First off, allow us to apologize for the abductions.
Although it seemed like a good idea at the time, we recognize that too
often you did not find the experience as satisfying as we did. We genuinely
regret the way things got out of hand.
It started out as just something to do, an occasional way to blow off steam
after a long day of observation. We tried not to break anybody, and we always
put you back where we found you. Frankly you aren’t all that interesting, and we
might soon have grown tired of the whole thing.
But we got such a kick out of your cute eyewitness accounts, what with the
stories of our big dark eyes and little arms and all. You made us feel special,
even if your tales were complete crap. The books, the movies, the T-shirts—we
were like celebrities. And some of you took it all so seriously, with your
conspiracy theories and everything. It was really quite a hoot.
Then this guy Whitley Strieber came along, and he sort of took the joy out
of it, you know? What a killjoy shitbag he is. Today we abduct only nerdy guys
who live alone in Airstream trailers, primarily because they’re nerds and, truth
be told, we just like to mess with their heads.
Many of you have written asking about crop circles, so let’s set the record
It ain’t us. Really, it’s not. Think about it. You people have trouble
reaching your own moon, and even you have cell phones, satellite TV, and
We sail between stars at speeds you believe impossible—you think we have to
knock down veggies in order to communicate?
And why do you always assume we land in rural areas? Please. On a planet
with New York, Rio de Janeiro, Paris, and Amsterdam, you figure we’d choose to
hang out in Roswell, New Mexico? Have any of you actually been there? (By the
way, Area 51 is a real hole. In the unlikely event we’re ever in the
neighborhood again, we’re staying someplace else for sure.)
We would be remiss if we failed to mention the anal probing. For the
longest time, we swear we thought those were data ports. We meant no harm, and
hope that you will, like us, try to forget this unfortunate chapter in our
history. In retrospect it was simply a bad idea.
Now we don’t want to be seen as whiners, but there are a few things we wish
For one thing, we are troubled by the way we have been portrayed in the
media. We represent an array of life whose richness and sheer scope would
astound you. Yet for the most part, on this planet we are typecast as either
hairless dweebs with foreheads like watermelons, or else giant insects who want
to eat you.
No offense, but this is especially hard to take from a backwater planet
most beings have never heard of. (In fairness, this is not entirely true. Earth
is generally known for one thing: cottage cheese. Seriously, nobody else ever
thought of that. Not even the Loboölata, who are themselves dairy products.)
The very word “alien” is plagued by negative associations. According to our
latest focus groups, the term conjures up images of 1) slimy, parasitic
creatures who spring onto the faces of unsuspecting beings in order to plant
their young inside, or 2) people picking cabbages. (Apologies to the Bulibians:
slimy, parasitic creatures who actually do spring onto the faces of unsuspecting
beings in order to plant their young inside.)
We’ve discussed this among ourselves, and we no longer wish to be called
aliens. Henceforth, we prefer to be called “Chuck Norris®.” Please do not
shorten, hyphenate, or alter this in any way. The plural form is the same, as
in, “Hey, there goes a Chuck Norris®. Wait, there goes another one.”
Finally, some advice.
Look, from where we sit, you’re all the same. We appreciate that human
beings come in slightly different models and colors, and to you these nearly
imperceptible differences seem to cause no end of trouble. But honestly, we’re
astounded that you can even tell yourselves apart. In blind taste tests, in
fact, the average Chuck Norris® cannot detect any difference whatsoever. So
chill, people of Earth, and try to get along.
While you’re in a reflective mood, take a closer look at what you’re doing
to your planet. You are ruining it: depleting your natural resources, polluting
your air, sickening your oceans, and destroying unique species forever. This is
just plain wrong, not to mention completely irrational. Everyone knows that the
logical thing is to find somebody else’s planet and ruin that. Noobs. How can
you possibly expect to survive in the coming interstellar economy?
By the way, we’ve elected you to come up with the new shared unit of
galactic currency. Just pick something small and ubiquitous, something of
nominal value that you won’t miss much. It’s your call, but we suggest
In closing, much of what you do befuddles us. Many of your core
concepts—such as guilt, selflessness, and David Hasselhoff—simply have no
counterparts in non-Terran cultures. You’re what galactic sociologists call “a
bunch of strange ducks.”
Yet for reasons not entirely clear, we have developed a certain affection
for you. We’d just as soon keep you around, if only for the entertainment
We’re going away for a bit now, and when we return, we expect to find that
you have made significant progress toward sitting at the adults’ table. This
will, of course, mean fewer senseless military conflicts, less reality
television, and no more Sudoku.
Don’t make us come down there.