1.
“If I did not fear
incarceration by human authority figures, I would terminate your life functions
by applying sufficient pressure to your blunt skull so as to force its
collapse” –Beldar Conehead. The Coneheads (1993)
“Edwards Air Force Base
Command Post, how may I help you?”
“Yes Sir, my name is
Cooter-Bob. I’m out here on the outskirts of Lancaster, California. We can see
your base from our front yard. Are you guys flying aliens around over there? We
see lights everywhere”
“Sir, this is a military
installation. We don’t deal with aliens. May I direct you to our Public Affairs
office?”
“Well I did done talk to
them over there and they just say stuff about the mission of the Air Force as a
government arm of defense, and nothing to do with aliens or other government
conspiracy theories.”
Oh
boy, here it comes. That was the thought at the other end of
the phone.
“My dog Rufus is going
nuts over here. We live in a trailer way out in the desert. Usually the only
thing we see out of the ordinary is when one of them desert tortoises get
flipped upside down and my boy Cletus has to go turn him over…”
“Sir! May I please refer
you back to the Public Affairs office? There is nothing further that I can tell
you at this point. There are no such things as aliens, and we here in the
military only deal with human intelligent life forms.”
“Well I doubt that mister
military man. What are you, a fucking General? My wife Norma Jean is the
bartender at one of them bars outside the base, and she says you military guys
are always out here causing a ruckus, sleeping with ugly girls, and talking
about laser-beams that go through cinder blocks. Hell, the only cinder-blocks I
know are the ones that hold my car up in the front of my lawn. Shit,
intelligent life-forms, my ass.”
“Sir I’m hanging up now!”
Click……..
2.
The great thing about living on Edwards Air Force Base
was that it was an oasis for motocross and ATV riding. I’d get home from
working the control tower, and I’d usually spend at least an hour or two riding
my Yamaha Banshee from my back porch and would be in the sand dunes of the base
within minutes. On the weekends, I couldn’t wait to get away from my ugly wife.
For that matter, Saturdays were days of non-stop riding throughout the base, or
id hit up the on base moto cross track. There would even be professional races
up there. Many times Jeremy McGrath would be there. He was of course a stud.
Now who weren’t much of studs, were the other military
guys who lived around me. I can’t really judge, but I will notice that we all
had ugly military dependent wives. There’s even a term for it. It’s called,
dependa-ho. Even a guy from my work area recently picked up one of these
winners. She was a single mom of three kids. She lived in a trailer park just
outside of the base, in a city called Lancaster, California. Jebus, she was
fucking ugly and led and ugly life. All three of them kids came from different
colored daddies. One was half black. One was half Hispanic, already carrying a
“Brown Pride” tattoo on his chest. The other little guy was half yellow. She
must have at one point been with an Asian guy.
The guy married her after only 3 weeks of fornication and
getting to know each other. We tried to warn him. “Yo bro, she is only looking
for the big BX in the sky. She’s trouble. She’ll take you to the cleaners.”
Those words fell on deaf ears. We began calling him Airman “Insta-family” What
a cruel and ugly world in which we live. Here we are working in the top
government jobs of defense, and we can’t even get good looking chicks. What we
can do though, is get good looking machines. Like I said, the Yamaha banshee
was my machine. I took her everywhere.
3.
Living on base housing was horrible in that it felt like
you never got away from the military authority in your life. You had to worry
about who would see you not wearing your uniform correctly from your car to
your house. I mean god forbid if you weren’t wearing your hat and the Chief
master sergeant (with his ugly wife too) saw you while he was driving home. You
have weekly yard inspections. And they get real anal. You can’t have weeds
touching the house. They can’t be above 4 inches tall, and you can’t have any
brown spots in your yard to indicate un watered grass. Everything has to be
raked, and you better not have any pink flamingos in your yard, they don’t care
how Mexican you are.
