The Alien invasion is now complete. For Years they have taken over our Tv and radio sets. A breed of man and Woman so far removed from our humble selves; they might as well be from another Planet. Quite what Doctor Spock would have made of the this exalted race, is hard to comprehend. Perhaps he would have turned to Captain Kirk and said 'fascinating'.
Private Jets, Champagne Breakfasts, and of course seperate tables. Spoiled, feted, and constantly updated.
They stride this humble Planet,like Kings and Queen's.This strange race have different eating habits, than you or I. Stange diets with exotic names like South Beach or G one. They travel in Hummer's, while we ride in bummer's. Their Garage is the size of Giants Stadium, their homes are like the National parks your parents brought to; when you were a kid. They worship strange Gods and practice weird science.
Broken Finger nails are life threatening, Gucci and Pradi fight for space in their Wardobes; ordainary folk swoon when they are sighted. Their in your remote control. They are on the front page of your daily News paper; they have even been known to mingle with mere mortals at Mc Donalds !
I lie awake at night clutching my TV remote with trembling fingers. You know they are there, lurking behind the screen. Bitching, singing, dancing and prancing. Of all the stars that ever shone, they shine the brightest . Heavenly bodies and hellish minds. Their number has spread quicker than a host of bad election promises. Where once their were few, now there are many.
Our World is now but a sub-culture of Paupers and peasants, living off the scraps from their Marble Tables. They write the books, Sing the Songs and one of their Kind even became President of America. It's time to say goodbye to the Earth as we know it. Escape to a far Galaxy, where Paris Hilton polishes tables in Burger king; and J-lo is the name of the nice lady who works in the local Ice cream parlour.
An ordainary world populated by ordainary people like you and I. We will call it Planet Loser, entry only by de-fault. Death to any one who speaks their name or becomes a Desperate house wife. A place where no one will wander down Wisteria lane or stumple upon a CSI investigation. A place where Celebrity culture Vultures, will starve.
Stop this crazy world it's time to be off. I console my self in the humble knowledge that in Space, no-one can hear you scream! ' Beam me up Scotty' !