Aliens Among Us

"I'm an alligator, I'm a mama-papa comin' for you. I'm the space invader, I'll be a rock'n'rollin' bitch for you." David Bowie from "Moonage Daydream"

The dreams in the Asylum are vivid. Powerful images of the world that I was once a part of. Now, the nurse, that dastardly woman, keeps me medicated enough to know that I am no longer a part of it. I live now in the dream. My reality skewed into unrecognizablility. These dreams aren't like those pleasant vignettes from Love American Style, they drip with innuendo, smell of desperation. Other beings, other worlds, I amongst them.

What would you do if the world was suddenly over run by an alien race? I'm not talking about a Democrat world versus Republican. Not Mexicans taking over. Not the Taliban. I mean, from space, actual extraterrestrials. ET with an attitude problem. Cloverfield. Indepence Day. War of the Worlds type invasion. What type are you?

Are you the hero? The man (or woman) with the big red S on your chest, wanting to save the day in colorful spandex. Standing chest out on the precipice of a Gargoyle screaming at the martian horde. And who do you choose to save? The spouse, the girlfriend, the boyfriend, the old neighbor that constantly calls the cops on you for having the stereo too loud when you knew well and good that the 4 setting on the volume knob couldn't be heard outside your living room let alone across the lawn into her kitchen littered with cats in heat. Jesus Ladie, learn to love Led Zeppelin like the rest of us. Oh, sorry, what was I, oh yeah, who would you save? Being the hero is a lot of responsibility. It's much harder than trigonometry.

Are you the damsel or dude in distress? Let's say the gang from Planet Z comes to Peoria and drops a Volvo on your house and you are trapped inside under the un-deployed air bag compartment, safest car my ass. Anyway, how far would you go to free yourself? Hours of screaming for help, extraordinary amounts of energy trying to reach a cell phone that is just out of your reach, or do you use a Bic disposable razor to hack a limb off and crawl to the nearest free clinic, cause you know the emergency room is gonna ask you for an insurance card and wouldn't you know it the Volvo is on top of your wallet. If you're gonna be in distress, please be calm when you call me, hysterics aren't gonna get me there any faster.

Are you the fuedalist? One more roll in the hay with Marissa Tomei like the beginning of Before the Devil Knows Your Dead and then, sweet death comes to all of us. I mean there are worse ways to go out. She has great nipples, a killer ass and a wicked laugh, but is that really how you want your ticket punched? So that, assuming there is a DMV like afterlife, you are forced to stand before some women that would rather paint the toe nails of her cat than talk to you and tell her that you didn't try to find shelter, help a single soul, instead you made one last batch of baby batter and waited for the death ray to strike. I can't imagine that would get you any points with the big guy.

Are you the clown. The one that cracks lame jokes til the end. Humor has it's place in a catastrophic event, no doubt about it, but once the punchlines stop being funny, say, the second the mothership turns the afternoon sky into a glowing light show of doom. There's no room for the clown in my town, I need a bevy of liquored up red necks with plenty of artillery. Luckily, I live in the South where I am surrounded by them, so I'm feeling pretty safe.

Are you the first to die? You know this person by their positive outlook on life. Their empirical sense that the sliver lining is the best part of the storm. They are usually in love with someone new or they have just gotten their significant other pregnant. These are easily the most annoying people that we all know and part of wants to thank Alf and his pals for having the common courtesy of giving the rest of us a Rocky vs. Thuderlips chance while sending our irksome chums to the great gig in the sky first.

Or are you the zombie? Only slightly less bothersome than the happy first to die, are the ones that can't get their shit together no matter what. Yes, it's traumatic. Work it out with your therapist after we survive, deer eyes? These people slow the whole group down, it's a wonder they don't get shot by friendly fire. Seriously, pick up the pace, Cruella, we're trying to outrun Spock and Warf, get a move on!

As for me, well, I'd like to think that I would be a semi-heroic clown. Sure I'd crack wise now and then, but I'm pretty sure I would kick some Starman ass.

What about you? What would you do if the aliens attacked?

Dixie Cup of Love: Salma Hayek, my favorite alien.