MEN ARE FROM EARTH, WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS – How The Invaders Are Already Here and Why You Will Have Already Had A VERY Close Encounter With Them
A long time ago, there were only men on the Earth, and then women arrived from another planet. No, this isn’t a prelude to some half baked mush about relationships, I mean it literally. Women are aliens. The conspiracy theorists and ufologists should stop looking across the other side of space and start looking over the top of their morning papers to the other side of the breakfast table. They’re not the 12 foot lizards of Mr Icke’s mythology. No, their far stranger and more dangerous than that.
Why can they pick burning hot things out of ovens with their bare hands? How can they walk around in 6 inch heels? I’ve done the calculations and it’s against the laws of physics. Their ankles should snap instantly and their feet should start bleeding uncontrollably. Try asking them, it’s to no avail; all they do is mumble some unconvincing toss about a burning pain in the balls of their feet.
Empty words. Yet if they break a nail, they squeal like stuck pigs. They have nerves in their nails but not in their feet, you see. That is why they forget to pump extra blood into their feet. And have to steal heat from your helpless slumbering form when they slip into bed. They are essentially a parasitic species.
So where are they from and what do they want? Well, no one knows where they’re from originally, not even them, but their last known address was Venus. Their mission, in order of operations is:
1)To turn every last bank account in the world into a joint bank account.
2)To convert all the planet’s resources into fun and flirty, but ultimately impractical shoes.
3)To destroy the Earth.
The “What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is ours” thing is, after all, the result of no earthly logic. It is an absolute rule but has one important exception. If the man in question is a struggling musician or a tortured artist (i.e. a bum), then the rules go out of the window. They’ll take all sorts of crap and spend their last pennies on the cheeky wastrel. It’s the only chink in their armour.
While they feign physical weakness, they are in fact super naturally strong. To test this out, if you don’t believe me, wait until your missus has either a credit card or a chocolate bar in her hand. Then try to snatch it from her. You will find that those dainty, manicured mitts suddenly develop the clamping power of a couple of hungry crocodiles. A team of burly firemen couldn’t prise them apart with the Jaws of Life.
Now I’m sure you’ve spotted an obvious flaw in my theory by now. If women arrived later, how did men reproduce. Well, I’ll tell you. We budded off, just like hydra do. We would gather together and the shaman would feed us a sacred fermented vegetable broth. We would the lapse into comas and then wake up slightly groggy but thoroughly pluralized. No pain or screaming, just a bit of a headache.
This is why we are inexplicably compelled to form groups in pubs and get blind drunk. Beer is just a kind of fermented vegetable broth when you get down to it. It’s also why our womenfolk try to stop us, in case we accidentally rediscover this reproductive abilility. Hence the cold shoulder after an unexpectedly extended session down the pub with the lads.
See, women have hijacked a perfectly normal and pleasurable act of physical recreation and twisted it round. A good time is had, but then they go a funny shape and get unnecessarily emotional then after nine months another person pops out of them! Out of their actual body! I say another person, it’s only vaguely person shaped and it’s a bit on the small side, but the point is THERE IS NO BEER REQUIRED. Though it can help to kick off the whole process when the gentleman in question is reticent to embark on the eighteen year sentence that is parenthood.
There are other people who have figured this out before me. Ridley Scott tried to give us a hint in “Alien” but to no avail. Why do you think your girlfriend insists on watching chick flicks with you, and shies away from the horror? Except if she’s a Goth, of course, but we’re unclear as to precisely what species they might be. The horror people are clued up, and she doesn’t want you putting two and two together and coming up with “Oh my god, my bird’s an alien monster.”
If they want our planet’s resources, how come it’s men who seem to be using them up? Well why are they using them up? To impress women you fools! Venus should be very similar to Earth, but it’s actually hotter than Mercury. It suffered a runaway greenhouse effect due to women, just before they left by Means Known Only to Themselves. They have a lot of those, Means Known Only to Themselves.
We should turn around and thwart them by all becoming tortured artists and struggling musicians. Clean them out so they leave the planet to find their next hapless hairy victims. All the while moaning that all Earthmen are bastards.
Boys, it’s not too late to stop the end of the world. The approaching environmental catastrophe is entirely down to short skirts, make up, boobies and stockings. The thing is, I quite like short skirts, make up, boobies and stockings. And although I enjoy getting tanked up with my mates, I don’t want to wake up next to a clone of myself. I’m not all that keen on my own company when there’s only one of me, never mind two. I don’t mind being manipulated, provided there’s some decent sex at the end of it. The environment won’t collapse in my lifetime, so I say fuck it, let ‘em stay.
“I’m sorry; I’m not available right now to answer accusations of misogyny. Please feel free to leave your mealy mouthed feminist whining after the Frank Zappa quote.”
“The young ladies have felt that my treatment of women in my lyrics and social comments has been less than positive. And there’s no reason it should be. You should take your lumps like everyone else because women do stupid fucking things just the same as the guys. And if I say guys are stupid and woman does something stupid, don’t be a wimp about it. Just because you have that thing between your legs it’s no problem.”
© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013