Do you remember when? Before the Alien Bastards came? Well, I sure do! I sit here in my farm house on the lake, at the foothills of the White Mountains, getting wasted on cheap beer even before the lunch bell has rung. It is a place so secluded, among the towering pines, that the ABs haven't bothered with me yet. But I ain't that lucky. Any day now I'll hear the crash as my front door is split in two. I'll hear the pitter-patter of tiny alien feet rushing up my stairs to find me in bed. After I've sufficiently pissed myself, I'm sure the bug eyed bastards will drag my skinny ass out of this place. It's only a matter of time and as that's all I got, I'll use some of it to type this little time until I keel over in an alcoholic stupor because there’s always hope! Right? Hope never dies! "ET" was a cute little movie, wasn't it?
Isn't it odd? You turn on the TV or radio, connect to the internet, read social media, newspapers, and magazines - every bit of media that still has enough personnel to keep it going, is covering the ABs 24/7. Every word and every image reminds us all how we loathe the ABs with an intensity never imagined. Isn't it strange that no matter how much we talk about them, plot against them, riot against them, send our troops against them, or bomb them, it doesn’t phase them a bit.
Remember when we were strong and we had an enemy we could actually kill?
Those were the good old days!
Some of the local citizens are gathering in my barn right now. There's a rumor going around that if you sneak up behind the bastards, start low and thrust up quickly with a pitchfork you can actually take them out.
Yeah, like that'll work!
But so what? There's always hope. Never give up hope!
Didn't Gideon defeat the Midianites out-numbered 450 to 1?
Didn't a ragtag army of Yankee misfits with bandages for boots bring the mighty British Empire to its knees?
When all seemed lost, didn't we storm the sands of Iwo Jima and plant "Old Glory" on that hill?
At least that's what they say.
The locals tell me they've seen some bright lights in the night sky over the ridge. Got to be an AB base. At midnight they're storming the place.
With pitchforks!
Well you know I could ramble on through another six pack. But hey, I got a pitchfork in the barn somewhere. And why not? Go out in a blaze of glory, I say! And who knows?
Stranger things have happened, right? - Right?
Bio:
David Blitch is a 64 year old disabled Pastor living in Fleetwood Pennsylvania. He lives with a dog, and a friend who has a cat. He has been published in Dark Horses.