Tuesday, 10 March 2020

Visiting Aliens' Cover blown by Coronavirus

Vamp was unusually chilled, considering the appalling weather, bad news and his 360 years first hand experience of European history.

Until he saw the latest Coronavirus-related news ...

He pondered - Fourteens days self-imposed isolation, if you're one of the unlucky ones; and fifty six large toilet rolls ...

The evidence was there on TV, he checked on Twutter © and FarceBook ©, just the same story on anti-social media. And plenty of photographic evidence.

Either some people had a very poor understanding of arithmetic, an atrocious diet (feel free to join the dots), or they were pathologically self-centred.

He made a valiant attempt at not being cynical, failed utterly, and resolved to make a cup of tea.

'This is a displacement activity,' he mused. 'So what, I'll have a mince pie too ... make that two!'

No sooner had he levered himself upright and turned towards the kitchen than his left ankle complained and he sat down again.

'Synchronistic?' he wondered. "I'll take another look at those photos." Something about them didn't feel quite right.


It wasn't. The hoarders in one town, which just happened to be his own, looked obsessively committed to the job in hand. Vamp wondered if there was more to the purchase than caught the eye ... telephone ...

"Morpheen. I have a favour to ask! Bye the way - hello, how are you?"

"Your wish is my delight, hello, fine thank you, and yourself?"

Vamp smiled, which deepened his ancient wrinkles.


"My intuition, which usually strikes about 5 a.m., when I'd rather be asleep, has disturbed my daydreams in real-time, as it were. I smell a rat - I mean I'm suspicious. Could you do a mite of spying for me? The police can't - it's in someone's private house."

"Of course. What's the motive or crime?"

"Just puzzling behaviour. Even my highly-polished cynicism
isn't up to the task of interpretation."

  --


Morpheen morphed into the shape of a blackbird, added a protective shield in case of predators, and went to visit the house wherein two apparently middle aged people, probably a married 'couple', were carrying packages of toilet rolls indoors from the taxi.

 It appeared that one of the them had cleaned the shelves at Liddddl and the other at Tessscoes.

Morpheen perched on the windowsill to see them and listen in to their conversation.

It was clearly not English, neither was it any language native to Earth..

The 'couple' undressed,  untied several high-tech, invisible fastenings on their skin - and peeled it off. Underneath they were green.

 Meanwhile Morpheen was downloading the results of the couples' speech analysis.

With the installation of their native language complete,  Morpheen was able to understand them.

"Their language is Lavatorian, native to an obscure planet in the Galaxy Andromeda," Morpheen explained.

"Of course," said Vamp, trying to recall whether Galaxy Andromeda referred to astronomy, or the latest 4-wheel drive Tonka Toy from the car industry.


The Lavatorians' comprehension of Earth, in general, and Little England, in particular was minimal:

They'd deduced that humans probably ate either garlic on beans, or beans on garlic, hence they'd decided to eat the former on day one; the latter on day two; then back to day one.

"Hence the toilet paper," thought Vamp, who was listening in.

In fact, the Lavatorians' digestive system was coping surprising well with their rather limited, high-sulphur diet - as evidenced by the fact that their exertions in the shopping aisles had readied them for 'other business' as it were ...

Beneath their disguise, the Lavatorians were smaller than humans, but had two rubbery legs, so their rented bungalow should provide suitable facilities ...

However ...

The first one to react to the calls of nature placed a large bowl on the dining room floor and they both tore open many packages of toilet paper.

There was a plopping noise ...


The participant grunted - 'Lavatorian expression of pleasure' quoth the interpretor. Morphene and Vamp nodded knowingly.

The participant then grasped the end of a toilet roll and tugged it between its legs at great speed.
Lavatorian aliens comic fiction

"This is crap!" quoth both Lavatorians - referring to the paper, not the bowl, "it keeps breaking!"

"Look! There's perforations all over the tree."

"They mean paper," sang Morphene and Vamp in perfect disharmony.




Labels:  fiction, satire, funny, coronavirus, psychology,
empathy, TibestianUndead - reformed vampire, morpheen


© Peter Fairbrother @pjforguk www.pjf.org.uk

1 comment:

  1. Funny shop signs16 March 2020 at 06:59

    Off topic - my most memorable shop sign:

    In Stratford Upon Avon, England. A camping shop, out of season.

    Now Is The Discount On Our Winter Tents.

    ReplyDelete