They have a term on Earth for a man who works on engines: sexy beast. That’s me. If these humans ever saw me actually flying my spaceship, I’d have women beating me off with a stick.
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.
Spring. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, the sun warms the Earth. Somewhere. Not here. It’s 30 degrees out. It snowed 9 feet last winter, and four frozen sodas just exploded in my truck. Welcome to Patience, Colorado.
Killing may make humans feel strong in the moment, but what I’ve begun to realize is, true strength comes from choosing not to kill. Maybe being truly human is about choosing to love instead.
I’m not alone up here. This is bad. I just felt my rear iris pucker and my testicles tighten. My taint remains unchanged.
I would grow a mustache as a disguise, but then I’d have to get a job as a firefighter or a pedophile.
I was taught that the biggest problem with the human race was their need for connection. We always saw that as a weakness. But now I realize it may be their greatest strength.