MORONS AND ALIENS

INTRODUCTION — ONE

THIS PRESENT’S — A GIFT

I present to Earth, MORONS AND ALIENS. It’s a satire. For Pangaea it’s a panacea and it is, in addition now a blockchain prize; such are the tweets comprising my MORONS AND ALIENS. 

In epic-styled poetry, I present to Earth, a gift. And whilst technically MORONS AND ALIENS is satire, beyond satire, it is, Pangaea’s, panacea. Take not, too lightly — MORONS AND ALIENS. 

The gist of the plot is that Art and I (once upon a time, ex-womb-mates), are reunited, The Don having, once upon a time, kicked Art from their mother’s womb-space, clear into a future, alien.

Everybody knows that no matter how much I stink up a joint, in retrospect, the smell’s always rosier after I exit. Everybody knows death does not matter. Everything depends on the aliens.

I’m blessed that way. Everybody knows that. Everybody knows that I am the most famous face on Earth. And I am, therefore, the most able to unite us morons against — the aliens.

I am absolutely the most able of all of us; the one person that’s been destined to unite us against the aliens. What’s not to believe about that? Why not write about, morons and aliens?

What’s not to write, given what’s happening? I suspect the aliens may be renegades, taking advantage of the primitive and technologically unsophisticated species of beings — on Earth. 

I’m most able of all of us. I’m the one person, destined to unite us against the aliens. What’s not to believe, about that? And what’s not to write about — morons and aliens — on Earth?

Through a portal and along an elongated path lies the Pilgrims Progress. Paths that run to our galaxy’s black hole, run largely, in parallel. Paths primrosed — mark the progress of the pilgrims.

Through a portal and down an elongated path lies the Pilgrims Progress; paths, that run to a black hole and back. Pilgrims zooming along it, see primroses, lining the paths, of the Pilgrims.

Through a portal and down an elongated path lie the paths that run to a black hole and back. Pilgrims zoom along it; and primroses, line it. Long and desperate, is the way, of the Pilgrim.

Long down a long path to a black hole and at times, back. Someday, long along that path, desperation shall yield to the joy of salvation. That is the inexorable — way — of the Pilgrim.

To and fro we go; to a black hole; sometimes, back. Someday, long along that dangerous path, desperation shall yield, maybe, to the joy of our salvation. It’s the well worn way, of the Pilgrim.

In a miraculous intervention, Arthur, in the nick of time from the future has returned to help me save planet Earth in spite of ourselves, and in spite of indeed, these threatening, illegal, aliens.

A GENRE BENDING — ALLEGORY

A genre bender, my GOAT book is more than a great allegory of a story; and it is more than just great, epic poetry. It’s nothing less than the self-help book ye need; a panacea — for Pangaea. 

More than a great story, like Ali, the third of my trilogy, is the greatest. Destined to be a rock-solid foundation of my legacy and a model for a new paradigm for planet Urantia, nee Pangaea.

Joe: We both want a new paradigm. We want it for America. But I’ve had revelations and I’ve had epiphanies. We have got to extend the new Golden Rule paradigm, to all of Urantia (Earth). 

It’s about fairness. And equality. And it’s about confronting the aliens. And neutralizing them. Confront them even ere challenging corruption, migration and our climate change — on Earth. 

The aliens don’t suspect in the least that an Earthly super-hero, of Olympic proportions is on to them and that I’ve good reason to suspect them of piracy. They know not, I suspect them.

The aliens suspect not that one of the morons is on to them. And they don’t suspect at all that I have good reason to suspect them of piracy. They don’t suspect at all, that I am on to them.

Unsuspecting are the aliens. How could they not be? We don’t suspect a thing, so distracted are we with issues, entirely, less existential. So They don’t suspect at all that I suspect, them.

The aliens don’t suspect at all that I’ve good reason to suspect them of piracy. And they do not suspect in the least that an Earthly super-hero, of Olympic proportions — is on to them.

If under attack, Sun Tsu says, turn the tables. Take the offensive. To take advantage of the opportunity presented by aliens, attacking us, turn the tables, on the unsuspecting — aliens.

