We live in strange times. People are stock piling toilet paper. March Madness was cancelled. I have this rash that I’m afraid to tell my roommates about. It’s probably contagious, so I feel like a dick about it, but I stopped checking on it last week because it’s f*cked up to look at. Point is: we are witnessing history.
As I am wont to do, I hit the streets to get people’s reactions to their day-to-day lives being changed. While doing so, I uncovered a conspiracy growing the globe over. As expected, it started right here in Karenville, Florida.
Where better to begin my journey than to travel to the nearest Circle K? Those gas stations have been waiting for this moment for ages, as it finally gives them an excuse to clean inside.
When I pulled in, I found a small group of people protesting. I went to move in closer, but hoped to stay a little further than the recommended six feet apart, as I had no idea what these folks had been getting into.
To their credit, there were only nine of them, ensuring sure they were following current CDC guildlines. I spoke (yelled) back and forth with their dictator ring leader, Tammy Keith. Tammy looks like a lady you knew in high school who now loves crack but still managed to be louder than humans should physically be able to.
“The people’s voices need to be heard,” Tammy began, seeming rational at first. “We’re trying to create a network of people who always do what’s right.”
I was giddy. I thought I had stumbled upon some great people and a more interesting story than I had anticipated. I asked Tammy what they were out protesting and why.
“We’re a part of an organization called US Against Aliens and we’re here to make sure everyone knows that aliens are bad. No matter how much the media may want to claim that “they’re living beings, too” or whatever propaganda they think up.”
My enthusiasm drained. This was more in line with my expectations. She then began her heated rant.
“Many of us have known about the aliens they’ve been hiding. Those freaks have brought diseases from their home planets! And now our homes, our children are at risk! It’s so clear to see! We all just need to open our eyes and hold the government accountable for the illegal aliens they’ve been allowing to stay on Earth.”
I sat there trying to think of a follow up question. I don’t know why I wasn’t ready for what she had said. I knew what I was getting into by interviewing people in Florida.
A skinny, balding, middle aged man went to add to what Tammy had said.
“The first time I saw a UFO, I was-“
“Shut your damn mouth, Roger. Nobody wants to hear about that. It’s not all about you,” Tammy barked. “Now, the first time I saw a UFO I was eighteen. It was after my daddy and I went to the Daytona 500. We were driving home and my dad parked the car to take a leak.”
She gave her sign to a heavyset blonde lady who was wearing all pink before she pulled out an e-cigarette and hit it.
“That’s when I saw the bright light spinning in the sky. I got out of the car and began running towards it. It felt like I had to. My dad didn’t notice me get out and drove off. He got arrested ten minutes later for drinking and driving. He lost his license and then murdererd a guy in prison. I actually haven’t seen him since, but that’s a story for another time.”
Once again, I don’t know why I was surprised by what she was saying, but I was.
“As for me I was abducted that night,” she continued. “As you would expect, the aliens examined me. They put their dirty fingers on me. While they researched they had this horrible music on. Make your ears bleed. I bet it was vulgar too. Next they started taking off my clothes-“
I interupted her. You and I both don’t want those details.
I asked her why she thinks the aliens are to blame and what can be done about them.
“It’s the aliens because they don’t know any better. They aren’t like us! They aren’t civilized! Where they come from it’s all war and alien mafia dudes,” she explained.
Alien mafia dudes? I don’t know where the hell she pulled that from but I think I’ll be writing a novel about that sometime soon.
“And the only thing that can be done about it is to send em’ outta here. They gotta go!”
“Well maybe we could help them somehow and learn from each other,” I offered. “Isn’t it possible the aliens aren’t doing this on purpose? That maybe they’re just as sick as the rest of us and need help?”
She took a deep drag in her USB smoke device and squinted her eyes.
“Nah. F*ck em’. They gotta get home. Put em’ in cages for all I care,” she said stoically.
I asked if she was in charge of the conspiracy US Against Aliens organization. She hissed (no literally, she hissed at me like some demented snake, and humans shouldn’t be able to make that noise, okay?)
“I ain’t nowhere near in charge, crackhead. They split us into teams of ten or less and sent us to spread awareness. I’m only herding these folks you see with me,” Tammy said.
