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Trust no Gray.

Posted by jez on August 31, 2010 at 1:20 AM

“Freedom of speech is a myth because it’s very imperative nature is a danger to freedom, and knowledge of true freedom is a key to the life eternal.”

 

Suddenly the car jacked in and while Jack and Dave were hemmed by the kerb of a road so perfectly horizontal for miles, one could conceivably be fooled into believing it headed straight for Area 51, a dark garbed gentleman pulled up nice and tight in what to most would be commonly known as a meat wagon, proceeded with the traditional windy hello, hello, hello what’s going on here then, then immediately handed Jack a see through satchel with a pipe sticking out of one end and prompted that he puff into it. With one way in and no way out, Dave imagined what Jack might be thinking.

“Here I believe are a couple of terrestrial tricks in the intellectual and amiable art of Alienido (a kind of verbal Aikido) in the event of an accosting by the human impostor. Firstly, always carry a digital camera, the Gray is photosensitive and doesn’t like flashing lights. If you suddenly find your motor neurons are totally not responding and sense your body being ushered involuntarily to a vehicle with Black Mariah and throbbing coloured disco techno plastered all over it, try not to clammer for your camera, stay calm, click and pray your batteries haven’t gone on holiday. Don’t believe ANY guff the swine might telepathically suggest about how there’s Turkish delights stuffed in its saucers waiting to be dished to the first gullible cretin taken in by the dubious offer of a freebie, if you don’t want to end up as condensed milk, liquid protein, and or eaten that is. You should also refrain from the temptation of saying, well chops to that old chap but I’d really rather pop ‘round to the 4 O Clock chippy for a donor kebab now if you don’t mind, should you not require an alarmingly sudden, “Right, that’s it pal, yir’ coming wi’ us” reply.

If on the other hand the clanger cross Klingon starts zapping you with evil mind ray semantics and tells you it’s not really dressed up, that you’re mistaken, moreover if you don’t comply with its perspective, and or fail to recognise a criminal offence when you’ve being accused of one, there will be big trouble, especially if a jury is ill afforded the hypocritical indiscretion of deciding who’s right and who’s wrong, and that you might either go straight to the cells or Down Under in the Bonnie ship the diamond (not to be confused with the Bonnybridge pie man, basically translated; The Falkirk Triangle). Do not be coerced by this legal and simple sum of absolute crap, immediately explain you majored in philology and any fool can see that the sun falling beyond the horizon, the fact you are not a beautiful girl (for if you were drop dead gorgeous and the Klingon doppelganger, Richard D. Hall’s version of Star-Trek’s Wharf wasn’t actually an Annunakai, Reptilian Gray, or Gremlin after all, you would immediately be released right there on the spot) and apples falling from trees does not take any effort whatsoever to comprehend, especially these days, even for non-Newtonians. Respectfully add that the misuse of the word ‘perspective’ in this context is poop, for if you do not attempt to blind the bobby with hazology (terribly complicated ways of saying immensely simple things) and hesitate even for a moment, he will do absolutely all in his subliminal power to subdue your critical will, shackle and cart you to the rear of one of a multitude of chambered caverns, and we all know that Lucy fir loves nothing more than when he’s hammering the nails on the ‘old rugged - possibly drugged - cross’ and giving us the blame there, don’t we? If we didn’t know, we do now.

And again, if none of the aforementioned has any effect, before the prowling and carnivorous erky-eared perky is given the chance to squeeze your rotators with its thumb and forefinger, dispatch the fiend with a swift uppercut that will temporarily render it prostrate, don’t wait for its revival to explain that the definition of prostrate is to reduce one to extreme physical weakness, but immediately make your getaway. If it does turn out you are mistaken, the worst scenario is imprisonment and you should be out within one to two weeks, rest assured, this is preferable to being wrangled through a soup making soul matrix machine if you’re right. This advice might even be a mitigating circumstance if the judge happens to be a fellow prisoner (refer to neologisms in index) and is the only person who knows what the hell you have been through, and are talking about.