And then there is nothing else to do on base besides ride
motorcycles, drink, and talk about who’s cheating on whom. You can go to the
base enlisted club at any point and you’ll see more woman than not with wedding
rings on their finger. If you ask them where their husband is, most likely
you’ll find out that he is deployed out of country. The smart wives at least
know how to take their wedding rings off. But even they’re ugly too, so it
doesn’t matter.
So my best friend was this guy named, David. He was an
Italian dude from Waldorf, Maryland. Instead of being a dependent military
wife, he was a military husband. He was cool as fuck, which was funny because
his wife was a Military Police. Yet David would tell me story after story about
all the trouble he used to get into in Baltimore. He’d been in the county jail
a few times. He’d hung around a few guys from the Wu-Tang-Clan. After meeting
him, why the hell would I want to hang around a bunch of military jar-heads
with ugly wives who did nothing but talk about work, get drunk and talk about how
tough they thought they were. With David, I knew a guy with some real life
experiences and he was funny as fuck.
David was the Italian version of Eminem. He always had
something uplifting to say. But he would say it in such a funny way, that it
would have you crying in laughter. He was also the friend that would give you
the clothes off of his back, because material stuff didn’t mean that much to
him. One day he came over to my house and with a quick exclamation, he said to
me, “Yo dawg, what the hell is them shits on your feet, son? Dog, you can’t
leave the house like that until I get back” With that, he would go to his house
and return a few minutes later with only the coolest pair of white Nikes. They
were his brand. He may not have cared about material things, but shoes and
pants were his gig. And he wasn’t about to take his boy (me) out to the strip
club tonight without only the coolest sneakers on for the night. They fit me
well, so we went on our way.
When my wife asked me where I was going and for how long,
I told her, “Yo, the question you should be asking is how much more beauty
sleep does you need? I’m getting tired of my friends telling me that I won the
ugly wife contest again for the whole base.” No, I didn’t really tell her that.
I just said it was boys night out, and not to worry.
4.
David and I arrived at this biker bar/strip club on the
outskirts of the Lancaster/Palmdale area. I think the place was called
Scooters. The place was really rough. Most of the girls who danced were the
girlfriends of rough biker gang types. It was not unusual for the biker
boyfriends to be there all night. The ones who weren’t in relations with these
sophisticated women, would still play body-guard because bikers liked kitting
people over the head with ball-peen hammers, and bikers are very territorial
over their woman.
Now this little bit of information would have been very
useful to me and David before we entered the joint. We managed to get ourselves
into some serious trouble. We go inside. We order up only the best pitchers of
beer this side of the Mojave Desert. I told David, “Yo, do NOT touch these
girls, bro. Have you seen how big the bouncers are here?”
“Oh, Fo-Shizzle, homie.
But I’m still trying to get a number from one of these girls and see about them
playing with my ding-dong.” I took that comment to mean that David would be on
his best behavior.
I should have read the situation better. I was sitting
next to David at the stripper table. She was getting mad loose on the pole. She
was hanging upside down. She was slamming her see through 5 inch heels down on
the floor with max exertion. David’s tongue was all over the place. And then it
happened. To this day I shudder in terror at how it all went down.
The song was, She’s Only Seventeen, by the Denver based
rock band, Winger. It’s all kinds of inappropriate, which was fitting for what
was just about to happen. She came up to where David was sitting. She brushed
her hand against the side of David’s face, as if to tenderly tell him that she
was ready for it to rain down dollar bills. Much to David’s excitement, she
then stood up, turned around, and bent over so that her G-string covered
genetalia area was 4 inches from his face. All of this while she eagerly looked
back towards him and even gave an approving wink my way.
David couldn’t handle it. David took out his single, yet
folded one dollar bill. Instead of putting it under the side of her panties, he
very concisely aimed his hand at her vagina area and rubbed the bulk of that
bulging beaver. She immediately jumped up and screamed. Me and David stood up.
I stood up out of sheer terror. David stood up with the biggest smirk on his
face. My man was drunk. And I mean he was tore up from the floor up. I don’t
think he realized what was about to happen.