When I asked who was higher up that I could talk to, she merely pointed across the street to the dollar store.
“Someone who works there is in charge?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Don’t be a doofus. We’re not all poor in this organization. I’m pointing right at him,” she said.
She was pointing at the dumpster next to the dollar store. I looked hard and saw two men digging in there. No.
I had no choice but to interview them. I stood back and yelled their way. One hopped out immediately, his name being John Peck Wilmore, III. He was a big guy, looked like if Vince Vaughn was much fatter, had a beard, a Texas accent, and one black eye (no I didn’t ask, both because I’m a terrible journalist and I value my life).
“We have a right to this trash. We made a deal with the manager a long time ago,” yelped Wilmore, pulling his fists up and planting his feet.
I explained that I am a writer and introduced myself. According to Wilmore, the other man’s name was Angus Zimmerman (imagine if a dog made a wish to be human, but he was an evil ass dog and the wish only mostly worked and you have Angus). Angus never spoke during our encounter, he only grunted and blinked an abnormal amount. It was distracting. I forgot to take some notes because I couldn’t help but notice his open-mouthed, speed blinking face glaring at me.
“Well let me tell you whut,” muffled John Peck Wilmore, III. “Me and muh grandson were out scavenging for toilet paper in the dumpster behind a Denny’s yesterday, and luckily we found some. Most of it had only been used once, thank God.”
“I hear that,” I responded. I didn’t hear that. That’s disgusting. These people were animals.
He went on, “It’s what was next to the thrown out toilet paper that we found fascinatin’.”
He took a drag on a cigarette, coughing up a lung immediately afterwards. He hacked up a chunk of phlegm and spat it onto the ground to my left.
“All these old documents, filled with pictures of little green and blue fellers, lookin’ scary as sh*t. I figure it’s from the FBI. It’s written in some kind of code. So I took some pictures and posted them in my private Facebook group for our local US Against Aliens chapter.”
In the dumpster behind Wilmore, Angus threw up a copius amount. For some reason the vomit was green. His body barely moved. It just kind of happened as if it was a mild sneeze. He never stopped looking at me and he wiped his mouth with his dirty, cut up sleeve. My point is, I missed whatever Wilmore said during this time.
“I wanted our team to take a look see so we could analyze it before we release the images to the media,” Wilmore continued. I nodded as if I had never lost focus.
I asked if he ran US Against Aliens.
Angus grunted in dismissal. Wilmore laughed.
“No no, I only run our local chapter. Our regional leader lives over there in Carcustown, Georgia,” explained Wilmore.
Dammit. That was my only thought. I hadn’t been over to that God forsaken place in years. Last time I went, a couple of hillbillies abducted my brother. Come to think of it, I forgot to report him missing…no time to dwell on that. I headed to Carcustown to chase my new lead.
Hours later I was at the front doorstep of a man who certainly looked like he ran a an organization about aliens. His name is Kyle Keller, and he had me stand twenty feet away at all times. He tossed me a hazmat suit that was mandatory for me to wear while we spoke. He had a line of concrete bags around the entire house that represented how close you could get to him.
His property was a small piece of farmland filled with wild cats and dogs running amuck. He was also Mr. Wilmore’s second cousin, because of course he was.
After I had my hazmat suit on, we stood in a deafening silence. He was swaying back and forth on his porch, looking down at me on his gravel driveway. He wore overalls and a red flannel shirt. His clothes and black cowboy boots were smothered with dirt and grime. His peach fuzz like beard ruffled and chaotic. He had longish black hair (I think, hard to tell because he was that dirty) that barely covered his ears.
His green eyes pierced mine, wide and empty looking. It was hard to tell if he was formulating thoughts. Was he sizing me up or did he forget where he was? Was he aware of his own existence? I didn’t have the slightest idea. His mouth began to produce loud crunchy, smacking sounds as he was chewing on…something? Honestly I could have sworn he was eating grass out of a cereal bowl, but I never got close enough to confirm that theory.
Finally I decided to speak again.
“So John Wilmore told me you ran the Aliens Are Real, You Stupid Libtards Facebook page, which is apparently the page for the regional chapters of US Against Aliens. I was hoping you could give me an inside look at some theories.”
“We should have attacked Area 51 when we had the chance,” said Kyle before shotgunning a Mountain Dew Kickstart (black cherry, for those who are curious).
