Send In The Clowns

You’ve been punk’d.

It’s not that getting a pie tin of shaving cream in your face is that big of a deal.  I’ve grown used to it.  What I can’t get used to is that sentient, space travelling creatures would travel 12 billion light years across the Universe to Earth because they are huge Three Stooges fans.

Sure, they ended war, poverty, and pointless debates over politics.  No one knows how they did it, but guns and bombs just stopped working after they showed up.  Even people trying to stab each other with knives, or bash someone with a baseball bat, are somehow thwarted.  The invaders said they’d have to think more about fireworks, they already gave us back sparklers and ladyfingers.

I’m not criticizing any of that.  But the endless pranks, I could do without.  I’m not shaking hands with any more aliens, nor will I pull their finger.  I do not want to take a closer look at that flower on their lapel.  Please, no more toilet paper in my trees or burning paper bags on my porch.

I grew up immersed in science fiction.  Read more alien stories than I could count.  Most of the time, the aliens were evil and came to Earth to destroy or enslave us.  Sometimes they were altruistic and tried, vainly, to improve the human condition.  Not one of the stories predicted we’d be invaded by practical jokers.

Dear Abby simply advises we carry a towel and a change of clothes with us from now on.  She points out at least we don’t have to worry about automobile accidents any more.  They fixed that too.  All cars are autonomous and self-driving.  Google was ticked when the aliens installed their technology in every car on the planet.

Now, people are dressing their children like our uninvited guests, and teaching them how to do practical jokes.  I do not like the trend.  This is America.  We are supposed to be the ones overwhelming other cultures with our crass behavior.