All of a sudden there were three very big biker guys
behind the both of us. I thought we were dead for sure. The stripper
immediately pointed to David, while he was still smiling. Two bikers had him
off the ground and sideways, dragging him out before you knew it. They left me
as if I wasn’t even an afterthought. I went behind them to see what was going
to happen to my friend. I could hear David yelling insults at these guys
“Fuck you, you dumb
hillbillies.” “I’ll beat your ass outside” “You niggas ain’t got shit on me”.
Here I am, this square
military guy with an ugly wife at home, and I’m about to see my gangster ass
best friend get his but kicked outside by three guys who looked like they were
combining in weight of over 700lbs, beards, leather and all.
They didn’t kick his butt, but I wasn’t allowed to go
outside to see for sure what they did do. The door guy blocked me and everyone
else inside from seeing. It was the biker way of not having any witnesses. It
was intimidating enough that is in fact turned around, got another beer and
tipped some more strippers for their kind dance routines. But as a best friend,
I did not let more than a half hour lapse by before I got in my vehicle and
went looking for my friend.
5.
Between Lancaster and Edwards Air Force Base, there are miles
and miles of open desert. Not only that, but it’s not like you can just cross
the fence and into a base like Edwards Air Force base. They will shoot you
first and then find out who you are later. I mean the base is the alternate
landing strip for NASA. It’s very serious business. So I knew that there was no
way that David could get home on his own. I was also afraid of him coming into
contact with the police. I did not want to think that I was partly responsible
for him getting banned from the base, sent to jail, or sent back to Waldorf
Maryland. I had to find my friend. My plan was to get to the base, get my
Yamaha Banshee, and find my best bud.
ATV’s were made for the desert. You never got stuck and
the sand never slowed you down. There was little to no water to worry about and
trees were fairly nonexistent besides the sparse Joshua trees. The only thing I
had to worry about was the military police, dangerous snakes, and the tumble
weeds that rolled around at night and during the day as well. Most of all, I
feared the Police. I had to be careful and ride around with minimal attention.
The cool thing was that the base is full of off road
tracks and like I mentioned earlier, there was even a professional racetrack on
base. You could easily tell anyone that you were out late at night riding
around, and that would not seem unusual. My problem was getting near the
perimeter of the base was a scary idea. I did not know where the perimeter was,
so what I planned on doing was riding from base housing, cross the pro track,
and proceed as carefully as I could to the gate area, presumably with my lights
off. That way I could enter Lancaster through all the back desert way in search
for my Italian buddy. I never made it off the base.
6.
While in the middle of a jump over a flat table top, on
the professional race track, the whole place lit up. I remember being in the
air momentarily as if time had slowed down to matrix speed. I don’t remember there being lights on the
track. There weren’t any tracks. I don’t know how to say this, but there
were indeed aliens out at Edwards Air Force Base, and I was about to meet them.
The lights were all focused on me while I was 20 feet in
the air, clearing the track’s longest table top. It threw off my concentration
so that when I landed, my left leg did not land on the foot peg as it was
supposed to. Instead the heel of my foot dug into the dirt while the back tire
immediately ran over my trapped leg. Immediately I was in so much pain that I
threw up. I limped of the bike and collapsed on the dirt track. I was blinded
by all the lights. I couldn’t even scream in pain or ask for help. I was in
complete shock.
As I lay there in shock, it did not freak me out to see
beings with large heads and weird shiny clothing approach me. The lights
remained in my face. Because of this, I thought I was going into the light as
if dying and that these strange creatures were the angels taking me to St
Peter’s gate to meet my creator. I thought all their garbled talk was angel
talk. What was weird about the whole thing was that even though I could not
make out their words, I could understand through emotion what they were saying
to me.
