“People of the twenty first century! Listen! It is I Lord Thw um N, enemy of all over-dinnered tyrants! Dribble if you must, spit if you must, but you shall be made to suffer the torture of my voice. It is voice so cacophonous it will unseat your molars from their housing.
On my brutish mule Crox, I have travelled galaxies – real galaxies, galaxies of the imagination.
I condemn dullards, ne’er-do-wells, wishy – washies amd yawnbrokers. Be gone! The time of unreason is upon us.
Earth, what a dull planet. Dull shape. The dullest planet in my own solar system is a perpendicularly inverted icosahedron, restrung, without the mattress and no batteries.
And yet everything from Earth looks round, too. The effect is mind flattening.
Globes, spheres, cricket balls, tennis balls, snooker balls, marbles, bubbles, eyes, noughts, hoops, ripples, tedious roundabout the merry go round, round and round the raspberry bush.
Space! Just as dull. It goes on bore-ever.
Listen! We only have to twiddle a few of the controls, fiddle with bits, exchange wires, greetings, packets of hubba bubba and we can explore!
Where do I begin? Listen pinhead! I do not have to begin. We don’t have beginnings. Only humans worry about things like that. Beginnings and endings. Get up, go to bed, birthdays, death days, kick off, final whistle, dawn, dusk. You need to catch up.
Where am I? You want my LOCATION? We gave up locating things back in the damp ages.
(Now, I must not be so uncivil. I will lose you if I do.)
O.K. I come from the planet Imtgm, (IM-TUM), famous for its catalogues. I used to be a travelling salesman but the travelling got me down. Travelling light years just to get your catalogue back can be disheartening.
I remember selling a variety of items to a human. He bought a useless jar, a lotion for removing unwanted dust and a shovel for shovelling thoughts into the nearest bin. He found a use for the jar, which surprised me. I called on him a few times, when I was in the galaxy, and he would empty out the jar to show me what was in there.
Then, one day, he said “I want my money back, this jar isn’t useless.”
“There’s some handy space in there,” I said. “Should you ever need to expand your horizons.”
“I didn’t buy the space off you. I bought the jar. And it’s quite useful.”
I remember the way he looked at me; tight lipped, arms crossed. Stubborn.
I gave him his money back.