilet. I can think of only one other type of being who eats and eats and eats, but never poops: Robots. You ever see a robot poop? No. Because robots can't poop. None of them. Not even cybernetic organisms with a metal exoskeleton with biological outer laying like the terminator. How many times have you seem the terminator use the bathroom? None. Because he can't. He is a robot.
Take the above information, and realize that different planets will inevitably have different evolutionary timelines, and it becomes clear. On Melmac, the eventual evolution of its biological creatures could easily produce an Alf that is more or less equivalent to our llamas.
It all makes sense now.
We're in that really terrible part of the year. Football is long off, and all the teams worth watching have been eliminated from the NBA playoffs (Is that still going on?) There really isn't that much left to watch. Oh sure, you have baseball, but that's about as much fun as watching paint dry*
So with no good sports on the television, the mind starts to wander. It occurred to me that chicks have been pretty active in sports these days. What, with the WNBA and the LPGA and the Power Girl NASCAR and whatnot. Heck, there's even a WNFL, if you can believe it.
Pretty much any sport out there has women competing in it. Sure, nobody watches, but it's good that there are good role models out there for... Gosh, I really don't know who. Little girls, I guess. And lesbians. And certain types of fetishists. You name a sport, and there is a woman version of it.
So it occurred to me, we need to start taking this into other arenas besides sports. Title 9 doesn't just cover sports (as per my understanding), and I can think of no better place to start ramping up for equality then our very own United States government agencies.
To begin, let's get a WFBI started. It would be just like the regular FBI, but women now would be able to make drug busts and fly on private airplanes to out of the way places to nab a kidnapper or international terrorist. Granted, the WFBI wouldn't have the raw power and excitement of the regular FBI, but I would suspect WFBI agents would try to make up for it in good crime fighting fundamentals.
If that is successful, we can move on to other government agencies. I can't be the only one who wants to see a WIRS. I can tell you one thing; I don't like having to deal with the IRS, but I think if they started allowing woman to check tax returns or do audits, it would certainly get a lot more interesting. In fact, I'd take the WIRS over the WNBA. You don't have to be 9 feet tall to work for the IRS, and who knows, we may even have some cute chicks get in there.
The one place I don't think this would work is in the ATF. The ATF handles the three greatest things America has to offer: Tobacco, Firearms, and Booze. An LATF (the L is for 'ladies') would just be too creepy. When a government agent comes knocking on your door to ask about your stockpile of assault rifles, the 300 cases of 'imported' Jack Daniels, and your stash of Cuban Cigars, it just wouldn't carry the same level of dread if the agent was a frilly little girl.
I don't know, maybe that's just me. I'm a man of the new millennium, so I'd like to see some more progressive thinking over there in Washington. Heck, the last time they let a girl into the Whitehouse the President almost got fired over her wily ways. But I think if they started letting more and more in, we could really start seeing some parity.
* The expression 'watching paint dry' is often misunderstood, as watching paint dry is far more exciting then one would anticipate. I've done it, and boy howdy, it's fun for the whole family. It helps if you have a case of decent beer, an AM radio, and a comfortable lawn chair.
The more the irrational extremists speak out with increasingly crazy statements, the more the average person will be inclined to move towards the other side. So we make a correction and start heading back towards the middle. The only problem is, that pendulum doesn't stop at the middle.
I first learned of this phenomenon at day care, sometime before the first grade. A chum of mind had a miniature motorized 'arcade' style game. When you turned it on, you got to 'drive' a tiny plastic car along a moving belt painted with road scenes. Being interested in cars, I spent quite a bit of time playing this game.
Eventually, I discovered that it didn't matter if you stayed on the road or not. I spent hours moving the car back and forth, completely oblivious to whatever illustrated obstacles I was supposed to be avoiding. I was hooked, and hypnotized.
It was years later that I discovered that the hours playing this game in a self induced daze was subconsciously shaping my impressions of extreme political thought.
Think about it.
Seriously, think about it. It's one of those things that if you think about it long enough, it will start to sink in. It will start to make sense in ways far more profound then any foolish 'logic' or 'reasoning' that we use on a day to day base during our typical auto-pilot lives.
If you don't get it, you're not thinking hard enough. You have to think harder. Drink a beer, and think some more. Punch yourself in the jaw so much that you break it, get sent to the hospital and take the weeks of solitary recovery to contemplate it. Afterwards, you'll never want to punch yourself in the jaw any more. Or go to the hospital.
About 10 days ago I was contacted by a Mr. Edward Jackson who identified himself as an agent for Advanced Dynamic Technology Systems of Loma Linda, California. He stated his company was interested in my research into utilizing negative air pressure to counter the forces of gravity.
He picked me up at the Flying J truck stop in his green 1994 For Taurus last Friday. At least, that is what I thought it was. We pulled onto state highway 99 with the intent to meet with other executives from his company at a nearby Holliday Inn.
This is when things started to get strange. Once we reached a ground speed of 68 miles per hour, the Ford began to change. It occurred to me at this point that the car wasn't so much a car as it was alive. A creature that looked remarkably like a Ford Taurus was then transporting us further along the highway, and then airborne.
We then left the Earth's atmosphere, and proceeded into what I later learned to be an inter-galactic space craft proudly named "The Darling" by Mr. Jackson. Once inside The Darling, we accelerated to hyper-light speed and traveled to a far off universe.
It was at this time Mr. Jackson told me what was really going on. Between his uncontrollable sobbing and his spastic hiccups, this is what I learned:
1. The entire universe is under attack by a massive galactic deity known only as "Migor"
2. Aliens in the shape of Ford Taurus have been living on Earth for several years, living in corporate fleet lots, rental car lots, and the garages of wholly unexceptional individuals.
3. Gravity does not exist. It's an illusion created by too much drinking. Or not enough. I'm not quite sure.
4. My poop is the key to an ancient prophecy, for reasons that are far to advanced for my primitive 'Earth Mind' to comprehend.
After learning all of this, I was taken into a surgery room, where my entire digestive system including stomach, intestines, and other bits and pieces, and replaced with a new digestive system made out of plastic.
I was returned to the flying J truck stop. I was told that my new digestive system would last for 10 billion years, as long as I never rode in a dune buggy. If I took a ride in a dune buggy, I would destroy half of the milky way. I'm not sure if I believe that last part, since Mr. Jackson seemed a little shifty.
I will tell you more when I find out more.