Dear Aliens, Please stop fooling around with gravity-defying aerial tricks and playing peekaboo with our pilots and get serious about making contact. We need help! Instead, you abduct a few random humans now and then just to give them pelvic exams and send them home without a bill. Proof that it happened on a UFO—it would cost thousands here. Are you trying to figure out how we reproduce in order to put a stop to it? That would make sense given how we manage to screw up everything we touch. After all, I’m sure the prospect of orbiting Teslas and billboards in space has you saying, “Not in my neighborhood.” Based on encounters through the years, though, it looks like you’re just joyriding around the universe and scaring the hell out of us for laughs. Or maybe we’re a popular intergalactic date-night destination. I’d like to think you’re a benign society, observing our idiocy with a wry eye and laughing about us over alien cocktails when you return home from a drive-by. Maybe you’re even tempted after a few drinks to step in and give us a hand with the mess we’ve made of things. Lately, I’m hoping for a visit from bug-shaped beings who save humans instead of stepping on them, or a space-time fairy tale in which we get rescued from evil corporations and corrupt politicians by big-eyed, 4-foot vegetarians. But I know any sensible alien would space-tially distance right now and time-hop ahead a few years to avoid the black hole that is 2020. I wish I could. XOXO Nikki
