I am now officially a member of the Implementation Team Oversight Committee to Plan the Conquest of Earth. Easily condensed into the easy to say acronym: ITOCPCE. That's Eee-toe-Kkkjjkchhpuuckke. Sadly, that rolls off the tongue easier than the beautiful Scorloon language.
Now, just to be clear, this is not the team that is going conquer the Earth. This is not the team that is planning how to conquer Earth. This is not the the team that is overseeing the team that is planning the conquest of Earth. This is the team that is deciding how we are going to select the committee that is going to oversee the team that is going to plan how another team is going to conquer Earth. (We have 12, very strong candidates. It's going to be tough to whittle those down to 4.)
So, yes, the entire civilization in stuck in 317 levels of bureaucratic nonsense. I just can't imagine why they've had such trouble conquering a planet full of super-powered loose cannons. Hmmm...
Yes, I've only been on their Homeworld ("Scorloonivinoxuloumushing", really?) for a couple days and I'm already completely fed up with the forms, and committees, and meetings, and minutes, and minutia. Who would have thought that an alien species where every person looks completely identical would have such a hard time making a decision? And then there's the ITOCPCE Benchmark Initiative which is the committee monitoring us as we pick the committee to oversee... ah, screw it.
Maybe it's time to introduce a little Proton Diplomacy in this game. Blast the sides off "the box," so to speak. Time to swing the "big stick." Make the "buck stop" and all that.
Just as soon as my Proposal for Radical Governmental Change gets recognized by the Sitting Committee for Imperial Governmental Procedure, Changes, and Possible Redundancy Eliminations (and Oral Hygiene).
Maybe it's not so alien after all
I'll take door #3, if you don't mind
Here I am riding on a Scorloon battle cruiser. Things are going well. I'm looking out the view window, watching the Earth disappear into the distance as we enter the amber-violet spectrum of trans-spatial warp. It's all good. I am preparing myself for the awaiting throngs of Scorloons, eager for me to lead them to greatness. I am ready. But first, I want some food. No problem, right? I tell the on-board compu-drive to give me the finest dish in the Scorloon menu.
Well, first it wants to know my height and weight (in "Thrggsh" or whatever the unit of measure on Scorloon is), then it wants to get a skin sample, then I have to fill out a color based personality examination ("How does green taste?"), then I need to attach a copy of my Scorloon military record... Hey! Stupid computer, just bring me a goddamned burger or something!
Finally (finally!), I seem to have made it through whatever hoops it has left and it opens the tele-hatch and gives me the meal. It is not a burger. It is not a noodle-based dish. It is not even a vegetable. It appears to be what would happen if a centipede had a baby with a frog (with a skin condition). It's repulsive.
And it's still alive!
Even in a world where a man can shoot lasers out of his eyes...
Even with the glittering technology of my power suit, even with an obedient minion, and even with nano-technology, it still sucks to move.
Packing and labeling all of your crap really makes you realize how much clutter you can accumulate. Especially when you need to bring all of your doomsday machines and machine/animal hybrid experiments. I'm really maxing out on my student loan money on this enterprise. Good thing I'm never going to repay them the cash. (Since I will be High Lord of the Universe, natch.)
Hauling everything back and forth to the trucks makes me consider getting rid of all my test tubes, global domination idea notebooks, and atom vortex spare parts. But I just know that as soon as I get rid of something I'm going to need it to battle the Purple Pirate or something. Sigh.
Next time I'm just going to build a teleportation doorway and save myself the trouble. (Note to self: learn how to build teleportation gateways!)