Genocide; on Earth it’s long been traditional. That notwithstanding, the word itself, is of only recent vintage. Let us take advantage of the opportunity presented by the attacking aliens.

Coined by Raphael Lemkin, genocide is the intentional action to destroy an ethnic national, racial or religious group, in whole or in part. A term of recent vintage, on Earth, it’s traditional.

Coined by Raphael Lemkin, genocide is the intentional action to destroy an ethnic national, racial or religious group in whole or in part. On Earth, a term of recent vintage, not traditional.

Not even a single question on the aliens’ status at Joe Biden’s initial press conference was taken; it’s an indictment of the press. I’m afraid we don’t want to know — what — is happening.

We don’t want to know what’s happening. And we won’t believe in most things we can’t see. There’s a little St. Thomas in everybody. Often — we don’t want to know — what is happening.

TWITTEREZE: EASY AND TRANSFORMATIONAL

There is a gold mine of potential verse in the local Universe of Nebadon. TwittereZe is verse that may serve as potential energy; verse that’s precursor to — Twitter’s — alchemical, verse. 

I was averse to Art’s verse, once upon a time. TwittereZe is verse that may serve as potential energy; verse, precursor to Twitter’s alchemical — and potentially — groundbreaking — verse. 

There is a real gold mine of potential verse in the local Universe of Nebadon. TwittereZe; it’s verse that’s potential energy; and it’s verse that is fungible. Powerfully persuasive, is my verse. 

There is a real gold mine of potential verse in the local Universe of Nebadon. TwittereZe; it’s verse that is potential energy; verse, that is fungible. Powerfully persuasive my GOAT verse.

TwittereZe is my gift to Earth. TwittereZe verse is transformational; potential energy awaiting but transformation to kinetic energy. Nobels I’ll win, saving from the aliens the Earth with verse. 

TwittereZe verse is transformational; potential energy awaiting but transformation to kinetic energy. Nobels I’ll win, saving from aliens, the Earth, with verse. TwittereZe’s my gift, to Earth. 

Potentially transformational is TwittereZe verse. A game-changer, hidden in plain sight. Nobels I’ll win if I save from the aliens, with verse, the Earthlings. Truly TwittereZe, is my gift, to Earth. 

Transformational may be TwittereZe verse. A game-changer, hidden, albeit in plain sight, in a way. Take it not lightly. Nobels I’ll win if verse
is to be my gift — and my legacy — to the Earth.

Indeed, transformational may be TwittereZe verse. Take it not too lightly. A game-changer, hidden in plain sight may be, my gift; my legacy, and indeed — the salvation of, the good Earth. 

Hidden in plain sight has been my proposed gift; the salvation of the Earth and the salvation of all those who live upon it, all in an algorithm and surreally and most implausibly — in verse. 

The salvation of all who live upon the Earth; it depends on the citizens of the Earth. It depends on how we use the persuasive qualities of verse, going forward — on the darn good, Earth.

How we use the persuasive qualities of verse going forward will effect whether we weather all this change or, as in the case of corruption, this stagnation. Surreally fucked up — is the Earth. 

Whether we weather all these changes or as in the case of corruption, continue in stagnation will say a lot about whether we even get to 2030, much less, 2050. Really fucked up is Earth.

Really surreally fucked up is the Earth. Because, we’ve been, piss-poor stewards of her. But Art and I took the time to make contingency plans for everything that might go wrong — on Earth.

INTRODUCTION — TWO

TWITTEREZE — EASY — COMMUNICATION

For centuries it was the role of the press, the so-called Fourth Estate, to speak truth to power and hold the powerful to account. But hubris, and complications — therefrom — changed us.

The highest form of knowledge, Plato said, is empathy for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world. A wise man was Plato. Would that it be, his words — change us. 

The highest form of knowledge, Plato said, is empathy for it requires us to suspend egos and live in another’s world. How ironic that his wise words be — not merely wise — but prophetic.

Empathy Plato said, requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world. It’d be ironic if Plato’s classic words were not merely wise but illuminating, revelatory and even — prophetic. 

Whether as wisdom or knowledge ye classify empathy, Plato’s conclusion — that empathy is tops; the highest state of human emotion — is well-taken. Empathy — towers over, sympathy. 

