Party Mammal

As you can see, I'm not the wallflower you probably thought I was. Oh, don't get me wrong, I still admit to being a cowardly, finger-pointing squealer but I was hoping that, if you bought that lame routine then you'd have no problem thinking I was also someone who never took a drink in my entire life.

So, if you fell for that facade, then you apparently never paid any attention to me when I talked about how I'd kept my DNA safe from the Grays by unconsciously maintaining a high blood alcohol level back on Earth. So high, in fact, that no self-respecting mad scientist would even come near me. Including the Grays, who make Josef Mengele look like a soda jerk in comparison.

And, like I told you over and over again, I maintained that lab-reject blood alcohol level with regular infusions of Muscatel and Wild Irish Rose while roaming the back streets and alleyways of Los Angeles, California, a city still run by Hollywood freaks whose lifestyles make the Reptilians look like a bunch of Shirley Temples on the Good Ship Lollipop. That's right, if you can only afford wine, nothing gives your blood an alcohol jump-start like cheap fortified wine with 20% alcohol by volume.

So, not having tasted either of my favorite hobo vintages for over a year now, imagine my surprise when I found the cafeteria that the ever-hopeful Grays built for the human adbuctees who eventually would pass the alcohol and drug screening for their pathetic bubble-headed booby breeding stock. The only thing is, this particular flock of Grays has a tendency to abduct Earthlings from alleys in major American cities and that's where most of the diseased livers in America the Beautiful reside today.

So, naturally, when I found that empty cafeteria I headed straight for the cooking sherry. After only two bottles of that shit I then, naturally, located the nearest lamp shade and put it on. If I could have found a discombobulator and an unarmed Reptilian I would have worn its head for a hat, instead. Anyway, one of the ex-Wall Street stockbrokers that I unfortunately share this Martian Lompoc with and whom I knock down and rob of candy on a regular basis up here, took this professionally damaging photo of me. Little shit smear.

And here you probably thought Walter Cronkite was the only Earthling to have actually worn a lamp shade after dipping his bill. A lot you know.

Happy-Ass New Year!

Merry Christmas from Mars

Because of recent developments beyond my control, I'm unable to show my ugly mug in person. You guessed it, Warden Liz finally caught me red-handed, all "live" and "in the act" of broadcasting my conspiracy doo-doo (my conspiracy doo-doo is as good as anyone else's) to the rest of the solar system.

But that's not why she zapped me with her trusty discombobulator. No, she said she caught me before I said anything even remotely damaging to the Earthling abduction project. Hmmphh! Then why did she get so mad that she zapped me right out of the chair if she didn't even feel threatened by my broadcast? Because someone posted an animated caricature of her (a flash image) on the Saturn Outernet earlier this month and she thinks it was me, that's why.

Well... I'll do some squealing and finger pointing about that deal sometime after the New Year. I'll show that psycho Reptilian fembot a thing or two. I'll find that graffiti caricature of her and re-post it. That'll teach her to throw me around a room just for fun. Anyway, my broadcast days are over until I can come up with something that will really make her mad. The madder she gets, the more I'll feel like a conspiracy bell-ringer.

So, anyway, when I woke up after hitting the floor at the end of Broadcast Number Four, she tossed me around for a while, swearing and clicking in her native lizard tongue, and then she let me go because she couldn't stop laughing at the chocolate drool that came out of my mouth every time I lost consciousness. Still, she did bounce me off a few pieces of furniture and a couple of walls before she got tired of that shit. Apparently, the only thing that saved my life is that I'm such a bore. Thank heavens for that.

Before she let me go she didn't even bother to make me promise to stop broadcasting my conspiracy doo-doo. And that pissed me off. Pissed me right off. The big scaly sow didn't bother to penalize me because she thinks I have no audience, no viewers and no followers. And, therefore, no proof. Well, that's only her opinion. But, until I can find some hard evidence of life on Mars, I'll take a break from videocasting. Besides, it's too close to Christmas to get my shorts in a twist over anything, especially a lizard heckler the size of a kangaroo.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Mars!