...or is it?
I just don't know anymore! For all I know, this morning I could've had a hot wifey and a brood of kids, but those pesky Government Agencies are slipping Na'Kaleen feeders into me bedroom.
And without replica encounter suits either, the crafty devils!
It would appear that certain Gary Glitter types are not welcome anywhere, and due to all the fuss about deportation and refusing entry (although it was welcoming entry I believe the sparkly one was after), these kiddie fiddlers are being put into the chewing gum stratocastrati!
Evil paedos from the planet Pluto, abducting kids and brainwashing everyone into thinking they never had kids. And also nicking the odd ladycop here and there.
And they have the audacity to get the NSA involved though their illuminati connections!
As if I wasn't paranoid enough, I gets a visit from these sicko space monsters coverer uppers! A giant beetle, all mandibles and carapace, crashing through the air vent and refusing to succumb to the Giant Slipper Of Doom.
Somewhat akin to the Right Hand Of Doom, but for a different appendage.
But not an appendix.
Although a heavy tome containing said appendix may have crushed the Edgar suited one, but not a belly appendix (although the size of me gutbucket could surely have quashed his irridescent armour before taking to The Long Flush).
Maybe they can Reset Memories, and fix me up with some über trollop and make my sad miserable existence a thing that never was! If they can do it for Tully* and replace her dozy husband so she can get nobbin the hunky bloke down the park, they can bloody well alter other wimmins memories to make them more amenable to vast, troll-like porksters with a lecherous look in their eye.
It's a better option than the Anal Probe!
* NOT TULLY WHO ENDED UP IN A COFFIN IN THE ADDAMS'S FAMILY PLOT, OR LOUIS TULLY AND HIS NUTRITIONAL SUPPLEMENTS AND VINZ CLORTHO POSSESSION. OR EVEN SCULLY, DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT'S CLEARLY MODELLED ON THE ANDERSON. (THE GILLIAN, NOT THE NEO.)