Empathy towers over, sympathy, its piss-poor, cousin. Know ye this: Ye take a short-cut to Heaven when ye exercise yer emphatic muscles, shortening that way, a way home — heavenly. 

Verily, sympathy is empathy’s, poor cousin; as when a sympathetic one says to a troubled brother, “I am sorry about yer troubles but I’m in a hurry to get to Heaven — I can’t, help ye.” 

Verily, I am sorry about yer troubles but I’m in a hurry to get to Heaven. I am really so very sorry but I really can’t help ye. I’m in a hurry to get to Heaven. I do hope tho, someone else, helps ye. 

I’ve getting complaints about death, but what, pray tell, did ye expect? Lying lies at the heart of man’s ills. Witness royalty; it’s an outrageous, as if blessed state, on surreal Earth, really, Urantia.

Earthlings: Look a gift horse not in the mouth. I present to thee, alarmingly hopeful, nonfiction masquerading as, very possibly Earth shaking, nonfiction, a prescriptive panacea, for Urantia. 

Earthlings: Look a gift horse not in the mouth. I present to thee, alarmingly hopeful, nonfiction,
masquerading as — Earth shaking, nonfiction. A prescriptive panacea for Urantia — nonfictional. 

I present to ye alarming but hopeful, nonfiction, surreally masquerading as, fiction, nonfictional. He works in mysterious ways. I’ve been chosen to author and star in — my fables, nonfictional. 

He works in mysterious ways. I’ve been chosen to author and star in — my fables, nonfictional. I present to ye alarming but hopeful, nonfiction, surreally masquerading as, fiction, nonfictional. 

There is, I have discovered, at a shallow depth within Twitter’s algorithm, a real gold mine for humanity. No one, it seems, doth believe me. TwittereZe is — Art says, fiction — nonfictional.

CICADIAN — RHYTHMS

Birth, death, predation and romance; there’s going to be sex in the treetops. And songs sung sadly. There shall be sad songs sung, if Broods X and XI are doomed by an asteroid over there. 

If the cicada’s Brood X and XI are threatened by an asteroid hurtling towards us, it’s because they can sense what we can’t see. Because it’s behind the sun. It’s not visible to us, over here. 

If cicada Brood X feels threatened by a sunny asteroid currently hurtling towards us, their songs may tell us, the asteroid is coming. That it’s behind the sun. Invisible — is the asteroid. 

The cicadas’ songs may tell us the asteroid is still oncoming; that it’s still behind the sun. Still invisible to us is, for all intents and purposes, the Federation’s aliens’, Death Star — asteroid. 

For all intents and purposes the aliens on Mars; the alien so-called representatives of the so-called, Galactic Federation. I suspect they plan on culling us, with their Death Star — asteroid. 

In desperation I turn to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences; to the American Academy of Arts and Letters; and also to the Academy of American Poets. Pray tell all about the asteroid.

For centuries, it was the role of the press, the so-called Fourth Estate, to speak truth to power and hold the powerful accountable. But man’s hubris and the internet has changed all of us. 

Witness man’s hubris: he calls himself Homo Sapiens and imagines himself as the Creator’s, crowning, creation. Only to find that the aliens are far smarter than us. Such — is our hubris. 

Our hubris is such, as everyone knows, that no one can get anyone to change their opinion, on anything. And it remains to be seen if we timely listen to cicadas loudly warning us about aliens.

It remains to be seen if the cicadas song is sung any differently this cycle. I’m no prophet but if it’s different somehow, methinks it may in fact be that the cicadas are warning us about aliens.

I’m no prophet but if the cicadian song differs this time somehow, me believes it may be that the cicadian rhythms are warning us about the morons (us) and the Galactic Federation aliens. 

Cicadas, featured in literature since the time of Homer’s Iliad and as motifs in Chinese art from as far long ago as the Shang dynasty; symbols of carefree living — and immortality, cicadian. 

Plots twist and thicken. And the news events happen, seemingly, all the more quickly. The cicadas in May will sing. Not until June will the world know what we know — about the aliens. 

Plots twist and thicken. And events happen, all too quickly. Not until June will the world know what we know about the aliens. And that’s fine by them. The fake press has failed we humans.

