My Favorite Wormhole

My life in the Martian underground, as a prisoner of the Grays, is not exactly a bowl of cherries. Whenever I'm not dodging particle-beam death rays that Liz (the bigass Reptilian who runs the Cydonia Concentration Camp) fires at me every chance she gets, I'm still slugging it out with other former homeless bums from Earth and foraging for food.

Martian canal algae tastes like what I imagine that green pond goo that rises to the top in the summer back on Earth tastes like. Like celery or Romaine lettuce that's been sitting in the garbage for a week or so, I suppose. And Martian canal mushrooms make Pennsylvania mushrooms taste like they were grown in beef gravy or something instead of beef doo-doo. In other words, Martian mushrooms taste like something that you'd never allow yourself to eat in a million years, unless the alternative is eating your hat or maybe one of your own toes for lunch. So, when I'm not dodging death rays or brawling or foraging or risking my butt making conspiracy videos, I'm sleeping. With one eye open, of course.

But, every now and then, I find myself in the strangest place and I'm just beginning to figure out how I get there. It's happened to me twice now and I wish it would happen again and real soon. It usually happens when I'm awake and foraging in a dark canal, usually for mushrooms. Suddenly, I feel this warm gust of wind and then it's like I'm going for a real fast ride in an elevator (without music). First up real fast and then down real fast. And then — boom — I'm inside this weird but fascinating place called Think-A-Holic Lounge. I don't think they like it very much whenever I show up there. And they never tell me why. Then, as soon as I order a drink or reach for the basket of peanuts — boom — I'm back on Mars. Or under Mars, that is, foraging for mushrooms again.

The only time I was whisked away by a mysterious wormhole that didn't take me to Think-A-Holic Lounge I was taken to some unknown place that seemed like Earth but it smelled a lot better than Los Angeles. And I'm pretty sure it was the present time because when I got there some joker opened his kitchen door and gave me a Mallo Cup. My favorite. Which makes that particular wormhole my favorite wormhole.

Yep, that's the end of this story. If you didn't like it, I hope I get to tell you another one that you don't like. That'll teach you.