Category Archives: 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.)

A Perfect Pizza

Having propagated successfully only last quinquinnium, I felt like a bit of a change. I’m sure you’ve all been there. Your youngest thousand offspring constantly howling for your attention, other spawners competing to see who gets their original shape back the fastest and comparing their “perfect promogeniture”, while you’re simultaneously made to feel guilty for not immediately resuming your bullshit ratrace career by smug, spawnless crotch-stabilisers.

I fancied a change. A break. A holiday. Call me a bad spawner; bite me.

So I left the kids with their co-spawner, hired Betsy my off-planet transport pod (740 pegasus powered, v16 engine, flies like a banshee bitch mainlining base) and made for the furthest edge of space-time. And, to give me something to do, I made it my mission to find the perfect pizza.

I know, it’s weird, we have pizza too, blabla heard it, guy. You honestly think you’re the only civilization to think up dough, cheese and tomato? Frook, you people. What you don’t know is that where I come from pizza is seriously (see-ree-us-lee) high-end stuff. Like ahi tuna and saffron-infused truffles meets that cow that’s been massaged by nubile Asian chicks and fed only organic golddust or something.

Which means that one of the most coveted jobs in my world is to be a pizza-delivery guy. Or girl. Man, it’s like being Heston, Hugh, Michel and Jamie, but with all the wealth and market-share of Bezos. Which is why it’s my next intended career move.

So I know pizza is from Italy (I flew in for a few nights and Rome is now my totally frookin favourite place of all time), but I heard a place called Dudehattan is the place for a slice. I’m sure I’ll find it.

Because I’m determined to find the best pizza on your frooked-up little planet, before it’s sucked into the shape-shifting vortex from Ephrinilium Camblex in about 5 centuries.

Erp. Forget I said that. First Directive and all that. And YES I know you’re familiar with the concept; where do you think Gene Roddenberry got the notion…?