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!