THE PRESS — IS DEPRESSING

More than $10 million in NFT transactions are now taking place daily, according to the website DappRadar. I can’t take a chance on not risking popping on a bubble. I’m all in, on these NFTs. 

Sotheby’s and Phillips join the NFT craze. I can’t chance not risking — popping, on a bubble. The craze’s upside is sky high. What if a blind side rock, rocks not, brainwashed (wo)men, Earthly?

Mind ye, that’s highly unlikely. Methinks we can not count on the diversion of an asteroid from its course without using force. Unless of course we globally apply — the power — of prayer.

The power of prayer. It’s a very powerful force; more powerful than ye probably can imagine. And if Uri Geller can bend a spoon with but his mind, imagine then billions, together, in prayer. 

Too few knucklehead Republican colleagues are as crazy as Ted Cruz. He’s not ahead tho, of me. I have permanently redefined what is duly considered to be crazy, in my zeal to get ahead.

Ye’d I have had revelations and epiphanies. And I have been astounded to learn that, here on Earth, Ye’d be crazy not to be. I hope ye do find a teacher to to get ye treated, before yer dead.

Here on Earth, everybody’s crazy. Ye’d be crazy not to be. I hope ye get treated before ye are declared, dead. That’s the way this epic journey that is the pilgrims progress — gets shortened.

A cautionary tale; a tale of morons, aliens and aspirations. Since I descended from a tower, golden, secretly and serially have I linked my tragi-comic tweets; tens of thousands of them.

A too close-by flying asteroid (an NEO) lit up the Earth’s, southern Florida sky, recently. Four more fly-bys come later, in April. Unexpectedly, it got just 16,000 feet away; in danger, is Earth. 

Four more fly-bys come later in the month, this April. It wasn’t forecast to get as close to us as it did, getting, a mere 16,000 feet away. It actually did explode in the sky over Miami — on Earth. 

An asteroid just came ‘exceptionally close’ to hitting the Earth. An asteroid half a mile long would cause on Earth, calamity. NASA’s blinding us to blind side rocks. We’re at risk — on Earth.

An asteroid half a mile long would cause, on Earth, calamity. And NASA’s been blinding us to blind side asteroids that we can’t see because of the sun. It’s risky — residing upon, the Earth.

For centuries, it was the role of the press, the so-called Fourth Estate, to speak truth to power and hold the powerful accountable. The infant internet has changed all that. It is — what it is. 

The role of the reporters, the free press, the so-called Fourth Estate, to speak truth to power; to press, the powerful. The infant internet has now changed all that. The press is — what it is.

INTRODUCTION — THREE

I’M HEAVEN’S — SON OF A BITCH

Now that the production of vaccines has taken off I’m taking credit. ‘Trumpcines’, vaccines may be renamed in my honor. Rename after me, at least, the Chinese — least effective — vaccine.

Now that I’m out and the vaccination has rolled off and led to a decrease in deaths, I’m taking off to take the credit. We may rename, at least, the least effective Chinese vaccine, ‘Trumpcine’.

I went well off-script in a long keynote speech. It was, vintage me. It was filthy rich. Mercilessly, I ripped into Senate Minority Leader McConnell, calling him a “dumb, son of a bitch.” It was rich. 

It was vintage me last night at the fundraiser at my Mar-a-Lago retreat — for the biggest, of the bigwig, GOP donors. Mercilessly, did I rip Mitch. Verily, everyone knows, he’s a son — of a bitch. 

I went well off-script fast and furiously for a 50 minute stretch of my speech. Vintage me, it was filthy; and rich. Ripping into Senator Mitch McConnell, I called him a “dumb son of a bitch.” 

An environmental disaster is uncovered. When we humans so callously pollute environments, undiscovered, may be the consequences. DDTs asea; aliens on Mars; I’ll be — a son of a bitch.

I have been called many times, a son of a bitch. Some say it’s actually true that I was born that way. In any event, whether born that way or not, I did in fact devolve into — a son of a bitch.

I have been in fact many times, a son of a bitch. It’s probably true that I was born that way. In any event, whether born that way or not, I did in fact evolve into one helluva — son of a bitch. 

