Planet Myrxon
When I first came to Earth from the planet
Myrxon, it was my mission to observe the Earthlings' global defense warning
systems, their military capabilities, what kind of tentative cooperation
might exist between the various Earthling nations to repel the eventual
attack we had planned in our sweep to conquer all life forms in galaxies
17 to 23. To deflect any kind of suspicion upon my arrival I took a job
as a plasterman in a Yonkers dental lab called AAA Dental and found a simple
little Earthling woman to cohabitate with. In a series of peculiar circumstances
I even fell into a local garage band called The Twenty % Tippers, finding
some humor in playing this crude Earthling music based on the most vulgar
of rhythms and harmonies. Starting from this locus point I felt I was in
an ideally inconspicuous position to begin my field work to corroborate
our initial estimates of an all-inclusive back-breaking domination of the
Earthling nations by our death fleets in a campaign lasting eleven to thirteen
days.
But something unexpected began to happen.
I formed the most peculiar fascination with this Earthling lifestyle, which
consisted of coming home from work with a cold Domino's pizza, having incredibly
sloppy Earthling sex and then sitting up in bed watching old episodes of
Mannix, where an Earthling private investigator with a pompadour
keeps walking into dark warehouses and getting punched in the gut by Earthling
hoods. Even the hopes and longings of The Twenty % Tippers became infectious
and soon I was as bent on "getting signed" by an Earthling record company
as any of the other band members, a situation I found comical considering
that I could have simply walked into the offices of these record companies
at any given time with my vortex gun turned to the "mind control" setting
and stunned these A & R representatives into submission. I became so immersed
in this mock Earthling lifestyle that when a Saturday would come and I really
should have gone to spy on the facilities of the Watson Research Center
at IBM or the MIT Architecture Machine Group to see what the Earthlings
were doing currently with laser position tracking technologies and their
use in virtual reality, instead I found myself accompanying my Earthling
girlfriend to shop for livingroom furniture on Fordham Road or some similar
mind-numbing pursuit.
This went on for far too long as I fell deeper
and deeper into my Earthling cover and sent only the most vague and cryptic
communiques back to the planet Myrxon to fudge the fact that I hadn't been
carrying out my mission. A typical transmission would read something like
"Earthling defenses more benign than we think -- more malignant than we
know -- over and out." I would send these transmissions from the bathroom
as my Earthling girlfriend would knock on the door and ask what I was doing
in there.
This all came to a head one night as The Twenty
% Tippers were playing at our regular hangout, Fatty's Tap Room on Warburton
Avenue up in Yonkers. We were in the middle of our set when High Commander
Carcus entered the bar. He was in disguise and to the Earthlings appeared
like any other local, but only I could see his true face, which was a seething
and bubbling mass of methane and lumibium gases. We were in the middle of
a song that I had written for the band called "Your Butt Is In Latex (And
My Tongue's On The Floor)" and Commander Carcus did not seem impressed.
He stood at the bar drinking a Perrier and lime and when the set was over
approached me to talk. We walked out into the alley which ran along the
side of the building.
"Agent Rorshak, our death fleets have been
fueled and stand waiting for your progress report. What have you been doing
all this time in regards to your mission?"
"Commander, I have been collecting data at
a thoughtful and deliberate pace. After all, it is imperative that we do
not lose a single death ship."
"Agent Rorshak, I'll have you know that Special
Agent Valdor was deployed to the Earthling nation called Russia, and in
the same period of time as you've been here, he's infiltrated himself into
the highest levels of government, becoming Deputy Minister of Defense, sitting
in on Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty meetings and meanwhile cluing us
in on a wealth of classified information. I'm sorry to say I'm disappointed
in your conduct. You were my most promising student at the Myrxon War College.
By this time I had expected you to perhaps find a way to sabotage the resonant
frequency of cesium, hydrogen and mercury atoms which make up the Earth's
orientation parameters of Universal Standard Time, or to perhaps scramble
the transmissions of World Federation Wrestling just as the Earthlings are
sitting down to their TV dinners."
"Commander Carcus, if I may interject my humble
opinion, perhaps we can leave the Earthlings be. They're such a stupid little
race, they'll probably wipe themselves out in due time anyway. They certainly
pose no threat to us."
"Agent Rorshak, it's obvious you've completely
lost your bearings, and all over a little piece of Earthling tail."
"Well Commander, I can't speak for all Earthling
women, but the one I found, well, she isn't anything like the women on Myrxon.
The girls on our planet, they want everything -- the flubbercraft, the mood
ring, the pleasure dome, and at the same time they want their career interrogating
and torturing alien life forms."
"Agent Rorshak, it's unfortunate to see that
you've gone native, and I'll have to put a stop to it at once."
He pulled his vortex gun from its holster
and set it on the "melt" setting.
"I saw your little Earthling woman on the
way in. Not much to look at, even for an alien. She tried to put me on your
mailing list. If I can nip this 'Earthling romance that can never be' in
the bud, maybe I can bring you back to your senses."
Seeing what he was planning to do, my nerves
became taut and I sprang into action with all the techniques learned at
the Myrxon War College, all against the teacher who instructed me. I knocked
the vortex gun out of his hand and quickly deflected his melbunium force-field
with a counter force-field of my own. Intense lightning flashed as our fields
were locked for a few tense moments, until his gravitational rug was pulled
from under him and he disappeared, vowing to return to finish our business.
I brushed myself off and turned round to find that Jan Trojanowski, The
Twenty % Tippers' drummer, was standing there having witnessed everything.
I felt my entire cover was blown as I walked up to him.
"What the hell was that?!" asked Jan.
"Jan, I have to be straight with you. I'm
a secret agent sent here from the planet Myrxon."
"Myrxon . . . it sounds like a suppository
you buy at the drugstore."
"Well it's true. Our Myrxon death fleets are
fueled and waiting to attack. Our goal is to make slaves of your entire
planet. I was sent here in advance to make sure the campaign would be carried
out smoothly."
Jan stood there, thoughtful for a moment.
Finally he spoke.
"You're really from the planet Myrxon."
"Yes."
"Then you might have to return there at any
time."
"Yes."
"Well, then maybe we should start taping our
practices. We just have too much material for somebody to be able to jump
in and replace you at a moments notice."
I put my arm around his shoulder. "That's
an excellent idea, Jan," I said as we walked back inside to get a drink
at the bar. "We're going to start taping our practices just as soon as possible."
-- sent out as announcement for 5/1/93 show at the Bond Street Cafe