Collapsing Shack, AZ—Life forms from the distant planet Blog arrived on Earth last week only to discover the Mayan Apocalypse was a complete bust. The Blogganinians, a race of evolved gecko-like creatures, were quite shocked to find the Earth still functioning as usual and they were even more annoyed to find the human/feline alliance still as strong as ever.
I caught up to their leader, RrrrackaksarrinotickpthHhHhtththt-Jo, and his fellow space rangers drowning their sorrows and scooping human brains out of severed skulls at a local watering hole. It’s okay, that was the special that night.
Bone:So why are you so upset to find the Earth in one piece? Some of us are rather pleased to be alive.
R-Jo:No offense, Earthling, but we were hoping all of humanity and certainly all of those damn cats would be destroyed, then we could have dined on your corpses. Now, with all of you still alive, we’ll be lucky to eat a few dozen of you before we have to head back. And do you know how much it cost us to get here? Hell, my wives and I were going to claim this whole continent for ourselves, but I guess we can’t now. I mean who wants a place polluted by industrial apes, cluttered primitive combustion engines, and swarming with shitloads of those infernal cats!
Bone:Why do you hate cats so much?
R-Jo:Who doesn’t hate cats? They are the scourge of the Multiverse. Oh, and they eat lizards, cough up hair balls, shit inside, and think they are cooler than everyone else.
Bone:They sound like the guys I blog with.
R-Jo:Blog? Oh yes, Blogging. Yet another insult to our home world. Humans are almost as bad as cats. Oh, I’m a cat. Look, I can wash myself with my tongue…like that sounds healthy. Disgusting freaks. But, I must admit, this phenomenon was covered in a recent Crank featurevery thoroughly on that site of yours.
R-Jo:Can we ask you a question? Hold on a moment, Earthling. Wrrrrrracureamurmanure-Bob, put the bartender down. We aren’t supposed to eat the staff until they try to give us a bill, remember?
Bone:Ah, sure go ahead, just add it to Mr. Winslow’s tab. I’m sure he won’t mind as long as he paid off the new bullet train between his third copter pad and Big Uns Hooter’s Palace.
R-Jo:So why are you talking to us, especially seeing as how we’ll be eating you after we finish this pitcher?
Bone:I’m a servant of Yig so all reptiles are my allies or at least cool enough to follow on Twitter. Second, I’m going to post this interview on this blog I work for and—
R-Jo:There you go again, insulting our planet, Blog. Oh, our home world is just as important as a silly website on your primitive interweb. And why is everyone asking us about good car insurance deals? I don’t understand that one at all. Why not bang two rocks together while you piss in your loincloth, flea-eater?!
Bone:Cool it, man. I’ll let that one go, because you’re a reptile, but I don’t need any lip from a bunch of creatures who were hoping to feast on the corpses of our dead world.
R-Jo:I don’t have lips, you dirt farming, cat loving, warmblood. And its Yig’s fault the Apocalypse didn’t happen. I think he’s gone soft and is starting to like you pale-bellied bipeds.
It was about then I tossed my chicken wings into their faces and grabbed a chair. I was about to go to town, when I noticed Zano had excused himself to use the restroom and the Crank had walked out with his cell phone, mouthing, “I have to take this.” Then T-Ballz chose that moment to go order another pitcher.
Alone I faced the eight Blogganinians. Damn it, where were some cats when you needed them? I might have been a goner if Ballz hadn’t distracted them with a full pitcher. (It’s okay, he put it on Winslow’s tab.) Later, we smoked them out, but not before we managed to set up an Interplanetary Weed Initiative. Don’t worry, it’s all medical marijuana. Everyone at the Discord has glaucoma, honest. Apparently, pot’s legal everywhere in the Multiverse, except parts of the U.S. You see, the Blogganinians prescribe pot for their cat allergies as well. Too bad Winslow’s taking 95% of the profit, since the deal went down during Discord hours. At least he’s letting me and my cats crash in the gardening shack behind his sixth home after the gecko bastards destroyed my home.
