How To Save The World: An Alien Comedy

by Charles Fudgemuffin

  “Here, man! If I’d wanted to break your arm I would have grabbed your wrist, pulled your arm out tight…” Eric acted out the actions as he described them. “…and then twisted my left forearm hard into your elbow joint, following right through, and following it up with a further twisting blow if it was necessary. Not that it would have been necessary, like, cos I’ve practised that move hundreds of times.” Eric contemplated his claim for a moment. “Well actually, probably thousands.”

  Hank rolled about on the floor in the hope that this would help alleviate his pain. His hopes met without fulfilment.

  “Actually that would probably have been the safer option cos then I would have been stepping away from the gun…” Eric mused. He ran through the moves again, seemingly unconcerned by Hank’s pain. “…whereas the move I chose meant I was still standing pretty close to the gun.” Eric quickly ran through the actions of the two moves once again to compare their relative safeness. “Nar actually, they were both probably as safe as each other … cos when I grabbed your wrist with the hooking block I’m pushing your hand down and away from uz … so I wasn’t really in any danger.”

  It has to be said, Hank didn’t seem particularly interested in Eric’s explanation as to what was the safest move to action. And as he rolled around in agony he couldn’t help noticing that there didn’t appear to be anyone, or indeed anything, in the direction that Eric had glanced wide-eyed moments before he had performed said move.

  “What were you looking at?” Hank inquired.

  Eric’s eyes had a bit of a confused look to them. “Well … fresh air, obviously,” he shrugged. “It was obviously just a trick, like. Like, considering that you were pointing a gun at my head, it would have had to have been a totally amazing occurrence to have been of greater significance than my possible impending death. Like, on a scale of one to ten for amazingness, we’re talking at least five and a half million.”

  “Aa - oo - argh!” Hank whimpered. “It hurts like freaking hell.”

  “I tell you what’s good to do when you’re in extreme pain,” Eric remarked, helpfully.

  “What?” Hank asked.

  “Don’t fucking point fucking guns at people when they tell you they’re not a fucking alien,” Eric replied, a delayed surge of anger seeping into his voice. “That way you don’t get your fucking ligaments damaged. Understand?”

  On reflection, Hank couldn’t help wishing he had followed this advice. “Sorry,” he stuttered, not feeling quite so brave as he did a few moments earlier when he had the gun in his hand.

  “And while I’m at it I’ll give you some more advice,” Eric continued. “If you’re pointing a gun at someone’s head, don’t tell them to stick their hands up. Cos all you’re doing is moving their hands closer to your gun and therefore making it easier for them to disarm you.” Eric looked down at Hank and shook his head derisorily. “That’s, like, a basic schoolboy error you made there, like. No offence, like, but you obviously don’t have a clue with guns and all that, so I’d get rid of the gun in future if I was you.”

  “Sorry, but I thought you were an alien,” Hank snivelled.

  “Here, man! If I was an alien how d’you think I would be speaking in a Geordie accent? G.O.T. would translate my alien language into the language you think in, which is American, so I would obviously sound American to you, wouldn’t I?” Eric logisticised. “But I don’t sound American, do I? I sound Geordie so therefore I must actually be Geordie and not an alien. You see, if you’d actually bothered to think about it instead of being a complete chump about it and diving in head first like a big hard muppet, you wouldn’t be rolling about in agony now and instead you’d be thinking, ‘Hmm, excellent news. I’ve met a fellow abductee so maybe we can work together to save mankind.’”

  Hank stared at Eric blankly.

  “All I’m saying is you should have used your common sense and thought about the logic behind G.O.T.,” Eric declared, “instead of diving in like a trigger happy macho fool.”

  “What’s G.O.T.?” Hank inquired, looking as confused as ever.

  “Ar, of course!” Eric exclaimed. “You met the snidey aliens, didn’t you? They probably didn’t tell you about G.O.T. Or maybe they call it by a different name.”

  So Eric went on to explain the principles behind G.O.T. to Hank. After hearing his explanation, Hank appeared to seem a little more trusting of Eric, although Eric wasn’t sure if this was due to genuine trust or whether Hank was just scared of Eric inflicting further pain and therefore pretending to trust him in order to avoid getting on his bad side again.

