Awkward Paws

I've become accustomed to the fact that nobody likes to correspond with me for very long. Not long into a dialogue, there is often an awkward pause which typically seems to occur after I have taken my turn. Then, watches will be examined, pens will be placed back into pockets, papers will be stacked and placed into portfolios, and hasty retreats will be beaten. I find this strange for two reasons: 1) I would think that I'd be no less interesting to communicate with than anyone else. In fact, I find myself very intriguing. 2) You might think I would be a better communicationist, particularly since my livelihood involves communicating (or attempting to communicate) with people. Some might think my propensity for alienation would be debilitating. However, it is hard to argue with successfulness.

Opponent: "So, for reasons x, y, and especially z, your client is not entitled to your unrealistic, unwarranted, and frankly ridiculous demands."

Me: " I really enjoy discussing this with you. But, I'm feeling that this would work much better by moonlight."

Opponent: "Er, to reiterate, we are awaiting a more reasonable counteroffer."

Me: "They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Some time ago, we got a baby goat named "Azalea" as a companion for our first goat, but then I accidentally killed the baby while vaccinating it. You might say I loved it to death, only my love was incompetent."

Opponent: "What does this have to do with anything. Please focus on the negotiations."

Me: "I cherish these moments together. Do you think our families would enjoy meeting?"

Opponent: "What? No!"

Me: "Azalea is buried in the back yard next to my dog Zeke. My neighbor still reminds me about this. It is near the property line."

Opponent: "Where should we send the check?"

Disclaimer: The above is not literally true, except for the part about me winning negotiations and accidentally killing our baby goat and burying it in the yard next to my dog Zeke. And the part about my neighbor. And the part about alienation.

F^CK YOU, Pluto!

Finally, members of the International Asstronomical Union are beginning to follow the directives of the First Unichurck. As go the asstronuts, so go the terrestrialnuts. It is only a matter of time, now, before the alienation becomes inalienable.

On Adfinitem

The alien nation is building.

The Verfremdungseffekt for Vendetta initative of the First Unichurck is nearing culmination of the test stage. It is time to renew. Members are invited to re-member. Judgment is passed. Only in this way can the FU make sense.

The Clowns have emerged from behind the painted smile to reveal their inherent anarchy. These are not characters. The sound they produce is not music, unless music is irony.

None will be held against their will, for they have no will. All are left alienated eventually, zombies one-upped by partial bodies with gelatinous souls.

Is this a comedic war? Are we really at war? Who then the Warrior?

What is the Clown without the mask? What is the revolt without the humor?

FU Courts Alien Abduction

Leadership of the First Unichurck has been scratching its collective heads of late, trying to think of ways to grow the organization. But the FU just cannot seem to cook up the recipe for success. And this has FU leader OneEar nonplussed.

"We have a website, and shirts and a bulletin and a collection plate," said OneEar. "What do Jesus, Joseph Smith, Jerry Falwell and David Koresh have that we don't have?" The obvious answer: followers.

In an effort to correct this discrepancy, churck leadership has adopted a new membership recruitment plan: alien abduction.

"Remember that white-haired nut that was following a comet," recalled OneEar, "he had followers." "If a few of our members get abducted by aliens," speculated OneEar, "we will have followers out the yin yang."

Toward that end, FU leaders are encouraging members to drive on deserted country roads late at night in old vehicles with AM radios. When the radio dial begins turning itself through channels, jump out of the vehicle, disrobe, and prostrate yourself.

"Yep," said OneEar, "that should do it."