Too Much of a Good Thing

All right, all right, so I didn't win the election out here. I didn't want to, remember? The new Martian homeless spokesperson will be Liz, the evil Reptilian war lady, herself. The bigass warden of little Mars Quentin. The Queen Bee of my current digs in the Martian underground. Yep, I'm still a prisoner in the Gray's prized penal colony for Earthling abductees who don't cut the DNA mustard for bubble-head breeding stock. Thank heavens for that.


Besides, I wasn't running anyway. The campaign was a fraud and that campaign poster with my mug gracing it was unauthorized. As I told you yesterday. Anyway, I'm sooo glad I wasn't elected to represent the Martian homeless population, even though my unwillingness to run caused a lizard as big as a kangaroo to become our official honcho. Like she wasn't already.

Yep, I stayed up all night. It was easy. I ate two and a half Mallo Cups, half a Hershey Bar (with almonds) and found a new coffee machine in working order in the old Nazi TV studio that Liz thinks I'm barred from. (I use my own toe-nail clippings for lock picks). But I had a horrible dream as I napped on the leather couch that Hitler used for wooing Eva Braun. The dream became a nightmare when I realized that all my supporters were actually clones of myself.

It's true. You can have too much of a good thing.