Say Hello to Our Otherworldly Friends

It’s been humming in the air for years. Or rather, the issue are ever buzzing lights in the sky that we seem to not really want to explain.

We talk about it, but don’t talk about it. News forecasters dismiss it with “official” statements from government officials; yet Hollywood has an obsession of creating movies and series around the issue.

But I’m going to put it out there, Donald Trump is an alien. His galaxy is trapped in his hair, and Will Smith has his eyes on that ass for the Men in Black Agency.

If anyone needs a birth certificate verification it has got to be Trump. But I needn’t worry about Obama’s origin of birth. I am freaking the hell out on the decision to engage in war in Libya and the cuts in this ass-terity measure. All these fucking fancy words simply equal that the have-nots are being ganked further.

Past the satire, I always wonder what is out that and who is out there. To think that the bodies that occupy earth are the only living, walking, breathing, communicating entities is absolutely absurd.

We do share this solar system with other folk.

The astronauts have given numerous accounts of encountering UFOs while in flight. Gordon Cooper, the first man in history to orbit the planet 22 times, talks about incidents in 1951 and later on.

I just don’t know why it is such a secret. I don’t know why it is scarey.

And what if George Clinton’s “Cosmic Slop” prophesies are accurate? If a mothership comes down and takes all the black people home, where would the bi-racial, quadroons, octoroons, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans and Mariah Carey be placed? Sorry Nick Cannon, even though you are a cornball, your ass is on the ship.

In the meantime, beam up your cousin Donald. And his slaves NeNe Leakes, Little John and Star Jones for not postulating themselves with his latest antics.