Return of The Bitch

Holy shit, people. It’s 2009.

True story:

I was driving down a deserted country road somewhere in New Mexico, or maybe upstate New York, last December. I hear this WHOMPWHOMPWHOMP noise at 70 mph and I pull over. Yep, the left rear tire is flat. Shredded. Oh, fuck, I think, do I even have a jack? How many years has it been since I changed a tire anyway? And what about my nails?

Fuck. I get out of the car. It’s cold and I know my fingers are going to freeze off.

I’m digging around in the trunk trying to remember what a jack looks like when I hear a car approaching. I look up. Scratch that — it’s not a car, it’s a pickup truck. Filled with big burly dudes in plaid hunting jackets. This could get ugly. The truck stops. The big burly dudes sit in the cab of the truck, three of them. Do I even have an umbrella in here? Any sort of weapon? I knew a judo throw once. That might work. I consider the use of my 5-inch leopard heels as ninja throwing stars.

Suddenly there’s a HUGE ELECTRICAL ZAPPING SOUND in the air right above my head. I look up and see something huge, shimmering, can’t tell what it is, right above my head about 100 feet up. No shit. Burly dudes don’t seem to hear the sound, don’t see it. They’re still conferring on the best way to roast juicy thighs of New Age Bitch over an open fire.

And then …

ZAAAAPPPP

The pickup truck is lifted, I AM NOT SHITTING YOU, right into the air. Burly dudes and all. Into a giant alien spacecraft.

Oh, and also my flat was fixed.

So I got down on my knees and thanked the Baby Jebus for fixing my flat tire and then I went and did what anyone would do in this circumstance, which is to go straight to the National Enquirer and sell my story, which I did for $250 and a coupon for the Olive Garden, and then I got a job at Wal-Mart, which is where I was until yesterday when someone cashed out my drawer and took my red smock and nametag and POSED AS ME so I figured it was about time to start blogging again.

Oh.

What?

Not believable enough? Which part was it? It was that my flat got fixed, wasn’t it? I wondered if anybody’d call me on that one.

Okay, so true story:

I was driving down a deserted country road somewhere in New Mexico, or maybe upstate New York, last December. I hear this WHOMPWHOMPWHOMP noise at 70 mph and I pull over. Yep, the left rear tire is flat. Shredded. Oh, fuck, I think, do I even have a jack? How many years has it been since I changed a tire anyway? And what about my nails?

Fuck. I get out of the car. It’s cold and I know my fingers are going to freeze off.

I’m digging around in the trunk trying to remember what a jack looks like when I hear a car approaching. I look up. Scratch that — it’s not a car, it’s a pickup truck. Filled with aliens. No shit! Little green dudes in plaid hunting jackets. They rolled down the window and looked at me. They said stuff.

Dld;dd;;fioijsdjsjitiur5u.  Iotityutiiititrjttuyyyydfofofoeeeikkkklllpp. gj? yyywww&&%^mmbNNifdlgrjkncdxk@@.

I performed my Amazing Mind Reading Trick and was able to understand what they said. Perfectly.

“Hey, get a load of that!”

“Yeah, can you believe those shoes? In this weather? Five-inch heels and snow just do NOT mix! Plus, NOBODY is wearing leopard this year. That’s so 2007!”

“You’re so gay, ZZryyp.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Shut up, both of you! We need to convince this human to return with us to our planet to help propagate our species. Our search for someone who can understand the complexity of our nine different genders and three different species densities  must be successful! You know as well as I do that without help we’ll all die. Can you both shut up long enough for me to talk her into going with us?”

“I will if HE will.”

“I’m making no promises.”

“Fine. Whatever.

They looked at me. I looked at them. One of them cleared its throat. Choking sounds started coming from it, like a cat being strangled underwater.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll go. Just have me back by the end of the year, okay?”

The alien dudes turned a brighter shade of green, which since then I’ve come to know is their way of showing pleasure. Whatever. Save an alien race? Sure, I could do that. And I’d be back by the end of the year.

I forgot to specify WHICH year.

So, whatever. Life went on without me. I used to be on Alltop. Now, apparently not. I used to have a readership. Now, well, hi.

But The Bitch is BACK, baby. And we’re gonna have us a time, talking about things. Like breast implants. And toothpaste tube middle-squeezers (you know who you are). And climate change. And new age woo-woo crappiness (not to be confused with new age awesomeness, but if you’re good I’ll tell you how to know the difference).

So, are we cool? Tell your friends.

P.S. Do not, DO NOT, under any circumstance ever utter the phrase “Anal Probe” in my presence. Do NOT. Unless you come prepared with lube.