Two aliens touched my leg and it immediately stopped
hurting. The pain simply vanished. This made my death seem all the more real. I
thought I was passing through to the other side. I was thinking about how I
would miss my ugly wife for at least 20 more seconds. My leg wasn’t hurting
anymore. I was in bliss and the angels had come to take me away. I had died
getting the biggest air at night on this professional track, out here at
Edwards Air Force base.
But that’s not what happened. I was carried to the top of
the hill unto which I was seated in a chair an alien-interrogated on why they should
leave me here or take me to their distant planet and perform horrible
experiments on my flagellant body. This meant that I would have to respond
sexually to their beatings in the gathering of all their fellow alien beings. I
realized that I was in the interrogation of my life. They wanted three reasons
why I should stay. I had two that immediately came to mind, but the third one
would be a tough one. As we communicated, I took the stand and began with my
reasons. All the while the lights were blazing into the sky from this
professional racetrack. I’m sure all of Lancaster, Palmdale, Rosamond, and even
parts of Los Angeles should have been able to see this commotion. It did not
matter to me. I had to give my reasons.
1.
“Because I love ladies in pantyhose. I
have this sick fascination with them. I remember one time, while as a kid I
reached out to a lady on the street who was wearing some. I pulled at her black
stockings, with a line up the back, so hard, that I ripped them. I knew from
then on, that I would spend the rest of my days wanting to rip the pantyhose
off the ladies.”
2.
“If you kidnap me from this planet, yes
you may be able to torture me with forced sexual pleasure, but you never know
when I will be able to grab those large heads of your and put you into the
deepest guillotine choke that you can imagine. Yes, my alien friends, I know
Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. While you guys are getting off on my torture, I will seek
my revenge by shocking your throat until you pass out. And I’m not talking
about the kind of orgasm you would get from that. I’m talking about I would
kill you.”
3.
This was so tough. I had no idea what to
tell them at this point. I needed the most important reason that I could think
of because I don’t think they were going to buy the first two. I began thinking
about what it is about me that humans might despise. I began wondering about
something that I do that people either try to ignore, discount me for, or
otherwise hate about me because of jealousy. Then I remembered it. There was
something that I have done in my life that has pissed more people off, has
caused me to lose more friends and to attract more phoney-homies than anything
else. Men have so much hated me for this activity that they have misunderstood
me and some have banished me, women have thrown their clothes off in my
presence because of it, but woman have also become jealous of it more than
anything else too.
All
I needed to say was these four words:……….”I like to write”
That was all it took. The lights went into pandemonium
and the aliens were screaming in terror. I could not even reproduce the sounds
they were making but I could convey to you their emotion. They were emotions of
hate, disgust, jealousy, but then finally praise. The leader communicated to me
that although they all now hated me; they had much respect for me. They knew
the power of writing. They knew that civilizations who couldn’t write, went
away without a trace or legacy to their name.
The leader walked with me down to my ATV. He spoke with
me and wished me good luck in finding a woman that will wear only the sexiest
of nylons so that much tearing of the fabric of sexiness will one day be all
mine to be had. He said that maybe we could meet again in the future so that I
could go over this Brazilian Jiu Jitsu art with them. The aliens would love to
fight in such epic battles. In alien language he told me, “Don’t worry about
the haters. Humans will love you for your writing and people will hate you for
your writing. It does not matter what you write, and this will be your
ever-ending plight in life. Just write what you like to write, and focus on
that. In the end you’ll realize that writing is a gift to you from your creator
and that’s all that matters.”
When he said my creator, I was about to ask him the
mystery about their creator too. That would explain so many things. That would
make the idea of religion come tumbling down. It could ruin civilization as we
know it if these aliens are part of the hidden mystery that we all seek to
know. Just then he reminded me of my mission to go find David. He had one of
the homies shine a light out into the desert and for a brief second, as if he
imputed his power to me, I could see David stumbling in the desert. His face
was all bloody. His clothes were all torn. He was still drunk, laughing and
cursing up a storm. It was at that time that I decided to say my final
farewell. I needed to go rescue my buddy. And off I went.
The End.
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