Sregdab

MY NAME IS SREGDAB

and I CAN TEACH YOU HOW TO BUCKY

I am from the planet Blixtarrg, in a galaxy billions of light years away from Earth. My people are also light years ahead of you Earthlings in intelligence and scientific development. Blixtarrg, and the entire galaxy we dominate, is curious about your puny race. Accordingly, I have been sent by the Council of Ministers of the Blixtarrg Aggregation to report on you Earthlings.

I can do this with ease because I and all of my fellow Blixtarrgans have the innate capacity to understand, speak and write all languages that have ever been spoken on Earth. Because of our highly-evolved state we are fluent even in those of your languages that have not yet evolved. In all modesty, I can truly say that we Blixtarrgans are exquisite beings.

Notwithstanding our billions of years of evolution and our near-perfection, we do, however, have one minor weakness, hardly worth mentioning. Indeed, I would rather call it a genetic quirk. In any event, all of us on Planet Blixtarrg are dyslexic. We have long since dealt with this by self-installing at birth mirrored corneas atop our three natural ones. In this way we can obtain corrected images, enabling us to communicate with lesser races such as yours.

My report follows:

After a brief flight from Blixtarrg, I enter into Earth orbit. While approaching said planet I observe that its prismatic hues consist primarily of blue and white with some greenarrg and beige, with gray hues closer to the population centers. Curiously, however, one area of the surface is predominantly crimson. I select a wooded area on the periphery of this red-stained area as my landing site. As I approach the rouge glow, I find that it is created by an aggregation of mobile red figures. These, I gather, are the species I was sent to study.

The creatures, which appear to be some primitive form of intelligent life, are being drawn by some sort of force field toward a huge, stone fort. Statues cloaked in full military regalia guard the entrances. The creatures are being scanned individually as they enter. The scanners seem to be using a primitive system which can detect metal and are denying entry to persons who are carrying metallic objects. Because my Blitxtarrgan mirrored corneas are metallic (made from a compound your people will not discover for another million years), I realize that I will have to remove them if I hope to gain entry. I remove my mirrored corneas with the insta-surg tool of my Blix Army knife. I never leave Blixtarrg without it!

I now see that the Earthlings are gathering for a religious event and what I thought was a fort is instead a stone enclosure of sacred grounds. I glean this because the red-clad Earthlings are all taking communion while parading toward the entrance. They are drinking a foamy-looking, golden substance called reeb. All of them, young and old, are drinking it. Some carry cases of it. Many are performing a reciprocal ceremony in which they pour reeb on each other's heads and laugh.

I want to blend in so I drink a reeb that someone has handed me. It makes me euphoric. Because I am substantially larger than humans, I take this opportunity to resize myself by enveloping my bodarrg with a marquee tool and at the same time change my colour to red. This is child's play for me because at birth Blixtarrgans have Photoschlarrg microchips implanted in our magnificent brainarrgs.

Once inside the holy ground, I observe about two hundred carefully fashioned robots precisely highstepping around a large open area. Some are swinging huge gold and silver jewelry in the air above their heads while others are sucking or blowing on curved or straight weapons. Still others beat furiously on round weapons which are tethered to them. This creates what I gather passes for music on Earth. I infer that these must be apostles of the deity these Earthlings await.

These marching ones are followed by a cluster of small dancers who prance and leap about in synchronized abandon. These small ones seem to have no problem defying gravity as they fly about with energy and grace. Sometimes they land atop taller Earthlings, who in turn toss the small ones from one to another. They eventually form a pyramid which points skyward, apparently imploring their divine one to appear.

As the excitement reaches a fevered pitch, the deity appears. He is much taller than the typical Earthling and though he walks upright, he looks more like one of the lower life forms than an Earthling. He possesses a huge brown head with a white stripe down the center, running to his long black snout. He has all-seeing, all- knowing eyes. His bodarrg as well as his head is covered with fur and he wears a gaudily-decorated, striped "talis" (for that is what such a garment is called by the tiny minority of Earthlings who follow the Hebraic religion) over it. I would not describe him as a dignified god. In fact, he appears quite ridiculous. He waves to his thousands of red-clad supplicants and mimes some foolery. Nevertheless, the crowd becomes more and more frenzied. They call out to their god, shouting in unison “Og Ykcub! Og Ykcub!" I surmise that is the great one's name.

Suddenly, Og’s soldiers appear. I surmise something solemn and serious is about to happen–perhaps a sacrifice is about to be offered up to Og. The warriors are huge and fierce, much larger than their fellow Earthlings. They wear the requisite red for the ceremony but they are heavily armored under their garments. Another set of warriors, clothed in uniform garb of a different color, emerge from the other side of the arena and taunt Og's warriors. Suddenly, pandemonium erupts! The opposing groups of warriors lunge and chase each other around, trying to capture some sort of disputed oblate spheroid icon. Some fall injured or dead and are dragged off the field of battle. Meanwhile the others push, trip and jump on one another in chaotic fashion.

Og seems extremely delighted by all of this, especially when his soldiers seem to be succeeding. But Og wants more. He is greedy, so it starts all over again. Sometimes Og is so elated when his soldiers succeed that he has a group of his followers lift him onto an altar. From his platform above his followers' heads, Og leads the masses in prayer by repetitively pumping his prostate body up and down on the altar. His followers thank him for their bounty by counting out loud the number of times Og propels himself upward.

At various times the multitudes jump up and down in spasms of frenzied joy. At lulls in the combat, they amuse themselves by slowly waving their upper appendages from side to side, while singing “U-rah-rah-U-rah-raaaah." This hymn causes tears to form in the eyes of many of the older Earthlings. In addition, some of the congregation have taken off their red shirts, exposing their chests on which are painted images of Og. Others have smaller forms of the Og images painted on their foreheads, cheeks, arms and legs. Upon further inspection, I can see now that Og's countenance, sometimes fierce and other times friendly, is imprinted on many of their garments and head coverings.

As the events around me build to a climax, I decide to return to Blixtarrg at once. I am a sensitive and civilized sentient creature and I have no wish to see tens of thousands of Earthlings sacrificed to their animalistic and bloodthirsty deity. I am certain that in a matter of moments, Og will become angry at some failure by his warriors, tire of the entertainment and invoke his wrath upon his hapless people. I have had enough and am not waiting around for this sordid end to the spectacle.

As I take my leave of this obscure and insignificant planet in a backwater of the inhabited universe, I resize myself to my splendid Blixtarrgan form and restore my natural coloration. I make my way back to my IGS-craft and take off for the short, faster-than-light journey back to Blixtarrg. As I gain altitude, I notice a large sign which I must have missed upon landing. It reads:

nisnocsiW, nosidaM ot emocleW

!ykcuB, oG

I realize that I have forgotten to replace my mirrored corneas. I insta-surg them back and am able to read the billboard. This is the message I bring back to Blixtarrg:

Welcome to Madison, Wisconsin.

Go, Bucky!

TEACH ME HOW TO BUCKY

***Concept inspired by my friend Ken Feldman