Monthly Archives: November 2018

Otto the Alien

Sexual destiny?

Hey guys and gals and all those in between or beyond; how’s your half-life treating you? So it’s been a while huh? I’ve kind of been observing, learning, treading water – not literally of course, I wouldn’t want to draw attention to myself like Gary did (you guys knew him as Jesus, but to us he was just Gazza. Actually maybe that’s why he ended up in Judea… Things might have been different if he’d gone to Congo but that’s for another time).

I digress. In the intervening years since my last post I’ve noticed something odd about you lot: your species treats half of its members like gorp. Steaming gorp.

This is not, I realise, an original observation, which ironically makes it all the more necessary to make.

Back where I come from, we automatically change our sex every few stellar oscillations; it just happens. I’m currently in my female stage and starting to wonder if that wasn’t a mistake here. I notice, for instance, that I’m the only female on this forum – and I’m an alien… What does that tell you.

So explain some things to me please.

Why are female humans so often exclusively defined by their familial or sexual relationships with others…? When those relationships in turn define her…well…everything! Her name, work, longevity, education, prospects, sex life, love life, suffrage, mobility, appearance, rights over her own body, voice, her whole purpose. How the frook… I mean…I’m speechless.

And I’m not just talking about some of the livelier parts of the planet where cutting off female body parts for minor infractions is de rigeur. It’s everywhere.

Attractive? Can’t be clever. Attractive but rejects male? Lesbian. Have a strong sex drive? Nympho. Weak sex drive? Frigid. More intelligent than him? Gobby bitch. Want kids? Unambitious. Don’t want kids? Selfish. Single? Aww. Swear like a bloke? Common. Ambitious? Masculine. Emotionally intelligent? On her period. Eloquent? Yap yap yap. Protest against ANY of this? Screeching man-hater.

Are female reproductive organs really that threatening..?

Take something as simple as bras – just hear me out… If you have a push-up, you’re a gender traitor, but if you prefer a sports bra you’ve let yourself go. Breasts are continually scrutinised and spoken at, while their owners have to endure comments like “Huh is it cold out?”, but wearing a padded bra to avoid this is a false promise.

Frook, you people haven’t evolved much have you. No wonder I’m the only female on here. And so many females just submit and add to this pile of gorp. Getting the competition for the alpha male out the way I guess… “Pick me, pick me, I’ll be your dog!”

Fun fact: when a male finally conquers (interesting verb) a female, he is biologically impelled to move on to the next one. When a female finally submits (…for frook’s sake) to a male, she is impelled to want it more.

You monkeys are complicated.

Oh, and #metoo. Though he lived to regret it. (Never try to feel up an alien on a tram unless you want to lose an arm.)

Otto the Hill

Whose Land is it anyway?

Good morning good morning good morning what a hearteningly marvellous morning it is too! Gosh, a sunny crisp Autumn morning is just what the doctor ordered. Because good heavens these are trying times if you’re a British hill. Which, if you’re reading this is unlikely, I grant you, but let me tell you things have been fraught with tension here in the Sussex substratum.

And there’s only one reason for it: Brexit.

I first heard that dreadful term a few years ago – in fact around the time I posted my last update – but could never have envisaged how it would come to represent all that is most moronic about the humans occupying my person. And that, coming from a piece of the island in whose name other hills the world over have been stabbed by British flags simply for being populated by people of colour, is up against some pretty stiff competition.

I honestly have no idea why, but Brexiteers keep alluding to the Blitz spirit (apparently remembered best with bunting and teacakes, not bunkers filled with terrified civilians), surviving the War (many didn’t, we’re still at war and survival is apparently the best we can hope for now) and stopping duplicitous foreigners taking the jobs nobody wants but without which the country will grind to a halt like cake-baking during rationing. Result: a green and pleasant land populated by nose-less spited faces.

Well, none of this truly affects me of course because I’m literally part of the scenery and you all come and go so swiftly to me, but I do rather resent being used as the rallying cry by those who have at best a nodding acquaintance with my geography and history. And it gives me the hump. Or hill.

So here’s a reality check: you know that speech from Shakespeare’s Richard II? The one about this royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle, blabla demi-paradise, yada yada this earth, this realm, this England, cue orgasmic crescendo of Jerusalem? Ok well that’s not where it ends. No, it goes on rather prophetically:

That England, that was wont to conquer others,

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death!

Everyone always forgets that bit.