By Jean Jackson
We are all ‘star stuff’, it has been said, our bodies and world composed of the same protons, neutrons, electrons, and energy that burns through the cores of far distant galaxies. We are all brothers and sisters, in this universe. You, me, your dog, bagels, interstate overpasses, golf balls, zucchini, and Ernest Borgnine are one being in the only ‘flesh’ that truly matters. So, how can we be surprised and amazed when big-headed green-goo space aliens take a header at Roswell as the clamoring siren of the cosmos cries out for the ultimate forging of tranquil kinship among all beings?
Bovine flop. They’re here for the chocolate. Do you really think that a space-faring sentient species would plunder the resources of three solar systems, build a ram-jet the size of Nebraska, and spend six generations traveling the vacuum and void of space, dodging Wormhole Krishnas and Death Stars just to watch Fox Mulder part his hair? Nuh uh, nope, they want our goodies, as chocolate has proven, over the uncounted eons of time, to be the true source of all happiness and peace.
Consider: Ancient myth and legend tells us that the prophetic and pioneering mortal, Prometheus, stealthily stole the secret of chocolate from the gods, and was thereafter, forevermore, condemned to rolling a giant malted milk ball up a mountain.
Marie Antoinette committed no crime against humanity, but was the mere innocent victim of those driven, ravenous, and cocoa-deprived aficionados who cannot resist biting the heads off chocolate bunnies at Eastertide.
George Washington founded a nation and established the beacon of caloric entitlement that is the hailed paradigm throughout the environs of the poor and oppressed, by tossing a mint patty across the Potomac and forcing General Cornwallis and his red-coated snotty troops to scurry home and engage a decent dry-cleaner Half of our global population (ergo, female) who, at certain times of the month, run amok and shred sofa cushions with their fingernails while screeching like hamster brake-pads, can be pacified and domesticated once again by a quick and strategic wielding of a well-rounded Snickers.
Yes, this is the ambrosia and answer to the sometimes inexplicable question, ‘HUH?!’ which ambulatory creatures sometimes ask ourselves when presented with celestial conundrums such as life, love, credit card interest charges, and Pauly Shore’s career. This is what indeed is beloved of the universe, and is the objective of every star system since the Big Bang and James T. Kirk hit puberty.
It is only due to bad luck and an unfortunate navigational accident when Florp Prime from Gamma Hydra B Varsity Winston Cup Smackdown mistook his ship’s accelerator for the microwave which caused our galactic neighbors to land in Roswell instead of Hershey, Pennsylvania, singing their anthem:
“Our tummies yearn and mumble
Our throats gush eager saliva,
Leaving us grateful and humble
At the ministrations of sticky Godiva.
We’ve perused the Yellow Pages
And hunted down Crunches and Heaths.
We rally and revere stellar sages
Homaged with truffles and Mallomar wreaths.
Oh Earth! Yield your harvest, we linger
Smear, dip us in Mounds and clusters peanut!
Share the bounty of Roca and Butterfinger!
Enslave us with your glory, chocolate!”
Why is it that our home planet Earth has been blessed profusely with the bounty and aspirations of four dimensions? Beats me. But, like many things in life, it doesn’t matter. What is important is to kick-start our benevolent and charitable human nature by offering our unique and cherished gift to any celestial being willing to pay retail.
Spread the joy, happiness, and contentment which we consider our birthright, and will also prevent them from torching us with a laser/plasma death-ray blaster or cause our household pets to mutate into giant, flesh eating kumquats.
Hear their pleas, embrace their longing, hearken to this helpless imperative with a generous soul, and if they start getting on your nerves, tell them that the really good stuff is made over on Mars.