Tuesday, November 27, 2012


I got hired to be a UFO-hotline operator. It wasn't as fascinating as I'd thought it'd be. I'd imagined old men in tinfoil hats calling every day, their sightings of alien spacecraft served up with a side of theory about who shot JFK. You know.

But nope. It was just ordinary people, saying banal things like, "Well, I thought I saw this thing... but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was a hot-air balloon. It just looked a little funny. Maybe I need to clean my glasses."

So imagine my surprise when one night I saw a UFO, and it landed in my back yard, and aliens came out, and their leader wanted me to be their cultural ambassador. I didn't report it to my bosses, because I had signed a secret pact with the aliens. I said, "I will do this for you, if you promise to take me away from here. This was never my home in the first place."

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