I read about a giant spacecraft, one mile long and one-half mile wide, making lazy circles over a small community in Texas.

Is it not enough that Mother Nature is going through the change of life and wreaking havoc all over the world?

Is it not enough that the bird flu cropped up again in India and the National Center for Disease Control is predicting another outbreak of the Black Plague?

Is it not enough that I have to piss my pants every time a car backfires because a bunch of rag-tag malcontents, called Al-Qaeda, got a hard-on for the Bush boys?

Now this!

Fucking aliens invading earth … mother fucker ... I give up.

Just when I got my life into some kind of order, found just the right shade of lipstick, matched all my handbags to all my shoes, this happens.

NOT FAIR!

I’d always hoped I’d be dead and gone before all the nasty shit started happening, but apparently not.

I just hate to think at age sixty-something, I’m going to end up the bitch for some creep-a-zoid with a skin condition.

I can see myself lying naked in a giant Petri dish filled with KY jelly.  In will come Wilbur, the three-toed mutant, dragging a 27-inch penis shaped like a Louisville slugger, to knock off a piece of my ass before destroying the earth.

Fuck me, I can’t catch a break.