UnNews:Vacationer regrets choice of destination
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Vacationer regrets choice of destination
Who knew The Onion® had a retarded stepbrother?
Thursday, June 22, 2017, 22:35:UTC)(
BALNER BLIX IV, Balner Blix System, Gelb Empire -- B'fergal Blux, owner of the popular Balner Blix nightspot, B'fergal's Grill & Blatz, wishes that he-she-it had picked a different spot for his-her-it's vacation.
"Initially, I had planned to return to my regular spot, Pooble. Ah, sweet Pooble. From the drinks to the boy-girl-its' to the twin suns, Pooble has it all. Or, had it all, anyways..." said Mr-Mrs Blux, before being interrupted by a paragraph of background information.
As the citizens of the Pooble system are well aware, one of the system's suns recently went nova. The cataclysmic nuclear explosion destabilized the other sun, which was never all that stable to begin with, causing it to go nova as well. Together, the two suns then went spectacularly and distastrously supernova. This cascade of calamitous events, needless to say, put a damper on things, leading to reduced profits, layoffs, and bankruptcies for most Pooble companies, like manufacturers of chemical depilatories, eyeball blackener and deadly rayguns. Tourism, the popular whorehouse sector in particular, was hit hard as the heat, light, and radiation from the death of the twin stars scoured the area of both whores and houses. Eventually the supernovae scoured the area of the area, leaving the world of Pooble "...drier than a Sarclopian Quintopod." stated one observer on the Galactic Explorer Science and Exploratory Vessel, the EX-701 Westchoober (now with valet parking and karaoke), as it maintained a safe distance of six glimbars from the former fleshpot world.
"I had everything booked, too. Space-flights, hotels, whores...then the suns blew up. Oh, well." B'fergal continued. "So, I go back to my travel agent and asked him-her-it 'What else is nice this time of year?'. He-she-it recommended an out of the way system called Sol. I saw a hologram of it and promptly fell in love. Two standard spacedays later I was on my way."
The Sol system, a thirteen giga-glimbar journey from central Gelb, contains several gas giants and a few rocks. Only one of those rocks contains intelligent life. Unfortunately Sol II, or "Venus", was booked solid for a dental convention, so Mr-Mrs Blux went to Sol III, or "Earth".
"Well, let me tell you, the Earth is a dump." B'fergal lamented. "It looks nice from orbit, but no one speaks Gelbish, the days are too short, and the whole place smells like my ex-mother-father in-law's excretory organ. Plus it's rife with fleshy beasts."
The fleshy beasts of Sol III include species with four legs, two legs and wings or, in some cases, two legs and two arms. Scientists at the SpaceInstitute on Klemptor VI refer to these classes of fleshy beasts as "gross", while ones at the SpaceInstitute on Klemptor V call them "tasty". This disagreement between the two scientific bodies regularly breaks out into nerd war, with slap-fights, girly punches, and slide rule-based stabbing and slashing attacks.
Other than their limb configuration, we know little about the Earth's grossest and tastiest class of fleshy beasts, Earthlings, as B'fergal quickly discovered.
"I land on the Earth, get out of my space-pod and what do I see? A lone native, dressed in denim cutoff shorts, flip-flops and a mesh-back baseball cap." said B'fergal, holding up a SpacePolaroid of the native. "To be polite, I greeted this stranger with our most formal greeting of joy, peace and happiness, by jamming my thumb in its greeting hole. Then it got all mad and chased me back to my space-pod while shooting at me with a non-raygun of moderately deadly design. It wasn't until I got back into orbit that I noticed how bad my thumb smelled."
In all civilized species the greeting hole glows a brilliant yellow and emits a pleasing melody when poked with a thumb, finger, or other suitable instrument of poking. In Earth-centric species, however, it does neither of these things. Instead, the customary poke in the greeting hole causes the Earthling pokee to become enraged and shoot at the poker. Whether or not this odd reaction is part of the Earthlings' mating ritual or an invitation to join the tribe is unknown at this time. Due to B'fergal's unfortunate first contact the Department of Interspecies Relations has issued a recommendation that people vacation somewhere other than Sol III, pending an inquiry on how best to insert the thumb into the greeting hole of an Earthling.
Our limited body of knowledge on Sol III is expected to rapidly expand once our Majesty's Imperial fleet invades, enslaves, and cooks the natives sometime later this year.
Long live the Empire! All hail Emperor-Empress Merple! Ah-Woog! Ah-Woog! Ah-Woog!
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