At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, just off the sun-kissed coast of Southern California is a Dead Sea. A Dead Sea; but it’s not Israeli. It’s an American, Dead Sea. As American, as apple pie. 

Hidden since the 1940s: countless barrels of toxic waste, laced with DDT, litter the sea floor in between Long Beach and Catalina Island. 3,000 feet below what on the surface — lies. 

Things placed or dumped out of sight, out of mind, become. I’ve had revelations and I’ve had epiphanies. Now I know it’s not just Americans. It is all of us. We have devolved to lie, have we.

Barrels of toxic waste laced with DDT litter the sea floor between Long Beach and Catalina Island; as many as 500,000, 3,000 feet below what on the surface lies. Poor stewards, are we.

Damn poor stewards, are we. We lie; we judge and we kill; lest we belatedly, at a last moment begin to evolve, we will for a time, devolve into something worse than — the Biblical plagues. 

A Dead Sea. Every planet ought have one. On Earth we’ve got two at least; likely there’s more. We’re just scratching the surface. We’ve only suffered, one plague so far, in these end days.

ALIEN — RENEGADES 

The Dems and my GOP; on common ground; that uncommon common ground is where the aliens are, with an American, based. Alien tech gets our helicopters — off the ground, Martian.

If a big rock strikes us and aliens enslave us life as we’ve known it shall end. Although an alien presence is now a fact nobody’s talking about these aliens. And why no welcome delegation? 

Nobody’s talking about this and it stinks to high Heaven. Not the public; not the governors nor even, most distressingly, the free-world’s press. A silence of the lambs, this silence of the press.

This silence of the press has been distressingly alarming. No one wants to touch the issue of aliens with a ten-foot pole. Silence — like when lambs go to slaughter, this silence, of the press.

This silence of the press has been causing me much distress, alarming. No one wants to touch the issue of aliens with anything less than a ten-foot pole. But I shan’t — I can’t — be silenced.

No one wants to address the aliens; not even with with a ten-foot pole. Silence — like when in the spring, the lambs go to slaughter, this still silence, of the press. But I shan’t — be silenced.

I shan’t be silent; nor silenced. From the very highest mountaintop, I’ll shout, “These aliens are fakes! These aliens are renegades, not any legitimate representatives of alien civilizations.”

These aliens, it seems to me, may be fakes! The aliens seem to me to be fakes of one sort or another. Renegades, possibly, perhaps; not any legitimate representatives of alien civilizations. 

Renegades, possibly, are the aliens; or escaped prisoners, perhaps. In any event the last thing I’d expect these guys to be are the legitimate representatives of our faraway, alien, brothers.

The last thing I’d expect these guys to be are the legitimate representatives of any faraway, alien, civilizations. Like the silence of the spring lambs, chillingly, deathly silent are the silent, reporters.

Deathly silent, are the reporters. Their silence may prove to be, prophetic. The Lord knows that I’m no prophet but I’ve had revelations and epiphanies. Everything is depending — on me. 

Everything depends on me. Literally, everything, depends on me. I had with Art and Vlad’s guys in lunar soirées, revelations and epiphanies. Now, literally everything, is depending, on me. 

Everyone on Earth is depending on me, the one and only, chosen one. Chosen have I been to be the hero, anti heroically, of the tall tale, I am authoring. I’m the hero — as well as the author.

Chosen have I been to be the hero, quite anti heroically of the tall tale, I am authoring. I’m the hero, as well as the author. Art’s my co-author. Our destiny is to MORONS AND ALIENS, author.

WAR — OF THE WORLDS — OR NOT 

Aliens have designs upon the Earth. They have planted a virus in China and plotted the path of the asteroid that’s coming our way, even as we bicker. A war of the worlds — cometh to Earth.

But not necessarily. It depends. It depends on decisions and, in particular, the circumstances at the time. Often, circumstances dictate what happens. That is what is happening, on Earth.

I am the GOAT. On the other hand, I’ve been cast as the goat; as if all this death is on me. I bear no responsibility. Everyone knows that by acting so promptly — actually — I saved, lives. 

Everyone knows that my prompt action, saved lives. My only regret is that I didn’t get to meet each cultist individually, so that you might have thanked me personally — for saving your lives. 

