Don’t be alarmed. I’ve come from the not-too-distant future and boy am I glad to be here. Because, I’ll be honest, that place is a fricking hellhole! Do not recommend visiting.
So tell me, what year is it? 2019? Thank God. That means I can live a normal life for a period of years before things really get kooky. The invasion of the Zorgonians is a ways off. I think. Calendars were never my strong suit.
Let me explain: Halistosis, the Master Calendarmaker in my rebel camp, was grabbed up by one of Zorgonian raiding parties and after that we never really figured out what the date was after that. He was sent to the sludge factory to be turned into sludge. That’s apparently what Zorgonians eat. That and the toxic atmosphere.
Maybe that’s part of the reason they came to Earth, because our environment was so rich in toxins and the air so sparse that we fought over air bubbles. Well who knows? It’s hard to get into a Zorgonian mind. And frankly, those days are over for me!
Because when the rebel commanders told me about the time machine they’d built and the crucial secret mission that I had to take to the past, which would allow me to possibly change the course of history, all I could say is, “Brothers, you had me at time machine.”
How was I supposed to change the course of history? Well, now, I blanked out during that part because I was so excited about traveling to the past where I wouldn’t have to evade a Zorgonian raiding party every time I wanted to sneak out of the rebel camp with a girl who hadn’t lost all her hair yet because of the atmosphere.
So anyway, I wasn’t exactly taking notes when the commanders were giving all the instructions. Plus, where would I keep the notes? Those old pervs insisted on sending me back buck naked.
Speaking of which, if I could borrow a knife I could fashion myself a loin cloth out of this piece of leather furniture. No? Okay. Well, I’ll just sit on it then. Say, this thing is mighty comfy.
Oh, so yeah, the instructions for saving modern society from the terrible, brutal rise of the Zorgonians? They might come to me, but those rebel commanders talked a lot. I’m talking pages of notes, which I should have taken. And either way, memory is a tricky thing. There’s so much I don’t want to remember.
So I might just have to sit here for a while on this leather furniture, and peer at this magic screen rich with moving images and, you know, “recall” what the commanders told me. It’ll come to me. But it might be a little easier with some food for my growling stomach.
Perhaps buffalo wings and some sort of beverage. Do you have beer? The elders spoke of it often. They’d often say, “I’d kill for one last beer before being sent off to the sludge factory.”
Well, rustle around and see what you’ve got. I’m content right here just enjoying the fact that there isn’t a Zorgonian here trying to probe me with a tentacle.
Actually, now that I think about it, that time travel kind of did a number on my stomach. Could you show me the way to your waste hole? Oh, it’s indoors? Well, I might be in here for the foreseeable future. Let me know when the wings are ready though.
