写给地球的一封公开信

麦田怪圈不是我们干的。请用心想想吧。我们以你们认为不可能实现的速度飞行于群星间——可你们还认为我们需要为了联络用途而压下麦秆？你们为什么还总是以为我们会在荒郊僻野着陆？

我们被你们的媒体所描绘的外星人形象弄得心烦意乱。当你们有心情思考时，就好好地看看你们对地球犯下的罪孽。你们正在毁掉这颗星球：把自然资源消耗殆尽，污染空气，毁掉大海，将许多独特的物种永久地灭绝。你们怎么可能指望在即将来临的星际经济时代幸免于难？

First off, allow us to apologize for the abductions.

Although it seemed like a good idea at the time, we recognize that too often you did not find the experience as satisfying as we did. We genuinely regret the way things got out of hand.

It started out as just something to do, an occasional way to blow off steam after a long day of observation. We tried not to break anybody, and we always put you back where we found you. Frankly you aren't all that interesting, and we might soon have grown tired of the whole thing.

But we got such a kick out of your cute eyewitness accounts, what with the stories of our big dark eyes and little arms and all. You made us feel special, even if your tales were complete crap. The books, the movies, the T-shirts—we were like celebrities. And some of you took it all so seriously, with your conspiracy theories and everything. It was really quite a hoot.

Then this guy Whitley Strieber came along, and he sort of took the joy out of it, you know? What a killjoy shitbag he is. Today we abduct only nerdy guys who live alone in Airstream trailers, primarily because they're nerds and, truth be told, we just like to mess with their heads.

Many of you have written asking about crop circles, so let's set the record straight.

It ain't us. Really, it's not. Think about it. You people have trouble reaching your own moon, and even you have cell phones, satellite TV, and high-speed DSL.

We sail between stars at speeds you believe impossible—you think we have to knock down veggies in order to communicate?

And why do you always assume we land in rural areas? Please. On a planet with New York, Rio de Janeiro, Paris, and Amsterdam, you figure we'd choose to hang out in Roswell, New Mexico? Have any of you actually been there? (By the way, Area 51 is a real hole. In the unlikely event we're ever in the neighborhood again, we're staying someplace else for sure.)

We would be remiss if we failed to mention the anal probing. For the longest time, we swear we thought those were data ports. We meant no harm, and hope that you will, like us, try to forget this unfortunate chapter in our history. In retrospect it was simply a bad idea.

Now we don't want to be seen as whiners, but there are a few things we wish to discuss.

For one thing, we are troubled by the way we have been portrayed in the media. We represent an array of life whose richness and sheer scope would astound you. Yet for the most part, on this planet we are typecast as either hairless dweebs with foreheads like watermelons, or else giant insects who want to eat you.

No offense, but this is especially hard to take from a backwater planet most beings have never heard of. (In fairness, this is not entirely true. Earth is generally known for one thing: cottage cheese. Seriously, nobody else ever thought of that. Not even the Loboölata, who are themselves dairy products.)

The very word “alien” is plagued by negative associations. According to our latest focus groups, the term conjures up images of 1) slimy, parasitic creatures who spring onto the faces of unsuspecting beings in order to plant their young inside, or 2) people picking cabbages. (Apologies to the Bulibians: slimy, parasitic creatures who actually do spring onto the faces of unsuspecting beings in order to plant their young inside.)

We've discussed this among ourselves, and we no longer wish to be called aliens. Henceforth, we prefer to be called “Chuck Norris®.” Please do not shorten, hyphenate, or alter this in any way. The plural form is the same, as in, “Hey, there goes a Chuck Norris®. Wait, there goes another one."

Finally, some advice.

Look, from where we sit, you're all the same. We appreciate that human beings come in slightly different models and colors, and to you these nearly imperceptible differences seem to cause no end of trouble. But honestly, we're astounded that you can even tell yourselves apart. In blind taste tests, in fact, the average Chuck Norris® cannot detect any difference whatsoever. So chill, people of Earth, and try to get along.

While you're in a reflective mood, take a closer look at what you're doing to your planet. You are ruining it: depleting your natural resources, polluting your air, sickening your oceans, and destroying unique species forever. This is just plain wrong, not to mention completely irrational. Everyone knows that the logical thing is to find somebody else's planet and ruin that. Noobs. How can you possibly expect to survive in the coming interstellar economy?

By the way, we've elected you to come up with the new shared unit of galactic currency. Just pick something small and ubiquitous, something of nominal value that you won't miss much. It's your call, but we suggest hamsters.

In closing, much of what you do befuddles us. Many of your core concepts—such as guilt, selflessness, and David Hasselhoff—simply have no counterparts in non-Terran cultures. You're what galactic sociologists call “a bunch of strange ducks."

Yet for reasons not entirely clear, we have developed a certain affection for you. We'd just as soon keep you around, if only for the entertainment value.

We're going away for a bit now, and when we return, we expect to find that you have made significant progress toward sitting at the adults’ table. This will, of course, mean fewer senseless military conflicts, less reality television, and no more Sudoku.

Don't make us come down there.