  Eric realised that his angry outburst had been a mistake. He needed Hank to tell him everything he knew and losing his temper with him possibly wasn’t the best way to go about things. Above all else he had to reassure Hank that his ass was well and truly of the human variety and not the slightest bit alien in any way, shape or form.

  “Look, I’m sorry for losing my rag a bit before,” Eric apologised, “but in my defence you had just pointed a gun at my head.” Hank was still in pain but he did his best to appear attentive. “And I promise you I’m not an alien, but like I said I have been abducted so I know you were telling the truth on The Jerry Springer Show … so I just had to make sure you didn’t kill uz cos I might be the only person that can save mankind from the aliens.”

  Since his abduction Eric had more or less been his usual care-free self. Obviously meeting aliens and all that had changed him a little bit, but his overall outlook had more or less stayed the same. But as he spoke that last sentence out loud he realised the enormity of the situation he currently found himself in. The fate of mankind might rest in his hands.

  “Flip!” he exclaimed, staring into space in front of him.

  Hank glanced in the same direction as Eric and couldn’t help noticing that once again there was nothing there. “There’s nothing there,” he remarked.

  “Hmm?” Eric muttered, absent-mindedly. “Ar … nar. I wasn’t saying ‘Flip!’ at something I’d seen. I was saying ‘Flip!’ cos I’ve just realised that the future of mankind might rest in my hands.” Eric shook his head in disbelief. “Like … flip!” he repeated. “Total and utter flip! In fact … nar. Fuck! Never mind just ‘flip!’ Definitely ‘fuck!’ Mankind’s future might rest in my hands! Like … woah!!!”

  “In my hands as well,” Hank interjected, feeling somewhat left out.

  “Well, yeah,” Eric acknowledged, “but let’s be honest, your hands aren’t going to be much good now that I’ve damaged your ligaments.”

  “Are you sure my arm isn’t broken?” Hank queried once again. “It definitely feels worse than just damaged ligaments.”

  “Honestly, trust uz. Just think about it. If I’m twisting your arm back like that…” Eric once again demonstrated the actions. “…then there’s no pressure on the actual bones. It’s just your joint that takes all the stress … and that’s why your ligaments are the first thing to go.”

  “Well what’s the second thing to go?” Hank quizzed. “Cos it definitely feels like my bones were the second thing to go.”

  “Look, man!” Eric was about to lose his rag again, but this time he just about managed to bite his tongue. He softened the tone of his voice considerably. “We need to focus on the issue at hand. You need to forget about your arm and focus on the aliens. We need to work together and pool all the information we know so that we can hopefully come up with a plan to stop the aliens.”

  So Eric told Hank everything that had happened to him over the last couple of days involving the Fyralings. Then Hank told Eric everything he knew about the Femlings, which unfortunately wasn’t as much as Eric had hoped. Eric was hoping for a ‘Death Star scenario’ whereby the Femlings’ planet would ideally have a built-in two metre exhaust shaft and all you had to do was fire a missile into the exhaust shaft and the entire planet would blow up. Unfortunately though, the Femlings hadn’t been quite as foolish as the Empire and there was no magic ‘Death Star scenario.’ In
fact the only extra information Hank was able to add to the situation was the alien’s chosen method of destroying mankind.

  They were going to create a disease. A disease to kill every single human on Earth. And Eric also learnt that they weren’t just going to destroy mankind. They were going to destroy all life of every shape and form. Every animal. Every insect. Every plant. Every flower. Even every fluffy little kitten! Eric learnt that the Femlings were officially total and utter snides. No life form was going to be exempt from their evil plans of destruction.

  This only served to fire Eric up and make him all the more determined to thwart their dastardly plans. And not just to save mankind either, although admittedly that was a big part of his motivation. But now Eric also had a secondary motivation. Now he also wanted to spite the Femlings. There was nothing Eric hated more than a total and utter snide, and as the aliens were unarguably total and utter snides, he was all the more determined to prevent them from succeeding.

