Monday, September 14, 2009

I was Abducted by Illegal Aliens

I was Abducted by Aliens…Illegal Aliens

It's true.

Where do I begin? I mean, there's so much to…it's hard to even put into words. It's like…um…it's like you can't really know where the story begins and when it ends. Like when you're having sex with a really ugly woman.

I guess I can start with my first encounter with aliens:

I was twelve and I was going to a baseball game with my father. We were walking passed a large parking lot, when we noticed some movement.

That's when it came at us.

It was…dark in color. It looked like a man…but it was…it was different. The eyes were all wrong and the hair was kinky. The skin color was nine shades darker than ours. I…I don't even like thinking about it.

It came up to my dad and said "Hey, you want to buy a ticket to the game?"

My dad grabbed me and ran.

We never talked about it again.

Present day:

Last night, I was in bed and I was reading the Wallstreet Journal, when I heard a knock at the door. It must've been six o'clock, because I was just getting ready for bed. It had been a long night and I had been doing a lot of cocaine.

I walked down the stairs to my door. I normally keep my door downstairs, because visitors find it hard to get into the house from two stories up.

I asked "Are you an illegal alien?" I ask this of all my guests.

The thing behind the door answered "No. I'm…uh…we're from the IRS. You forgot to pay your taxes or something." Or he might have said "We are illegal aliens and we have come to plant our intercontinental sperm in your butt." Or, they may have said something about selling magazines. I can't be sure.

Being a law-abiding citizen, I opened the door with my wallet ready to pay for whatever the good Bush administration needed. If it was the IRS, I was ready to comply. Whether they needed paper clips, puzzles, or nine hundred pounds of crack cocaine to flood the streets of Compton, I was willing to pay for it.

I'm a patriot.

Well, it wasn't the IRS behind the door. No, in fact, it was ILLEGAL ALIENS!!!

They grabbed me by my shirt collar (or calmly asked me if I would like to subscribe to Entertainment Weekly, again, I can't be sure) and the rest is a blur. I believe some nerve agent paralyzed me, because I couldn't move. Of course, I had been drinking a large amount of paint thinner in order to see through walls, like this one guy told me about in a Christian chat group; but, I don't think that was it.

I think the aliens had used some sort of nerve agent on me. I'm no stranger to nerve agents. For the entire Clinton presidency I had to use nerve agents to maintain an erection.

The next thing I remember, I was on a hospital bed and this alien was shining a light in my face.

"Yo, homes!? You OK?"

"What the hell? Unhand me, you alien!"

"I'm not an alien. My name is Robert. We were selling some magazines and you passed out on us. We're in your garage. By the way, why do you keep a hospital bed in your garage?"

"That's none of your illegal alien business!" I was beside myself. Literally. The paint thinner or alien magic made me think I was laying down next to myself. This is part of the alien power; it forces you to look at yourself objectively. I've never been so horrified in my life. It was like I could see how fat my ass was, and at the same time see my pale reptilian skin.

"How did you know we were illegal?" This from the half man, half dinosaur that may or may not have just been made up for shock value.

"You aren't like me!" This was true. I spend my summers hunting Indonesian children, while these monsters probably run in some gang or something.

"You mean, because we're Latino?" The thing had morphed into Betty Boop and I found myself a bit aroused. I quickly prayed to the Lord to stop making me gay again.

"No, I know a lot of Latinos. But, none of them are twelve feet tall! And none of them speak in tongues and have rainslickers for skin! Don't try to deceive me. Just anal probe me and let me go!" I had been anal probed before. It was in New Orleans, and I may have paid to have it done; I can't remember.

"Dude, I think this guy's a fag." This was said to the other illegal alien that was shaped like a milkshake.

"I am not a fag! I am an American patriot, and you are an illegal alien! I am making a citizen's execution!" And, with that, I tried to use my gamma ray vision on him, but it was no use. My powers were rendered useless. The illegal aliens were wily and proved to be more formidable enemies than I imagined.

Of course I explained this to them and they just looked at me like I was nuts!? Like I was the illegal alien?! Like I was Brian Bozworth or something?!

"Let's ditch. This guy's nuts. El loco!" And with that the aliens left me in my garage among my medical beds and waste.

That's my story. Sure, I know some of you are skeptical of Illegal Alien Abductions, but my story is true.

I guess I've decided to come forward because of the children…

That night, as I suspended myself above the kitchen on the pot rack and looked down at the tiles with a large meat thermometer up my ass I thought to myself If this could happen to me, think about how it could happen to me again?

So, be warned – the truth is out there. And the truth is that Illegal Alien Abduction is real.

And, as if to prove this point, and drive it to the barn faster than a pope in a field of dreams: a large Dutch man is on my porch looking at my cable box. Sure, he's got a jacket that says Comcast, and maybe he's not illegal, but he's still an alien.

Kirk Cameron said it best when he said "If you aren't Christian and you aren't American, then you should rot in hell." I'll leave you with those sound words.

God bless,

Pat Robertson

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