I was watching some Anthony Jeselnik, and, of course, I was inspired to write some comedy bits from a villainous perspective, as one does. Specifically, these bits are from the perspective of a non-specific space invader type of monster.
Cloning used to be a contentious issue. They did a sheep a while back and everyone got worried about the implications. There was a whole resurgence of debate on cloning. Movies were made, laws were considered. But that was a few decades back. How do you feel about cloning now? A few decades closer to your inevitable dooms. Different perspective isn’t it? You gotta think about how to get that lockdown time back. Well, actually, you all don’t. When I tire of your weird guffawing, I’ll release some spores and, well, I think you’ll come to see things my way. Different perspective isn’t it? For instance, just now I said the sentence, “They did a sheep a while back and everyone got worried about the implications.” It really puts things into context.
You ever get too deep in the news? Just like, hyper aware of current events? Anyone? You sir? Good, good. I’m nothing like that. I don’t have any time for all that reading and contemplating. That’s not for me. I can absorb info directly from the consumed brains of lesser prey species. Got any plans after the show sir? Oh. That reminds me. Anyone here tonight in the military? Preferably with timely knowledge of defense readiness? Anyone?
Bad With Faces
An acquaintance of mine popped by. You ever get this? Someone just pops in. Apologizes for bursting your bubble? Real cute. It is. It really is. You just want to eat them all up. So anyway, this acquaintance does a pop in, apologizes profusely, super cute, and I’m eating it up, right? I’m enjoying it. But I’m terrible with faces. And, you know, it’s so easy with like a chocolate bunny or something. You see that little face and just chomp it off. But human faces get so complicated with the piercings and all the different hairs. I always have to stop before I eat a human face. I gotta, like, draw up a little plan. Strategize. It takes me a long time. Some can just dive right in. Nom nom nom. But not me. I’m just no good with faces.
I stubbed my toe recently. We’ve all been there, right? It’s happened to everyone. We’ve all done it. You know, feeling around the bedroom in the dark after you wake from a really deep sleep and you can’t really get your bearings yet, and suddenly the chest or post comes out of nowhere and snaps your toe right off. It stings doesn’t it? Regrowing a toe from roughly broken bone and shredded flesh. It stings. And you can’t take your mind off of it because it’s not a clean break and you have to focus and make sure it grows back right. It’s never a clean break, is it? And… Let me stop there for a second. I’m sensing that I’m losing you. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, just let it grow back a bit weird. It’s just a toe, after all. No one’ll notice. But you can’t do that. Not with these humans out there. You never know when you pick one up for a snack. They could be a fetishist. They start pawing at your feet with their weird phalanges and suddenly it’s like “What… what IS this?” and you see the dawning horror in their eyes way before you’d planned the big reveal and you have to eat them early, in a rush. It turns my stomach just to think about it.
Paranoia’s a terrible thing. Mental illness is a serious issue and more needs to be done about it. A few weeks ago, a disturbed woman had a gun on me. A loaded gun, pointed right at me. I was terrified. Luckily, the police were able to intervene before I was hurt. But not before the whole thing was seared into my memory. I’ll never forget what she said, as her shaking finger hovered above the trigger of the gun pointed right at my chest. She said, “You’re some kind of monster, you killed my husband.” And that’s when I truly understood paranoia. It doesn’t matter how fun it is to drop your guise of humanity, bare your endless rows of razor sharp teeth, and consume some terrified guy right in front of his shocked family so quickly and thoroughly that the police wouldn’t even believe that it had even happened. No matter how fun that is, you still have to remember to scan for weapons first. You gotta scan first, guys. Be a little paranoid. It could save your life.
I had a friend who had cats, and it’s great, because they were friendly. If you can, you should get a friend with friendly cats. Friendly cats come up to greet you when arrive, but they don’t jump up on you like a dog, or bark. Instead, they walk up and start rubbing their face on your legs. Which is great… unless your arms are full and you can’t look down. Then it becomes a hazard for everyone. And it’s worse when you’ve got something heavy. The cat sees that you’re moving slower, and thinks, “Oh nice, he’s slowing down to make it easier for me, I’m going to try to do four figure-eights through his legs.” Cats just can’t get the concept of carrying heavy things in your arms. They just think that your upper parts are weirdly shaped today. They think that same thing when you reveal your giant gaping maw, and arm tentacles, and I know, because it happened to me. Let me set the scene for you. I walk in, and my cat owning friend’s standing there looking freaked out. She’s like, “It was you! It was you all along!” And she brandishes some kind of giant ginsu super chef knife that I’m reasonably certain is just a machete with a kitchen knife handle. So I get my teeth and tentacles out to put an end to this, and I go to step foward but my leg encounters a little fluffy resistance as one of the cats’ made his way over to rub himself on my legs. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in this situation before. You know, tentacles out, facing a woman spinning a machete in her hands as if she does this everyday, and a bit of sudden cat resistance. When you feel that resistance. You know what it is. You know exactly what that cat resistance is, and you instantly remember all the cuteness of that cat. The purring. The biscuits. And your leg stops moving forward. That tiny cat in that moment might as well be solid brick as far as your brain is concerned. But the rest of your body is already committed to the step, and it’s still going forward. So. Now, your falling. Face first. Right towards Ms. Abattoir like the world’s most willing calamari. Cat-sassination attempt. I’ve never been more embarassed to have to resort to emitting my deafening, glass shattering shriek in order to buy time to regain my footing. Unprofessional. I’m humble enough to admit it.