"We [humans] are thinking beings. We are interested and excited in understanding how the world is put together. We seek out the extraordinary and if you think of these claims if only they would true then they would be amazingly interesting; we've been visited by beings who've not only have created our civilization for us but mated with human beings. In my view, [humans] [are] much more likely to successfully mate with a petunia than an extraterrestrial. But certainly there is a degree of fascination, if such accounts were true."
Carl Sagan in a PBS Nova interview, The Case of the Ancient Astronauts.
If there's any truth in that, it would be the flower bit. Of all of the thousands of memories that I have stored in both my journals and my mind, organizing them into a single memoir would be extremely tedious and pointless. However, if there's money involved then I'll be more than glad to take a shot at it. I even suggested to the publisher to include some more racy material if it meant to increase sales. He declined. Purist. Also, I doubt that I would attain a sizable audience from my own species, let alone getting paid for it . This is why my papers are being given away to that publisher. I suppose that my writings should serve as the first document of apology between my species and humans for delivering service so terrible that it would look FEMA competent in disaster response.
Unfortunately, my memoirs do not contain anything such as how to construct a ray gun, the blueprints for a faster-than-light spaceship nor even how to tame a giant, mutant beetle with just a pair of tweezers. Instead, they are accounts of my dreary life of being a failure of a involuntary missionary for a civilization so advanced in its own technology but lacking in its own collective intelligence and practicality due to causes of unknown origin. Rest assured, if my kind had more of the latter two traits, my superiors would have conjured up far more effective plans of intergalactic outreach rather than resorting to sending off a few select men, one of whom with questionable mental health, to some mud ball out on the far reaches of this galaxy.
Why, of all the members of my adopted family that they have chosen, did they pick my brain whacked third brother, Bromwell Troika Sous? I do not even want to bother counting up the number of times that he had embarrassed himself in front of our family -as if that would be unexpected out of that particular clan to others- for fear of remembering the number of times that he went on some of his so-called "nature streaks".
Well damn. I just went and put my foot in my own mouth that time. Fortunately I got accustomed to some of the Earthling's liquor to wash away those visions away into a dark, nasty corner, only to have them creep up on me at the wrong times.
I might as well start off on how I wound up being the adopted member of my foster family, but that's just too depressing. Of course, I could start off with my early childhood such as the times when I was making a damn good living off of selling my "cures", tiny bottles of water and sugar pills, to some gullible ingrates. Those poor bastards bought my nonsense that these things could cure foot fungus, shrink green boils and reduce excess hair growth in the eyes, the first of which seemed to be the most popular complaint. That might be a great place to start for I was awfully smart for my age, in comparison to my customers. I told them that the water somehow "remembers" whatever tiny fragment, such as a tiny piece of a fungus, that I've put in a great vat of water and this 'new' water will attack that person's ailments or some rubbish like that. They bough that nonsense and licked my water bottles up for nearly five times their actual price!
Of course, writing about those incidents would only bring guilt on myself. Not for cheating them out but not being smart about it when I was doing it right near a police station where one of the officers had more sense than the others, and the only real way for me to repay that crime was enrollment in a juvie military academy. The charges were trumped up because I swindled some military man's lieutenant son, which caused a great deal of embarrassment and wrath from him. I fail to remember his name, but he had connections and that's the most important thing you should know about anyone; how much they can pummel you down if you had screwed them over.
Instead, I'm in a grouchy mood as of now and my best cure for that is not anti-depressants or downers that are heavily diluted by an astronomical, and ridiculous, amount of water. I found the best cure for grouchiness for me is actually quite simple.
Start complaining like the old grouch I am who feels that he's gotten the bones of life. And that's what I'm going to do, starting off with the first fiasco that had brought me to this planet in the first place and give you the gist as to why all of you humans did not have decent indoor pluming and bathrooms beginning a thousand, rather than just a hundred, years ago. I also decided to start each chapter with quotes and paraphrases from material and people that I have gathered over the years to sum up the basic premise and make the reading much more bearable. As a forewarning, my personal character is probably not the ideal role model. To get it out of the way, I have either lied, cheated or kissed up to get out of the most dire situations before taking them head on. Unfortunately, in most cases, I was never given the opportunity to try the first two methods and the third one didn't help for much either. So, apparently, I was seen as altruistic, helpful, brave and headstrong to others. By others, I mean Baldric or that other fellow that we came across during our first arrival here.
Without further delay, here it is.