  And he took hope from their chosen method of destroying mankind. If the aliens were going to create a disease then surely all they needed to do to stop them was create a cure. So Eric thanked Hank for his time, exchanged mobile numbers and e-mail addresses (he stopped short of getting his facebook details as he didn’t want to be publicly associated with someone he considered to be an unhinged freak) and then left to return to Jixyl and Azleev.

  As he headed outside he couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous in case Hank reported him to the police for damaging his ligaments. He quickly dismissed this concern, however, as he seemed pretty sure now that Hank had realised that he wasn’t an alien and he was therefore pretty sure that Hank would do everything he could to help him in his quest to thwart the Femlings’ plans, and grassing Eric up to the police therefore wouldn’t be a very wise thing to do.

  Besides, the only scenario under which Hank was likely to grass Eric up to the police was if he still secretly suspected that Eric was an alien and in such a scenario going to the police and saying, ‘Ar, this alien damaged my ligaments,’[36] wasn’t likely to get the police to take him very seriously.

  “How did it go?” Azleev asked, as Eric arrived back at the pre-arranged meeting point.

  “Well, alright … I suppose,” Eric shrugged. “It didn’t start too well, though. He pointed a gun at uz and thought I was an alien. But then I explained to him about G.O.T. and how I was talking with a Geordie accent, and I think he realised after that that he’d been a bit of a chump.”

  “So did he tell you anything useful, then?” Jixyl inquired, getting to the point.

  “Just that they’re gonna try and kill everyone using a disease,” Eric revealed, “and get this, right … they’re gonna kill everything! Not just humans! Like, even animals and plants and stuff.”

  “You’re not some radjee hippy dude, are you?” Jixyl inquired.

  “Nar, but it’s still a bit snidey, though,” Eric proclaimed.

  “What, so killing all humans would have been okay, but killing animals and plants is crossing the line, is it?” Jixyl asked, sarcastically.

  “Nar, obviously not,” Eric defended. “But I mean, like, you reckoned their motivation is that our quality of life isn’t high enough so they’re gonna kill us all out of deluded kindness. Well aye, with humans I can understand that cos, like, aye, some humans experience totally bad suffering and stuff but, like … what about carrots?”

  “Carrots?” Azleev replied.

  “Aye, carrots. Like, what suffering do carrots experience?” Eric asked. “I would say carrots have a pretty much pain free life, like. I can’t see how they can justify killing carrots using the ‘quality of life’ argument.”

  “Well it can’t be a barrel of laughs being a carrot, like,” Jixyl argued.

  “Aye, fair enough, admittedly carrots don’t live a fun-filled life of partying it up every night,” Eric conceded, “but they’ve still got a fairly decent standard of living, like.”

  “Well would you want to be a carrot, like?” Jixyl inquired.

  “Well, nar. Obviously not … but I’ve got a totally class life,” Eric explained. “If I was someone with a totally rubbish life, though … like, say if I had a horrible disease or something, then mebbees then I’d rather be a carrot. You’d get to just lie about all day, chilling out … no stresses or nothing…”

  “…and then a few months later someone pulls you out of the ground and eats you,” Azleev interrupted. “Hardly the greatest life if you ask me.”

  “I still think it’s a bit snidey to kill all vegetables, though,” Eric insisted.

  “Well do you not eat vegetables, like?” Jixyl asked.

  “Well … aye,” Eric admitted.

  “Well does that not sort of kill them?” Jixyl questioned, rhetorically.

  “Aye,” Eric acknowledged, “but I don’t kill them cos of the ‘quality of life’ argument, though. I eat them cos of the ‘Mmm, this tastes nice’ argument.”

  “Ar, well that’s so much better,” Jixyl replied, sarcastically.

  “Well aye. Course it is!” Eric insisted. “It’s okay to kill something if you get pleasure out of it.” The obvious incorrectness of this statement suddenly hit home to him. “Well obviously not people, like,” he quickly corrected, “but, like, carrots are obviously okay. But the Femlings are just gonna kill carrots not for the pleasure, but just cos they think carrots have got a rubbish life.”

