It’s day 325 on my journey to Earth. Unfortunately for me, and my prospects of returning home, still no physical contact with other species. I’ve taken to touching myself, though.
It’s fun for a little while, but then I just feel alone and empty. That, of course, could be because I just released a few unborn, would-be Erbadurnese into the world only to be flushed down a toilet. Strangely, this sensation would be considered what humans call “murder” back on my home planet of Erbadurn.
I don’t think it’s that, though.
It’s a very odd feeling, being the only living male on an entire planet. And Earth no less. Not a crappy planet, like Jupiter. I still have horrid memories from my family’s trips to Jupiter back when I was just a young male.
Anyway, the reason I write this journal is because I’m bored at work.
Yes, I still work. I have to make money, and make more of it than any other living person, just to get by. These venomous creatures that control everything are relentless. They treat me horribly. Like the Great Neutering was completely my fault.
I guess it was in a way, but until that day I hadn’t ever heard of sarcasm, and that’s just not something you pick up on right away. Eventually they’re going to have to ease up for the sake of mankind, er, for the sake of living creatures on Earth would be more appropriate I suppose.
So here I sit, in an everlastingly empty coffee house, just now starting a report 325 days after I was given the assignment, and roughly 315 days later than my assignment was supposed to be over.
I guess since I’m almost an Earth year into my journey, I’ll do some catching up on my situation before I just end up writing about my daily activities, which should be extremely boring
The people here do it. They call them “blogs.” They’re usually pretty gay.
Oh Lord Zed, I’ve even started talking like them now.
“Dzernther, we need to see you in Conference Room A,” the deep, raspy voice said over the loud speaker in my bedroom.
“Oooooooooo,” said Krung. “Someone’s in tru-ble.”
“Very funny. I’m sure it’s nothing. They probably need me to do something small, like change a light bulb in that huge spaceship that’s about to take off.”
“Then why wouldn’t they just have Dranamirez do it? He’s the guy they have do all that grunt work type stuff, well at least he’s the guy ever since he came over from Yuxico.”
“I’ve been filling in for him to earn some extra space dollars.”
“I hate that. ‘Space dollars.’ You’d think we’d have a much cooler name for our currency than space dollars. I refuse to call them that. What’s a dollar anyway? American currency. American. I don’t care about
“Well maybe if we were in Yuxico we’d have space pesos.”
“I guess. The name sucks anyway you look at it. And why do they have to have pictures of American aliens on each piece of currency? We’ve had some great people on Erbadurn. No offense, but I don’t need to look at Marvin, E.T. or Kang every time I buy something.”
“Yeah, I have no idea why they thought all aliens had to look so odd.”
“So anyway, why have you been filing in for Dranamirez?”
“You didn’t hear? He died a few days ago.”
“Died? What happened?”
“Nobody knows. One morning they went to his house in hopes of getting him to fix something in the space ship, and they found him helplessly lying on the floor, dead. His head cut off and cut into eight, thin slices, both arms cut off and re-sewn onto the improper side of his body, his legs both cut off at the knee and left standing next to him and all 10 fingers cut off and shoved into various openings on his entire body.”
“Um, wow. Who do they think happened?”
“Suicide.”
“What? Are you joking, cause if you are, that’s messed up.”
“No, the report said suicide.”
“Dzernther,” the voice said again over the loud speaker, “we’re waiting. Get here in a minute or we will not hesitate to brutally murder you.”
“Shit, I’ve gotta go.”
“Hurry, or else they will not hesitate to brutally murder you.”
“Yeah.”
“Dzernther,” began Mayor Ont, “Erbadurn desperately needs you.”
“Excuse me sir?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the big space ship that is scheduled to leave tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we need you to pilot it and complete a mission.”
“I thought Qwertin was piloting the mission sir.”
“Well he was, but this morning we found him in his room, dead.”
“Dead, like Dranamirez?”
“Actually, yes. Exactly the same thing happened to him. As well as to Crut, Zendon, Mantin and Vroom. They were the others we trained in case of emergency, but somehow, they all died over night as well.”
“Do we have any idea of what is going on? Honestly sir, I highly doubt all of these, much less one, were suicides.”
“I know I know. Here’s a secret, this has been going for months. Any time within the past year or so you’ve heard of the death or runaway, of a male this is what has happened to that person. We though we could figure it out in quiet, solve the problem and cut our loses. We still have no idea what’s going on.”
“Every single one? Even Withernd?”
“Well no. He was old as shit. Dude was like 61. He died of natural causes.”
“So what is this secret mission you need me to do?
“We’re afraid our males are becoming extinct, and in turn, Erbadurns as a whole. We need you to go to Earth, find females and make babies. We need males to keep Erbadurns going.”
“Really? That’s it? I mean, all this secretive stuff for a whole year because you need me, an ‘alien,’ to go to Earth and impregnate a woman? I thought we were above this kind of thing. It sounds like the plot to a Garry Shandling that I would watch on TV at 3 in the morning.”
“This is no movie! You want to die? Fine. But don’t take down your entire race with you.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“There’s a few things you should know. We don’t have time for full training, so listen up. Humans, they spell differently than us. So your name, Dzernther, isn’t the same down there. They think of you as a Bryant.”
“What? That doesn’t even sound like a name.”
“No, it’s spelled B-R-Y-A-N-T, but pronounced Dzernther. They use the same letters, just different pronunciations. So as quick as you can, learn how they speak so you can read and write.”
“So that’s the big difference?”
“Well no. There’s one other huge difference…”
“Well?”
“Bodies."
“Bodies? What kind of differences can our bodies possibly have?
“Well…I mean, it’ll be very noticeable, so you have to be very careful.”
“I’m listening, just tell me what the differences are.”
“We have two ankles.”
“So do they.”
“No, they have two ankles total. We have two ankles on each leg.”
“What? One ankle per leg? That seems so illogical. I’ll just wear pants and high socks every day.”
“Good. Now go.”
“Thank you very much sir. I’ll do my best to plant my seeds.”
Well this shouldn’t be too hard. They are women everywhere. And look at how little clothes so many of them wear. I could probably impregnate one of them by accidentally walking into them on the sidewalk.
Where to start is the only question. My reading said coffee houses are a good place to meet people. I’ll start at this one. Or that one. Or that one. No, this one.
“Hello, welcome to Coffee Hut, how may I help you?” the pretty, young girl behind the counter asked.
She’ll do. I wish I could read so I could address her by name. I’m guessing that’s what she wants since she’s proudly wearing it on her uniform. But how to say N-O-R-A-H?
I don’t know what any of this stuff is. I can’t read a menu. I’ll just come out and ask it.
“Excuse me sir, if you don’t know what you want please step to the side of the line so the people behind you can order.”
“Oh, I know what I want. I want you to go out with me. tonight.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on Earth, no offense.”
“We shall see.”
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