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Alien Invasion on the Horizon?
Reporter's note: I intercepted this story from a newspaper report that takes place fifteen years in the future. We may be well advised to start acting on it now.
Yesterday, January 9, 2026 at approximately 8:11 P.M. EDT, the following still photograph was frozen onto the screens of every multi-media device around the world, interrupting all forms of communication while a prepared warning speech was broadcast. Ongoing investigations have been launched in every sector of the world's law enforcement community to locate the perpetrator who, evidently, possesses a device powerful enough to arrest the entire planet's communication grids for several minutes. (Rumor has it that all members of the G10 are scrambling to prepare bids in the event the world invasion is a hoax and an inventor is simply looking to cash in on his creation by showcasing its capabilities). The remainder of this article is a transcript of the aforementioned speech.
Greetings foolish mortals,
You don't know me, but I know you. I've been watching you for years. My name cannot be pronounced by you humanoids without having a large, yellowish hairball wedged in your throat, so just call me HotFred. I've been sent here from another galaxy as a scout to prepare this joke of a planet for an invasion by my people.
Let's make two things perfectly clear right from the start. First of all, take a long, hard look at my photo – I am pure, concentrated evil. I was chosen for this mission because I possess a deadly combination of character traits that includes the unbound intellect of an intergalactic genius and a blackened soul that has been sold to the Devil twice (yes, he visits our planet, too). Fortunately, old Scratch is afraid of me and continues to return my hairy essence with no corresponding loss in market or redemptive value. But I digress.
The second item I need to drive home is, after living here for several years, I've come to the conclusion that I don't want us to invade your crappy planet. You people are whacked. You carry plastic cards and colorful pieces of worthless paper in your wallets as status symbols, and what's worse, merchants actually allow you to purchase usable goods with them. You morons vote crooked politicians into office – year after mind numbing year – even though they've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt they're going to continue to slip you an un-greased shaft while your comatose brains are perpetually distracted by another "must-see" TV event or the latest swimsuit calendar. And one of the most puzzling phenomena of all, with glazed eyes and gaping mouths, you inexplicably hang on every single syllable uttered by a depraved cadre of actors, musicians, and athletes as if they have something intelligent to say. Keep in mind the preceding list doesn't even come close to scratching the surface of your retardation. In all my billions of light years of travel, this spinning chunk of rock, hands down, is the screwiest place I've ever been.
I've been trying to get off this hole and cancel the invasion since I arrived, but my inter-dimensional transport is still in the shop (awaiting the delivery of some factory original parts), and, unfortunately, our cell phone technology isn't any more advanced than yours, so I haven't been able to contact anyone back home yet.
The main point you need to understand is that I am the vanguard for a fearless army that is intent on subjugating your measly Earth to its diabolical will. I am so certain of our success, I even have no fear of telling you the exact date of the invasion – Super Bowl Sunday, 2030* – a day in which nothing short of a direct nuclear blast could dislodge the average American's over-sized rear end from his sagging lounge chair.
And just because I, personally, am roughly the size of one of the creatures you ignorant beings have labeled "house cats", you need to know that my brethren average six feet high at the shoulders and weigh between 800 and 900 of your Earth pounds (for those of you on the metric system, I'm not sure what that is in kilograms). If this invasion proceeds as planned, every human not eaten alive will be consigned to forced labor camps mining kitty litter or growing herbs on government collectives for the sole purpose of catnip production.
Now for the really crazy part. Even though you live in a world full of ignorance, where the average individual does not command the intellectual presence to question something so basic as the ingredients contained in a "Big-Ass Fatburger", or assess the corresponding damage to the highly-complex, perfectly balanced bio-organism known as the human body which would be the likely result of ingesting said ingredients, I want to help you. Not because I like you or any other such stupid reason (remember, I'm evil). If the invasion force reaches this planet and finds an intelligent, productive society at work, they may think twice before landing, reasoning that such advanced life-forms will not be so easy to conquer. So I figure if I can educate you sloth-like jackasses to the point where you can at least act as if you have a portion of a functioning brain, I'll have a much better chance of being able to go home and forget that such a thing as sit-coms actually exist somewhere in the universe. The way things stand now, however – prepare to be boarded.
For the obscenely flatulent who eat microwaved, convenience store chili-cheese-dogs for breakfast – resistance is futile. For the odoriferous obese who keep the canned beer and soda behemoths afloat in a sea of profit – submit. For the blissfully ignorant with chair-shaped posteriors and Prozac smiles – bend to my will. I am a desperate being. I have already been informed that I will be made chancellor of this planet should it fall to our race – a terrifying thought that has been the source of many a sleepless night. And woe betide the foolish dolt who attempts to bring legal action against me. Such an affront will be met with the force of my superior intellect, weaponry, and most importantly, my attorneys, Cheatum, Ramrod, and Shaft. Hey, just because I'm a powerful alien being doesn't mean I should leave myself unprotected.
Also, any of you idiots from the FBI's Hostage "Rescue" Team, BATFE, or (insert your own asinine, government acronym here) who are reading this – don't get any fancy ideas about thwarting my intentions. I'm constantly changing disguises (or invisible) so you'll never be able to find me. You won't be able to track me through my financial dealings either, because they're all conducted through a quadruple blind trust. But that's a whole different story.
Stay tuned to your idiot box for further updates.
*While the element of surprise is not necessary for this particular invasion scenario, forced occupations tend to go a little smoother when the victims are in a state of "zombification". And, although I'm hopeful you will heed my warning, rendering this addendum moot, I am required by law to notify you that in the event the Super Bowl is a blowout, the invasion contingency date is set for the opening night of the new fall TV lineup for that season. Also, please note that the UK, Continental European, and Latin American phases of the invasion will be executed during the World Cup Soccer Finals of that same year. Feel free to consult your local newspaper for the scheduled invasion time and date in your area.
