Curse you, John Deere, and your Tractor Beams!

Stardate: 12-29-2006. I am in orbit around Planet Earth. It’s quiet out here in space. Quiet and dark. Space is an endless black void, into which one can endlessly stare. Oh, the stars. There must be BILL-YUNS of them. White stars. Yellow stars. Red stars. Twinkling, far, far away. In the blackness. And silence. The vast, vast silence. Of space. Out here. In orbit. Hey, look down there – it’s 4640 Scinton Drive, Louisville, Kentucky. There’s a car with a cartop carrier on it in the drive. A cute little low-rider dog in the yard, looking up at me with a puzzled expression. Lets zoom in a little . . . STOP – that’s close enough.

In the livingroom, a giant monitor of some sort with what they call “footch-bull” – Earthling males with padded buttocks, throwing a ball, catching a ball, falling down a lot. Someone should do a study on it. Or not. In the kitchen, where nutrients are consumed, another, smaller monitor, showing something called “Sploogebub Scarepants”. Or something. I can’t quite make it out. An Earthling grub, perhaps 2 Earth-years in age, is sitting motionless, its face several inches from the glowing screen. It is eating – cokies, I think they’re called? Disc-shaped pastries filled with something they call sogar, that endows grubs with the energy of a thousand suns, until they collapse in on themselves in a screaming fit. Also in the kitchen, a small box emits radio waves – some sort of religious broadcast. All the sounds are meeting, colliding in the middle of the dwelling, creating a headsplitting cacaphony of voices and noise. Look there, more Earthlings – an elder female, interacting with the grub – offering another cokie, I think. An elder male, turning the volume up on the footch-bull. Their offspring, a female – rather handsome, I must note. For an Earthling.

What’s that . . . there seems to be one more, but I can’t quite . . . oh, there it is. A ghost of a thing . . . lets zoom a little more . . . it appears to be another female, staring vacantly at another monitor, not unlike my own ship’s computer I’m sending this report on . . . zoom a little more . . .


Must . . . break . . . free . . . engaging automatic evasive action . . .

Oh, thank god. Back in space. Beautiful, black space. Earth looks so – peaceful, from up here. Orbiting. Up here in space. Beautiful, black space. Dark. Silent. An alien can breathe out here.


3 responses to “Curse you, John Deere, and your Tractor Beams!

  1. Is it cruel to laugh hysterically at your pain? Cause I am laughing. Believe me, I’m laughing HARD.

    But only because I’ve been there. Not that house, no. But its exact duplicate. Yup. I feel your pain.

  2. Here’s a YouTube clip on how to deal with in-laws, right when you need it, honey:

  3. I don’t know WHO this “alien” person is. I did NOT write this post. Somebody call the internet police.I adore my in-laws. For the record. They are warm, chatty, fun-loving, cussing, drinking, gambling church folk. They shower Rockster with love and affection and Ru’s dad likes to hit me on the head with a rolled-up newspaper, which I’ve come to understand is a sign of pure affection. We’re just – you know, different from each other. And as soon as they leave for church, I’ll check out the video, Rip.

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