  “How is it okay to kill carrots just cos they taste nice?” Azleev inquired.

  Eric thought for a moment. “Well it’s not really classed as killing, like,” he remarked. “I mean … they’re only carrots.”

  “Well you’re the one that’s making such a fuss about them!” Jixyl pointed out.

  “Aye, but only cos…” Eric realised that the argument was about to go around in circles and distracting them from the real issue at hand, namely how to stop the aliens from killing all life forms on Earth, one of which just so happened to be carrots.

  “Anyway, if they’re gonna use a disease to kill everyone then that’s good, isn’t it?” Eric remarked. “Cos that means all we have to do is create an antidote.”

  “Ar, aye. No problem,” Jixyl sarcastically replied. Actually Jixyl was currently in a particularly sarcastic mood so to save me a bit of time in future just take it for granted that most of Jixyl’s remarks are sarcastic and that way it’ll save me the bother of having to mention his sarcastic tone every time in future. Anyway, where was I? Ar yeah… “I’ll just snap my fingers and hey presto, I’ll magically come up with a cure just like that,” Jixyl replied, sarcas… I mean, Jixyl replied. He just replied.

  “Ar, I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Eric acknowledged. “I’m just saying though … like, if yous can come up with the science to travel intergalactic distances and if you can come up with really cool phones and stuff, then you should be able to invent an antidote as well.”

  “If they’re gonna kill every life form on Earth, including carrots, then that means they’re gonna have to come up with loads of different diseases,” Azleev reasoned, “by virtue of the fact that every different life form has a different biological structure. Therefore some life forms are gonna be naturally immune to some of the diseases they create, due to their different DNA and stuff, so that means they’re gonna have to come up with loads of different diseases. So that means in turn we’d need to come up with a different antidote for every disease which makes things extremely difficult.”

  “Well … just let the carrots and stuff die,” Eric shrugged.

  “Ar, you’ve sharp changed your tune, like!” Jixyl laughed. “A minute ago it was all, ‘Oh, the poor carrots! What have the carrots ever done to hurt anyone?’ and now all of a sudden you’re, like, ‘Well just let the carrots die!’ Remind uz never to rely on you in my hour of need.”

  “No I’m just saying though…”

  “Yeah, stuff the carrots, eh?” Azleev chuckled.

  “No, man. I’m not saying that,” Eric remonstr
ated. “I’m just acknowledging that obviously it’ll be hard to come up with antidotes for every disease, so make saving humans the priority and then after that if you’ve got any time left then you can try and find an antidote for the carrots and stuff.”

  “So if we save humans but all animals and plants die, then what are you gonna eat?” Azleev asked.

  Eric racked his brains for a few seconds. “Hmm, good point, I suppose,” he begrudgingly conceded. “Well, try and save cows as well … cos I like steak. Actually, make it deer that you save, cos I love venison even more than normal steak.”

  “Well, it might not be easy. I’m not being deliberately pessimistic, like, or nothing,” Jixyl explained. “I’m just pointing out that it’s not gonna be as easy as you seemed to initially think.”

  “Ar I’m not saying it’s gonna be a doddle, like,” Eric agreed. “It’s a possibility that’s worth pursuing, though.”

  “Ar, well that’s very reassuring to hear,” Jixyl remarked. “What with your extensive knowledge of Femling biological warfare methods and your extensive knowledge of our antidotal scientific capabilities, like.”

  Eric laughed. “Aye, admittedly I don’t know what I’m on about, like,” he admitted. “But apart from that…”

  “Aye, apart from the fact that you don’t know what you’re on about,” Jixyl interrupted, “it’s quite a compelling argument that you make.”

  “Well have yous got a better plan, have yous?” Eric asked.

  “No. Trying to make loads of antidotes might turn out to be the best plan we can come up with,” Azleev answered, once again being the voice of reason. “All we’re saying though, is don’t get your hopes up and think it’s a plan which will definitely work … cos we might not be able to even actually come up with any antidotes. For starters, we can’t actually start working on any antidote until we know what the disease is. And by the time we get the antidote created the disease might have wiped out half the planet.”