• Justin Scholes

Version 2 - The End of the World As We Know It

Any similarity to actual aliens, living or dead, is purely coincidental…

October 10th, 2017 was a day when big things happened. It could be argued that big things happen every day, relatively speaking – people are born, people die, families break up, humans break down, civil wars break out over the correct way to make tea - all of these are big things to the people involved. October 10th though was a day when two REALLY big things happened – things that affected everybody in the world. Global big. Within the space of two minutes, America no longer had a president and the existence of aliens was proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. The day in question was the first day of President Trump’s ill-advised visit to Britain. His advisors had advised him, as I’m advised advisors often do, that he would not be welcome there and he should call off the visit. The president had, as ever, disagreed. “WRONG!” Trump honked like an angry goose with a broken beak. “Yugely popular. People love me there. ‘specially Scottish people. Golf course. Yuge golf course. Best golf course ever. Scotland!” (He tended to only speak in short bursts. If he used sentences longer than four or five words he became confused and started rambling about fake news and the like). The advisors just nodded. They did not think it wise to mention that he was actually as popular in Scotland as finding a burst sac of spider eggs in your half-eaten bowl of porridge, as the president did not respond well to criticism. And so, despite the best advice of those he paid to advise him, President Trump decided to go ahead with the visit but, as his motorcade approached Downing Street, reports reached him of protestors lining the streets. The president shouted at his advisors, demanding to know why they hadn’t warned him. The advisors all sighed a communal sigh and, for the eight thousandth time since Mr Trump had taken the reins of government, began browsing recruitment agencies on their phones. It was then that the president had one of his famous Bright Ideas. He had about thirty of these every day ranging from getting the Mexicans to build their own wall, to asking someone to invent a flying monkey. He would have a Bright Idea, immediately Tweet it and then expect someone else to follow up on the logistics. To this day, there are scientists working in a bunker far beneath the Nevada desert attempting to fuse eagle wings onto a bonobo, all because of a presidential Bright Idea. This Bright Idea was much less complicated than primate flight though. Trump knew he was actually a wonderful human being so it stood to reason that the protestors were clearly confused. He decided to infiltrate their group by pretending to be one of them and, whilst undercover, convert them all to his way of thinking…. and then he’d have them all thrown into Guantanamo Bay as dissidents. It would be much sweeter destroying his enemies once they were his friends. He would need a good disguise though. He was wearing a very stylish suit and shoes that cost more than… than… Trump had no idea how much they cost, he hadn’t had to check the price on anything since 1971. He just knew they were expensive. “Pull over!” he demanded and the limousine duly pulled over, along with all escort vehicles and motorcycle outriders. Trump and his entourage all exited the vehicle and, as the president was pondering how best to get a disguise, a scruffy looking gentleman on a pushbike came cycling along the road.