I mean…he kinda had a point. I wanted to see what was in Area 51 too. Even though everyone knows they’ve moved everything that matters to the classified Area 76.
“I hear that, brother,” I replied. Why did I call him brother? I don’t talk like this. I was in too deep.
“I just wanna go on the record and say I ain’t no Republican. I hate them Liberals and Repubs damn near equal. I vote for Kevin Costner every four years. Write em’ in. That’s a third party candidate I can support,” Kyle blurted out.
It was completely irrelevant. I knew I shouldn’t say anything but before I knew it I said, “I really don’t give a shit. I’m hear to talk aliens. Make with the goods you damn savage.”
I want to say that I know I’m a moron. Clearly I shouldn’t call anyone a savage, much less this grass fed mule who more than likely owns dozens of guns.
Keller hung his mouth wide open. His eyes were fiery now. I think I peed (just a tiny little bit) as I wasn’t sure if he’d pull out some kind of gun. I was picturing a revolver out of his back pocket like the old west, but that probably isn’t how it would go down. It is, however, the way I’d want to go out.
“I don’t take kindly to your tone, Mr. Reporter Man. I do see your point, so I’ll oblige,” scowled Keller.
“Those documents we found in the dumpster are far from the first evidence we’ve found. See this is all part of a larger plan that’s been around since the dawn of the century. The docs weren’t written in code, they were written in North Korean.”
I was positive South and North Korea spoke the same Korean language, but I dare not interupt.
“You think this is all a coincidence? Disney’s CEO steps down just before the virus hits the states? Heck naw, son. This here been planned. And I know that for a fact. Because Joe Biden and Mike Pence are aliens. And they both come from the same tribe. They work together to confuse all of us into fighting and taking sides. They want to divide and conquer.”
He pulled out another Mountain Dew Kickstart (Orange Citrus this time) and downed it in seconds. I noticed it was getting dark. Shit.
“You got any evidence of this?” I inquired, trying to hurry him to wrap it up.
“Not yet,” he replied, wipping drops of his Kickstart from his face. “But I’ll guarantee ya I will soon. This virus was their grand plan, but they overstepped before they were ready. I’ll have what I need before this is over. Those freaks don’t get to come into our Homeland and take whatever they want. We speak American here. What do they expect me to do, learn alien? They can suck my small ass dick.”
That’s when I knew I needed to leave before it was too late. I told him I needed to head out to check on my sister’s turtle (I don’t have a sister). I was ready to get out of there before his wife or nephew or some damn combination of the two gutted me like a goldfish (I don’t know anything about fishing).
I turned to leave and he screamed into the night, producing a gutteral noise so impactful to my senses that I may or may not have pissed myself (I definitely did).
I turned around. “Yes?”
“You ain’t gonna steal ma hazmat suit there is ya?” He was now smoking grass. Literally just grass I think.
I started taking off the suit as fast as possible.
“Just leave it on the ground there Reporter Man, I’ll have to burn that there one. I got plenty more,” he assured.
I gave him a thumbs up as I jogged to my car, trying to hide that my jeans were now soaked with my own urine.
“Just remember to write about how we don’t want them alien gangs and their diseases here. They caused the Coronavirus don’t ya know? We’ll prove it with those documents John found. Also you’re welcome to join my group if ya like. The application is online at uskillsaliensforlife.net,” he yelled out.
I said I’d take him up on the offer, but I definitely won’t. While I was driving out of his driveway, he howled into the night and pounded his chest. Several others came out of the house and joined him. Was that his call to some sick pack of like-minded freaks? I don’t know and I stopped looking back. When I got home I showered. Twice.
As I sit here writing this I realize how far I’ve fallen in my career. I used to work for Entertainment Weekly. I used to write stuff that mattered. Oh well.
I wish I had better news in these times, but I’m afraid all I can offer is that you are most definitely more intelligent than the people I interviewed for this piece. Now go wash you hands and dry them with the absurd amount of toilet paper you purchased, you fools. And if anyone contacts you to join the above mentioned US Against Aliens, just burn the object you read it on. I’m not saying they practice magic, I just wouldn’t doubt it.
Stay safe.
We See You Scrolling 
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