My wife is very upset with me. No, that’s not really unusual. But this time it’s not because I left my shoes (OK, flip-flops) in the living room or because I didn’t make the bed nor attempt to reassemble its 37 pillows in proper order.
This time its because when she brings up the metal monoliths that have been showing up in Utah, Romania, California, the Netherlands and the Isle of Wright off the coast of England and I can only imagine where else by the time I finish typing this post, I don’t respond with the same sense of alarm that she has.
In fact, my usual response is somewhere along the lines of “Uh-huh” or “You don’t say.”
“THIS IS 2020!” she calmly points out while waving her hands like a Bahamian traffic cop on a cocaine high. “IT’S JUST THE END OF THE WORLD! But do you care? Nooooooo.”
It’s December, and by now we all realize, as I say, “2020 gonna 2020.” We’ve had plenty of 2020 up in here, and I’ve got to believe we’ve just about escaped this year alive. I just hope that next year we don’t long for the calm, predictable days of 2020 and aren’t saying, “2021 gonna 2021.”
Her implication is that these randomly appearing monoliths are clearly extraterrestrial and part of some nefarious plot by the Empire, the Klingons or Marvin the Martian. I maintain they are more likely the result of some quirky folks chatting in a far corner of them interwebs about weird ways they can rile up the world — as if it needs any more riling up … or any more weirdness.
Now, I’m not saying these monoliths are not part of some navigational system for a pending alien invasion or some sort guidance system for their super-duper-planet-blower-upper machine. My lack of concern about the monoliths has a lot more to do with the fact that I don’t have a whole lot of say when it comes to aliens.
For argument’s sake, let’s say there is an alien horde coming for our planet. I seriously doubt that Earth is going to be able to match them if they have the capability of traveling millions of light years while our idea of a major initiative in space to go back to the moon … again.
Personally, I’m not sure why I am being asked to worry about it. What does she expect me to do? I’ve got a single-shot rifle, a hatchet and a few rocks.
“Turn the ship around, Zornoc! That strangely good-looking earthling’s got a rock! Abort! Abort!”
The main reason I’m not buying that we are about to be invaded is that I doubt anyone wants our planet. We couldn’t even trade this planet for a new one, like Uranus, at the Solar System Swap Meet.
“Sorry, dude, this trade-in ain’t worth nothing. It’s dirty and broken. It’d cost us more to repair your planet than we’d make selling it. Maybe I can interest you in a fairer trade — perhaps our dwarf planet Pluto or this 2021 model asteroid.”
Besides, I learned three main things during the more than three dozen alien abductions I experienced in my teens and 20s: (1) Their technology is far superior to ours; (2) they only visit our planet to make them feel better about theirs; and (3) don’t fall for it when they tell you, “Hey, pull my finger, human.”
That last one may not have much to do with alien invasions, but, trust me, it’s still good advice — whether it’s aliens or Rudy Guiliani.