Sunday, July 5, 2009

He's got an inflated opinion of himself

Because it's July 5, it's time for another edition of "Fuck You, Alien," the homage/rip off column.

It’s July. Summer time. Beach time. You go to your local beach, take a dip in the warm water, and you want to toss around a beach ball with your BFs. You hold your arms open expecting to catch a bright blue, red and yellow-striped number, but instead you get an armful of muddy-orange-and-splotchy here. And then its CLAWS sink into your arms. (There’s not enough Bactine (TM) in the world for that kinda hurt.) Not good, beach ball alien. Not good at all.

You’re an alien beach ball (or a beach ball alien, it’s hard to figure out). Beaches have RULES. Dogs aren’t allowed on most beaches, and neither are you. You don’t belong on the beach. And from the finger pointing going on in your photo, you don’t belong on a spaceship either. So make like David Banner at the end of every Incredible Hulk episode and just keep moving down the road, alien beach ball.

No, you’re not wanted here, but somewhere out there you might be.

Photo from the movie Dark Star copyright 1974 & 2009 by the respective rights holder. No infringement of those rights is intended.

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