CARLTON FLETCHER: Even space aliens avoid Marjory Taylor Greene

“Beam me up, I’m ‘bout to sign off.”

— Kanye West

Even if you work in this business a long time, you only get a few opportunities to break stories that have any kind of significant impact. I recently got just such an opportunity.

While leaving the office late one evening, I noticed an odd-looking dude in The Herald’s parking lot. We — and others who work downtown — are accustomed to running into any number of such characters on a regular basis: people who talk to themselves or their imaginary companions, people who need a couple of bucks “to get some food” but who head straight for the liquor store if they score enough money.

But even in the fading light, I could see this guy was even further out there than the usual downtown denizens.

He made some odd noises that I couldn’t place, and as he came closer I realized what it was that was so different about him. First of all, he was green. Second, he had antennas sticking out of his head. And he was speaking in a language that I’d never heard before, not even when the Monkey Palace was in business.

After listening to this strange-looking cat buzz and squeak and mumble for a bit, I said, “I really don’t know what you’re saying, and I don’t have time to talk with you right now. Supper’s waiting at home.”

Suddenly it seemed that a light went on in his head … one because of the look on his face and, two, well, a light went on in his head.

“You speak English?” he said in a voice that sounded more Stephen Hawking than Steven Seagal. When I told him that I did, he excitedly said, “Please, don’t be afraid of me. I am from a planet three solar systems away from yours, but I was blown off course and emergency landed near here in some place called Booger Bottom. I have been walking around in circles I fear for the past two days and am in dire need of sustenance.”

I told him I had a couple of dollars to buy him a burger, but he quickly shook his head.

“What I need for food I have not been able to secure in my journey,” he said. “There is a substance that I think on your planet you call ‘litter’ that is the primary source of nourishment for my kind.”

“Man, you’re in luck,” I said. “I can get you an abundant supply around here.”

We walked around the block, and I was amazed as I watched him scarf down wads of paper, beer cans, even dirty diapers that were readily available. When he’d eaten his fill, we picked up another couple of bags full for him to take with him on his journey back home. I gave him a ride back to his spaceship, and we talked on the way.

“I came here to commune with one who, I was told, is your planet’s great leader; they call her Marjorie Taylor Greene,” he said. “She’s the one who helped spread the word of our efforts to help reveal the evil plans of your Jewish people and evil beings called Democrats and their efforts to kidnap children and start cataclysmic wildfires.

“What she didn’t tell, though, was that we only got involved because we thought we were helping your planet. We came in peace. There were all these nice people in a group … let’s see … they called themselves QAnon, I think. They had a tubby orange guy who was some kind of god to them, some guy named Hice or Lice who obviously worshipped the orange one, and a few of their friends who convinced our leaders that our help would be looked upon favorably by your world. We’ve since learned the folly of our actions and are now getting as far away from this group, and your planet, as possible.”

When we reached his spaceship, I told him I appreciated the opportunity to talk with him and thanked him for his info on the group that he called a “sprbelark.” When I asked him what that meant, he indicated that the closest approximation in our language had something to do with a part of the body that expels waste.

“Those people,” he said, “are too weird, even by our standards, and we have some weird standards.”

When I called Greene’s office the next day seeking confirmation of her and others of her ilk’s association with these alien visitors, Greene’s spokesperson said she was too busy planning the next QAnon barbecue to talk with me.

Sprbelark.