In addition to the above, don’t take shortcuts home along secluded woodland paths in the middle of the night, but if you do happen to be out and about in the wee small and unearthly hours, stay right where there is ample street light, you’ll be quite safe unless of course there are a couple of mischievous revellers staggering helplessly towards you and looking like they’re about to ask you back to their pad. If you get the odd and uneasy feeling that you are being watched, it’s because you probably are, by a Mr Gray exploring the psychological anomaly of spying, even possible thuggery, but with the sole intention of slurping your red stuff dry, some of which might get retained in glass jars for the abominable Dows future consumption. If you happen to be close to home, run to it as fast as your jellied legs will allow and phone Tom Cruise right away to come and help you sort the problem. If none of this works and if you still abhor the idea of having your gears cored out to the colon with no vascular collapse and in an undignified field, then ask alien Al politely if it would like a race to the end of the street, if baldox is up for exploring the psychological anomaly of ego, when it sprints off like an absolute…expletive deleted…, run like the clappers in the other direction, or alternatively and if you’re voice-box hasn’t gone AWOL, then ask the Reticulan if it has ever enjoyed a good kick in the toolbox, it pre–abduction phenomena (remember to say phenomena and not agenda, for if you do not, Mr. Gray might take exception to your profound knowledge and terminate you right there on the spot) didn’t have, and sometimes dissects from cattle, and sadly, the occasional human.

Neology is the preferred language of the alien Gray, so lastly, if chrome dome tells you it's a womb dater, a letter writing wish-dosher, or just some laxi-cabriant dressed in its Jade white Sunday best out driving a caxi-tab near the supermarket at Straiton, you’ve just met Spock. Ask him if he knows your mate Johnny Jay, say that you’re only meaning to get home to the wife, and that you were only there to try out what used to be the Victoria and Albert’s white piano. It might also help if you tell your potential platinum pal that you do NOT want to be given a birth nor a brain implant, and you certainly do NOT want to be taught how to weld balls near castles or waterfalls. When and where there are two or more aliens, only prayers rarely answered can help you there.

Dave leaned on one side of the vehicle as Jack menacingly mambulated back and forth at the theft of their personal details.

“He’s probably off to steal another hapless roller’s time.” Jack said

“I’ll be the bobby, you be the protestor Jack.” Dave said.

“Isn’t this a wonderful crime free society?”

“No.” Jack replied.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because no-one breaks the law anymore, so there’s no need for all these wall bots and back road bizzies.”

“Aye there is, they keep the drones in check and the minute one steps out of line you can be sure we’ll know about it.”

“But I can’t even use a cash machine without you zooming in on my safety pin.”

“Isn’t that preferable to being robbed? We’ve caught housebreakers and molesters and that can’t be bad can it?”

“I’m well aware of that, but there will always be lawbreakers no matter what. Surely there are alternatives, I mean this is just a small town after all, that kind of thing doesn’t happen ‘round here, not on a regular basis anyway.”

“Our model society, our upright citizenry was built from this and you wouldn’t listen so we had to make you - no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ about it.”

“Really, then this system of society surveillance is a form of a collective restraint like say the curfew tag a paroled prisoner is forced to wear?”

“No, it protects you from yourselves because you don’t know how to behave.”

“Haven’t we all fallen short?”

“Big Brother isn’t going to listen to that.”

“But you said it wasn’t that.” Jack told Dave as Dave stood boldly stretching up into the misty purple heavens attired to the eyeballs in his imaginary combats, thumbs tucked neatly in the straps of his stab proof corset and all of this slap bang in the bizzy bosom of a quiet country lane far from the bombs of real battle. But to Jack this was a conflict, it was a battle, he knew he was only trying to salvage some sacred sliver of sanctity amid the wreckage of what remained of his humanity, his moral fibre strewn about the grass-free precincts of this pretty little planet.

There was something that wasn’t right, something that was seriously wrong, but no-one quite knew what, only now the herd of elephants was rousing from its docility and boy were they grumpy. Here’s how it may have all began etc...

 

Joseph M. Ippolito.

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