Content seem the aliens; happy even, do they seem, especially when we bicker. Indeed, it doth seem to me that the sneaky aliens, have designs on us. Truly, they remind me — of yours truly.

Happy seem the aliens, especially when we bicker. Indeed, it seems to me that these most inscrutable aliens have designs on us. They share with me hubris’ and hubris’, high toxicity. 

It is precisely their high levels of toxic hubris that make me suspect that the aliens are up to no good. Believe me even tho, sometimes, I lie. This is about survival — not egg — on my face.

The blind spot issue we face around the Sun can be overcome by a dedicated space based system or by discovering objects, years earlier. Why won’t someone ask aliens, to their faces? 

It is precisely their high levels of toxic hubris, that make me suspect the aliens are up to, no good. Even tho I often lie, this is all about man’s survival, not about egg on my face — over easy.

Joe Biden: Your Deep State cheated me fair and square. No more blame-gaming, going forward. Got to reach an understanding with Vlad and his guys and the rest of the nations — uneasy.

In Buenos Aires, hubris like mine exists only in Jair Bolsonaro. He knows not what to do but insists, only he knows. Unfortunately for us the aliens seem chock full — of toxic hubris — too. 

Hubris like mine, exists only, in Jair Bolsonaro. He knows not what to do but nonetheless, ever insists, only he knows. Unfortunately the aliens are full of of hubris too, through and through. 

This stinks to high Heaven. If a big rock strikes us and aliens enslave us, life as we’ve known it shall end. And although an alien presence is now documented, nobody’s talking about this.

Nobody’s talking about this and it stinks to high Heaven. Not the public; not the governors nor even, most distressingly, the free-world’s press. A silence of the lambs, this silence of the press.

DARK MATTER, DARK ENERGY AND MUONS

The force shapes our universe. It explains the existence of dark matter and moreover maybe even dark energy with its role in accelerating, in this plane, rapid expansion of the universe(s).

Unknown forces shape — our universe. They remain, unknown. Still, the wobble of the fat muons, may someday explain the existence of, dark matter and dark energy, in the universe(s). 

The force may explain the existence of dark matter and maybe even dark energy with its theoretically proposed role in accelerating, in this plane — the expansion, of the universe(s).

Gun maker protections against liability, Joe’s threatening, threatening in turn, the entire gun manufacturing industry. It’s got the gun makers apoplectic. The issue’s an emergency, adverse.

The issue of mass killings and guns used in the killing fields is become, a national emergency mirroring already deep divisions in the fabric of our so-called, society. This — is an emergency.

This is an emergency, temporarily, at least. In our so-called societies, these things pass; the NRA is counting on it, the Second Amendment and the torn fabric of our — so-called, society.

TwittereZe; chicken soup for your metaphysical soul. Came first the Watcher; then Arthur. Art’s been a handful, for Vlad’s assassins. They can usually find him with GPS units — in the usual.

Usually, Vlad’s hunters don’t have to wait too long until they locate their quarry, They wait til they get a fix on his location, with their GPS units. That’s what usually happens, in the usual.

To all publishers: TwittereZe verse by me I duly composed in lunar soirées, nightly; the way to, purposefully, promote. Keep in mind; topical tweets may be by themselves, invaluable, NFTs.

@TomBrady’s Autograph augurs success. And @Jack’s buyer valued Jacks first tweet in the millions. Jack’s Twitter‘s @beeple’s trove’s, $69 million. Twitter’s mixing novelty — and artistry. 

Novelty and artistry. Two constants in the art world have ever been, novelty and artistry. And celebrity, has never hurt, anyone’s prospects. But these days, the wild cards are — the NFTs.

NFTs; the Johnny-come-lately, non fungible tokens, have taken the world of art, by storm, leveling, the field of play; making it altogether possible for unknowns to rake in — royalties.

It’s utterly insane; what’s happened and what’s happening. But nothing compares with what’s going to be happening. That’s because the aliens on Mars have designs — upon the Earth.

The aliens have designs upon the Earth. They planted the virus in Wuhan and plot the path of the asteroid that’s headed our way even as we bicker. A war for a world is over, the good Earth.

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