Who are the aliens we invited to Welcome and Alien day on 21st June
Sockman & Fish Celebrate “Invite an Alien to Live With You Day on 21st June” – With Immediate Regret
June 21st. A day Sockman now refers to as “The Great Sofa Sacrifice.”
National Invite an Alien to Live With You Day began as a quirky initiative encouraging Earthlings to host extraterrestrial visitors for “cultural exchange and moderate chaos.” But when Fish, three ales deep and listening to vintage Manowar, mistakenly listed their address on GalacticBnB.com, things got spicy.
Within the hour, the backyard erupted in starfire and diplomatic awkwardness. Three shuttles landed, narrowly missing Fish’s lawn bowls and annihilating Sockman’s sock centrifuge.
Out of the ships emerged:
- Senator Glorb J. McConnellite, a lizard-skinned bureaucrat who blinked horizontally and insisted on filibustering breakfast.
- Kamalaa the Cackling Nebula, who floated six inches above the carpet, smiled continuously, and vaporized any question with a beam of confusing optimism.
- And Don’Tarrhmp the Gilded, a blustery orange gas cloud in a synthetic hairpiece that had its own gravitational pull and demanded everyone call him “Your Realestness.”
Kamalaa gets up close and personal with Fish
They brought intergalactic housewarming gifts: a crate of freeze-dried eggs, seventeen socks (none matching), and a karaoke cube that only played Neil Diamond songs backwards.
Sockman, ever the optimist, greeted them with handshakes and an official “Earth Roommate Agreement” printed on sock paper. Fish greeted them by muttering, “This is how the apocalypse starts—roommates with titles.”
The first 24 hours were fine. Senator McConnellite slithered around reading every Earth law and then ignored them. Kamalaa smiled at the television for six hours without blinking. Don’Tarrhmp replaced the front lawn with gold-plated AstroTurf and declared it a “leisure dome.”
Fish started cracking.
“Sockman,” he whispered on Day 2, “that gas cloud ate my corned beef.”
“Diplomacy, Fish,” Sockman urged, sock-logo glowing with hope.
But by Day 4, Fish was found barricaded in the laundry room juggling sausages as a distraction tactic.
The final straw came when Don’Tarrhmp tried to annex the garage and install a laser golf course.
“You fools!” the gas cloud bellowed. “We were almost at maximum dawdle!”
Fish, gripping his last pint of ale, stood firm.
“You messed with the wrong tempo, carrot breath.”
Sockman grabbed his Sockarang™. “You have thirty seconds to leave Earth—or I introduce you to the power of static cling.”
Kamalaa hummed a farewell in seventeen tones. McConnellite blinked himself into a paper bag. Don’Tarrhmp blustered, exploded gently, and drifted toward a neighbor’s grill party.
Peace was restored.
Sockman sighed. “Well… it was a learning experience.”
Fish cracked a new beer and grunted, “Next year, we celebrate ‘Don’t Invite Anyone To Do Anything Day.’”
Sockman claims this Alien predicted the future would entail electric powered Spacecraft. Fish wasn’t so sure
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