“SHE’S BLOWING MY COVER!” HE EXCLAIMS
Professor Emir Zolton has a problem, actually two: he’s an alien spy from the planet Javlon and he has a neighbor who won’t leave him alone. “She’s blowing my cover,” he exclaims. “I’ve taken out a restraining order and the police have been very sympathetic but this woman can scale walls like a mountain goat. The police called her a ‘Karen,’ but I think her last name is actually ‘Kravitz.’”
Knowing that WWN is famous for dealing with alien encounters, Zolton invited this scribe to his home in Parsippany, New Jersey. He is a tall, lean alien with an extended forehead and bug eyes. He wears a bad toupee and what appear to be Groucho Marx novelty glasses, replete with mustache. “I tell everyone that I’m a visiting professor from France. Right now, I’m in disguise. Behold my real visage!”
He takes off his toupee. After a deep exhale, he sees this scribe staring at his Groucho nose, still in place. He fingers it gingerly. “Never get a nose job on Pluto.”
Zolton is clearly distraught. “I’m on this planet as part of a study on societal distortions. You know, when thinking organisms see the facts but don’t accept them and make up their own. My goodness, the residents of Charon in the Kuiper Belt, refuse to even acknowledge that their planet is round! They insist it’s triangular and always appear to be walking up or downhill. Oy! The back problems they have!”
He begins to pace back and forth. “The whole purpose of my being here is to blend in. This woman could destroy all of that. The police are nice but they’re here so often, I’m afraid they’ll discover the specimens I have in this house.”
KRAVITZ BUSTS ZOLTON!
“There’s a Saturnian squid in the pool that thinks he’s a Kardashian, in the basement is a group of pervy ant-people from Mars and, in the master bedroom, Kanye West. That man can talk. Can you imagine if the Earth discovered that, not only was I an alien, but I have half a menagerie of space creatures with me, too?”
Suddenly, the kitchen oven begins rocking back and forth, a shrill sound coming from within it. Finally, the door is kicked open. A slightly singed screaming woman emerges. “I knew you weren’t French! I knew you were an alien! because I saw your ship when it beamed you down and you never wear a beret! I called the police already. They should be here any minute! I’ll tell them everything if you don’t do what I want!”
Zolton sighs. “What do you want, Mrs. Kravitz?”
She runs up to him, hugging him. “Take me off this planet! Take me with you!”
Zolton reacts with surprise. This reporter speaks up. “Why do you want to leave Earth?”
“Because it’s crazy. Because it’s being taken over by Chinese vampires and casual cannibals who spread plagues and foot fungus! There are machines, now, that can eat your votes and, then, eat you! Did you know that there are underground tunnels beneath this country that are filled with flesh-eating zombies who want to end free speech!?”
Zolton doesn’t blink, nor does his roll his eyes. His anatomy makes both impossible. “Why don’t we all calm down and go out to lunch. That pizza place down the block is really good!”
WHEN PIZZA ISN’T PIZZA
She pushes herself away from Zolton, wild-eyed. “Those pizzas are made with human baby parts!”
“That’s rather extreme,” Zolton declares.
“I’ll say,” this reporter injects. “I guess I’m just an old-fashioned pizza eater. I stick to Italian sausage topping.”
“Meatballs are good, too,” Zolton replies while Mrs. Kravitz hits the ground, screaming and kicking. “But I tend not to go for anchovies,” he adds.
“I hate those frou-frou places that have things like pineapple as topping. I mean, seriously. Ever get into the City and have pizza by the slice?”
“Oh, yes. Every chance I get. I’m salivating just thinking about it.”
Kravitz is screeching now. “What about the babies!”
This reporter looks at her. “Babies tend to salivate a lot…over everything.”
A police siren can be heard in the background. Zolton sags. “I’m screwed.
This scribe assesses the situation. “Maybe not. You were sent here to gather up specimens of societal distortions, right?”
Mrs. Kravitz was screeching, now. “Does anyone know where those anchovies come from?”
Zolton grins. The police sirens grow louder. “I can zap them all up into one of our scout ships.” He presses a “wrist watch” and ushers this reporter out the front door. “The ship moves like a hummingbird, blink and you’ll miss it.” He slaps on his “disguise” toupee.
There’s a blinding flash of light as the saucer zips in and zaps out. A police cruiser pulls up. Mrs. Kravitz is no longer screaming from inside the house. Two cops emerge from the cruiser. Zolton turns towards the police and smiles. “Bonjour, Ted. Bonjour, Beverly.”
“I’m sorry, Professor, but Mrs. Kravitz…”
“Oh, I know. I know. She just left, vowing never to set foot in this town, again.”
The two cops seem relieved. Zolton introduces this scribe to the police, adding: “We were just going to go have some pizza. Why don’t you two join us? I know your schedules. It’s lunch time.”
The cops hesitate. Zolton chuckles. “I won’t tell I’m paying for your lunch. Besides, your chief owes me big time. You take your cruiser and we’ll stroll over.”
The police car pulls away and Zolton and this reporter stroll down the street towards the pizzeria. “Thanks. This is why you have street cred with aliens,” he states. Then, he begins laughing.
Intrigued, we asked why. “I was just thinking… Kanye West has finally met his match.”