Rookie Moves

Last night the remote went missing. Not just the simple, "where the heck did I put that thing?" You know what I'm talking about, you get up, turn around twice and there it is, right next where you were sitting, "must have slid off the sofa arm or something."

This was nothing like that! This was an all out loss. I stood up turned around twice and looked in by the sofa arm. Nothing. I checked over, under around and even rummaged through the cushions. I got down on all fours like some feral remote hunting beast pushing toys and stuffed lions aside. Nothing. No power. No remote. I was helpless. Adrift all the while the paused image of my show stood a mere eight feet away beckoning me,

"Don't you want to see how this ends?"
"YEs! Of CourRSe I DO!"
"Well, then. Lets get to it bub!"

What's a guy to do. Sure I could hit the pause button the DVD player itself like some blithering Neanderthal, but what's the point. I wouldn't solve the problem. The REMOTE WAS LOST. It was probably just as scared and worried as I was. It needed me, and I needed it. We formed a kind of symbiosis. Apart we are weak, together we can stem the tide.

So I left the room, and walked back in. And there it was. Sitting pretty on the sofa arm.

"I was here along."
"No. I'm happy to find you but I know better."

I knew instantly what had happened. Aliens. Rookie aliens understudies. Clearly when the aliens had come by, frozen time and scanned the brains of all the humans on my street, they had some form of rookie fly along program. For all aspiring slimys looking for a career with decent hours and interactions with foreign bodies. Mostly they are just there to observe, sometimes hold the bags scanning equipment is stored in and clean up the slime trails. This one got foolish.

Imagine the surprise of the journeymen level brain infiltration services expert when he saw with this sticky young pup had done! Allow me to translate!

Due to some rushed math there was a couple minute blip where I existed on a planet without my remote. Too bad I'm not one to believe in my own shortcomings, silly aliens.

I imagine that junior understudy will get quiet a slimy pouchful from the master level brain infiltration director. Whoa! If I could be a pile of ectogoo on that wall. Anyway. It's good to know even aliens make mistakes.


Anonymous said...

Well that took an unexpected turn.

Word verification: cessed - how South Carolinians spell what they did from the Union in 1861.

kludge said...

Aliens are so like that.