All beings of the universe are different. For instance, my people are brilliant. Humans, on the other hand, are so dumb that they think the leading cause of death is heart disease. It’s not. It’s almond milk. Even the Grey aliens won’t touch the stuff. Despite their differences, there is one truth that connects all beings. Life doesn’t ever go as planned.
Why do these creatures choose to spend their lives with someone else? It’s bad enough they’re already tethered to each other through family. My people do family the right way. We don’t care if they live or die.
I see now it’s not the food that brings humans together. It’s each other. There is a basic human need to feel like you belong. It feels good.
Humans do not look forward. They have memories that force them to look backwards. The alien in me only failed my mission once, but the human in me has relived that failure a thousand times. Why would I think about it if it’s painful? Maybe humans like pain as much as they like pie.
With my people coming to kill everyone on Earth, I will need a bunker to survive. I will fix it up and present it to Asta as her new home. We will live, and all the beer-drinking douchebags can fry.
To say my species is more advanced than humans would be a massive understatement. If the universe had a scale for intelligence, humans would land right below lizards.
This is my life now, human being. So I have to live like humans do. Occupy my time at a job I loathe, slowly rotting away until I die.
The answer is simple. It’s nighttime. I’ll just break into that kid’s house and kill him. I’ll say one thing about whiskey: it’s allowing me to make smart, rational decisions.