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."
"Then you might have to return there at any time."
"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

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