“GRAB HIM!” shouted Trump, and the agents set about the hapless cyclist, bundling him down a back street. “But I’m the Leader of the Opposition!” the man shouted. “Opposition this!” said Trump, showing the man a rude finger. He felt very proud of his witty comment, even though it made no sense. "Opposition this!” he said again to himself, laughing, before following his security detail down the alleyway. The secret service agents promptly beat the Leader of the Opposition into unconsciousness, stripped him of his clothing and threw his battered remains into a dustbin. They then handed the outfit to their leader. “Eugh. Brown shoes," Trump thought. Brown was the colour of poor people’s clothing but nevertheless, he bravely pulled them on. They were a bit too big, as Mr Trump had very small feet and hands but he was OK if he shuffled. “Nobody will know,” thought Trump, as he left the alleyway to put his plan into action. Of course, being a foolish man, he’d forgotten to disguise his face and head and, unfortunately for him, Donald Trump’s giant orange face and his flyaway ginger fright-wig were alarmingly recognisable. He was also still surrounded by half a dozen armed agents in sunglasses which hardly allowed him to blend in with the crowd. The protestors spotted him a mile off (he was, after all, glowing like an amber beacon lighting up a quite dreary October day) and began chanting their cruel chants directly at the president. “YOU CAN’T BUILD A WALL, YOUR HANDS ARE TOO SMALL!” they shouted as one. Trump chanted back that his hands were actually “yuge” but he hid them in his pockets for some reason. Unfortunately for the president, the protestors were not the only ones to spot him from a mile off, or rather from 300 miles off. Just above the Earth’s atmosphere someone else had seen him and given an order to fire. At the command, a single beam of light shone out of the sky directly onto the president. For a second, he was captured in the spotlight, like a singer on a cruise liner singing My Heart Will Go On (a choice of song that would soon become tragically ironic). As soon as it hit him, secret service agents sprang into action relying on years of training. The correct protocol in this situation was to jump onto the president and bundle him back into the vehicle. The agents jumped but there was no president to bundle anywhere. He’d disappeared completely. Well, not quite. The brown shoes were still there. Apparently wherever he’d gone, he’d gone there so quickly his shoes hadn’t had time to follow (Side note : Scholars have since hypothesised that, as Mr Trump was unable to tie his own shoelaces they most likely fell off when The Event occurred). The agents were stunned. The protesters were stunned. The gathered media were stunned. Everybody was stunned and, just for a second, it seemed like the whole of London was holding its breath. And then everybody started screaming. The screaming continued until a voice boomed out from the clouds demanding silence. “SILENCE!” it demanded. At that moment, a craft descended from the heavens – a large, black, triangular craft with none of the blinking lights that usually accompanied Hollywood’s idea of “flying saucers”. The notion that a spacecraft would need hundreds of flashing external lights was one that confused the aliens – they were flying through deep space, on plotted trajectories, at speeds many times faster than light… why would they then NEED lights? “Hollywood," the aliens often thought with disdain. But I digress… As the craft descended from the heavens, every screen on the planet suddenly went black. In every cinema, the projectors juddered and stopped, prompting booing from the patrons; in every home favourite TV shows disappeared from TV screens, prompting booing from the viewers; on planes the in-flight entertainment blinked out, prompting booing from the passengers; in offices, monitors simultaneously darkened, prompting cheering from the workers. All across the world, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe, phones, laptops, even digital wristwatches all went black for a couple of seconds and then a new image appeared… an alien one - figuratively and literally. The alien in question, a long blue creature who still managed to convey anger despite its lack of eyebrows, identified himself as Captain Brad Scott (another thing that baffled the aliens was why humans always presumed other species would have unusual names like Drax The Destroyer or Chewbacca. Names were names the universe over). Captain Scott explained to the people of Earth that the hu-male known as Trump had been sentenced to death by the High Council of Intergalactic Species, as he was deemed a clear and present danger to all extra-terrestrial lifeforms. It turned out that the president had been assassinated due to a semantic misunderstanding. Apparently the High Council had been monitoring Earth’s progress, as they had been since they’d first visited, 65 million years earlier, accidentally killing all the dinosaurs in the process. (“Their bad”, apparently). Following a recent transmission, they had taken considerable offence at Mr Trump’s stance on “illegal aliens”. Deciding this was a declaration of war against the entire galaxy, a defence strategy was hastily introduced to destroy Earth entirely. Fortunately, communications continued to be monitored and it was noted that not everybody on Earth was on board with the president’s stance. Many, many, MANY people opposed him and it was agreed that this Resistance should be allowed to live on. Instead of an extinction level event, a simple assassination mission was agreed and a fully cloaked Hammerdown battlecruiser was sent to hover above Earth’s orbit. Once it arrived, Captain Scott had fired a pulsar beam at the target, vaporising him and leaving a pair of somebody else’s shoes where a president had once stood. “Consider this a warning,” said Captain Scott ominously. “The human race has been granted a reprieve this time, but we will be watching. We are always watching." At that, the screens of the world returned to their scheduled programming and the craft disappeared from this galaxy in a burst of shadow. In the days that followed The Event, things continued to happen. Military types gathered to discuss strategies and tactics and countermeasures and so forth but it soon became apparent that there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could be done. The humans had spent so much of their history bickering with each other, they’d not had time to develop the necessary technology to launch a retaliation against this alien alliance. Despite their bluster and bravado, deep down most of the generals were quite relieved about that as they believed they would be thoroughly obliterated in any conflict. As such, an uneasy calm descended over the world. The threat was out there and the once mighty human race had been rendered impotent. Politicians the world over decided that the best course of action was to do what Captain Scott had demanded. They should consider themselves warned and perhaps change their ways. Fortunately, some enterprising soul at the Treasury discovered an entire orchard full of magic money trees and, all across the world, wages and pensions rose, free education and healthcare became the norm, war ceased to exist and, as nations came together in unity, distinctions on class, race, gender, religion, age and sexuality all faded away into history. And soon, very soon in fact, all memory of President Trump faded away along with them, and the human race lived happily ever after.

The End.


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