I'm back, and badder than ever. My writing in particular. Damn this job and lifestyle of mine, and the demands that are repeatedly placed on my time and energy as a result. For they keep me from you: strangers who pose a slightly lesser danger.
In fact I am *this* close to accepting Leelee's standing offer of employment at her store, where I won't be held nearly as accountable; not for my time, effort, nor even the contents of the cash drawer. I can sleep on a cot in the back room, roam the beach during my frequent breaks, blog instead of contribute to society, and briefly share my cot with the occasional "sexually unfulfilled" but well-preserved patron. The Pug's own "Antiques Road Show", if you will.
But who am I kidding? Florida is no place for morally ambiguous, indigent drifters. So I guess I need to make my present situation here in The Great Southwest a wee bit more tenable.
I suppose I could start by actually completing something I set out to do. So here goes, with the FINAL question in my interview with the Cruel Virgin.
Maybe THIS will be my ticket to securing a better job of some sort, as any worthwhile interview should. Perhaps I will land a coveted position as "Cabana Pug", applying oil to supple body parts (still attached, preferably) and toweling off excess moisture as needed.
So here's to a complete and successful interview.
5. Do you believe there is alien life on other planets? If so, do you think their intelligence is superior to ours? Will we one day meet folks like the Vulcans and the Klingons, or is it all just a dream?
Funny you should ask, as me and my Trekkie cohorts often chat about this very topic during convention breaks. The one premise we do agree on is that Vulcans and Klingons don't exist in reality, due to the menace of trademark infringement attorneys.
But yes, I DO believe there is life on other planets. I think it's arrogant to think Earth is the only petri dish out there. I also am of the opinion that we are one of the least-advanced orbs in the universe. Allow me to elaborate. It goes something like this ...
Earth is well-known throughout the galaxy as the "Safari Planet". This is THE destination for extraterrestrials who want to experience a truly primitive vacation experience. The vast majority of earthlings remain unaware of these other-worldly "junkets" because of the "stay in your vehicle" policy that alien tours seek to enforce.
Of course, just as we are known to break the rules by absconding with a rock, stalactite or stalagmite, these Space Tourists are equally reviled for departing with the occasional human "souvenier". But rather than curse those few bad apples, we should adopt the same strategy as our National Parks in effectively accomodating the "trinket hounds". My solution is to draw from the seemingly endless supply of "W" supporters in populating a gift shoppe that caters to this need.
The one-way, self-sealing back door of the concealed gift shoppe holding pen will have a sign over it that reads: "Third Term Amendment Approved! Through here to vote early for "W" in '08. ("W '08" bumper stickers will be provided for your Ford Expedition, Crown Victoria or Mercury Marquis)".
Just as we are fascinated by hamsters futilely running on their little treadmills, our alien bretheren are similarly intrigued by us in our cute little automobiles and canoes. Which explains many of the reported encounters during these forms of recreation. Of course some of us inevitably take our enjoyment one step too far, by intervening in the cute little rodent's adorable activity, and for - lord knows - whatever reason, applying duct tape to the hapless critter.
Why then, should it be a shock for us to discover that cattle have been multilated, and numerous rectums probed? Is tactile interaction NOT a logical progression in the experience of new discovery? Is there ANYONE among us who achieves satisfaction simply by LOOKING at the bunny rabbits in the pet store? Of course not! We want to yank on their ears and tweak their genitalia. So judge not, lest ye be judged.
Now like any vacation resort, there's always the inevitable asswipes who have to shit it up for the rest of us. And not unlike the snowmobiler who ignorantly destroys the tranquility of a quiet glen, or the jet skier who selfishly churns the placid waters, there are dickweeds among the E.T. crowd.
An example would be the true story behind "The Roswell Incident", which is nothing more than a classic example of road-rage gone tragically awry. Suprisingly, the real reason for the coverup is that the public couldn't bear the knowledge of aliens behaving as stupidly as us. We expect better of them.
Well that does it for my "Interview with the Cruel Virgin". I hope you enjoyed it, and remember: keep watching the skies!