UFO-watchers are an uncommon breed.

Thank god!

Just stop for a moment and think about what kind of people they are.
They have a penchant for videoing out-of-focus reflections of lampshades on their bedroom windows, usually with accompanying squeals from females and authoritative nasal whines of, "It's definitely under some form of intelligent control!" from males. Those kind of statements are, admittedly, unambiguous: it's obvious that the disembodied commentary cannot possibly be referring to the videocamera!

The above tapes are then usually packaged and sent off to every gullible asshole on the 'Conspiracy Theory' mailing list.

These people also usually spout crap along the lines of, they - and they alone - are in mental contact with the lead alien from the ("materials as yet unidentified but it's been examined by a reputable scientist and is clearly not of this earth") refracted lampshade. His name, as near as earthly tongues can pronounce it, is Emperor Fil Ament from the planet Osram in the Halogen Cluster, and he usually has a message for humankind.


The world isn't ready for it just yet.


It's been entrusted to a socially-inept masturbator with a below-average IQ, whose idea of a good time is ignoring the scantily-clad girl cavorting round the bedroom of the house opposite with her new boyfriend in hot (and we mean HOT!) pursuit, and, instead, using one hand to film his "I MET DAVROS" lampshade reflected off his steamed-up windows.

Go figure!

Then, there's the phenomenon of 'lost time'.

Subjects, usually in a car (sans lampshade), inexplicably find themselves outside their vehicle further up the road, with no idea how they got there.

They point out that this particular journey usually takes 5 minutes, but they have been out for 3 hours!

The simple answer that I have to admit flits across my mind in these instances is that they've encountered the quantum effects of a curious phenomenon known as 'rush hour'.

Either that or they drive a Skoda!

Incidentally, if weird happenings light your candle, click here and sample the Site For Sore Eyes' very own X-Files Pages.

If there is intelligent life outside of the earth (I could paraphrase Eric Idle, here!), what would it want with 99.9999999999% of us?

Most of us can't even get on with our neighbours. We get promotion to foreman, chargehand, supervisor, team-leader, manager, or whatever, and we begin acting out the roles of Commandants from Belsen or Auschwitz!

We see images of humankind's inhumanity on our 'vidscreens' night after night and do stuff all about it. We give more to charities for animals than we do to the NSPCC (does anyone know what that stands for??). And we blatantly ignore a quaint little Italian warning I picked up from The Sopranos and have been dying to use: "Don't shit where you eat!"

No wonder my best friend is a kumquat.

A female kumquat, mind you. Nothing odd about me.

PALMER ON PROZAC is a freelance writer from Stockport, England. He is also the main author of this Web Site. You can see more of his observations and Rants on THE SITE FOR SORE EYES soon. His views and comments do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of the owners of this Site. His reflections are also not filmed in half-light and passed off as autopsy scenes from Roswell. When not writing he likes to unwind in a bath of amonia with David Icke.
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