PLANETARY STATUS REPORT!

I've got this message,
from the aliens ...

They traveled many miles,
in style and pomp,
for a cosmic romp,
they flew by my coop,
and SWOOP ...
SUCKED ME UP,
in a light ...
For a fight ...
For a sight ...
For a night ...

They probed me FOR real,
what a deal,
a steel spike,
open mic,
jacked up and afraid,
these little gray men,
never stayed ...
They drew blood,
and THUD,
my impacted colon let loose ...
Like a goose,
fast,
and the little gray men?
Out the door,
never again.

BUT MESSAGE RECEIVED,
as the poop baby is conceived,
the dark agenda revealed,
congealed,
broken,
not to be spoken,
but by ravens and craven chasers,
lost in regret,
and you can BET,
the sun will never set,
on our special friends.

Here's what was said:

"GREETINGS EARTH PASTE,
GREETINGS FROM THE SUPER RACE,
we have come here,
from afar,
in our faster than light car,
we've got ROCK JAMS on repeat,
so take your seat,
butter paste people,
go to your priests,
drink fermented yeast,
make offerings to the beast,
because in the least,
WE'VE come here for fun,
with a laser gun,
and none of your bullshit,
will last,
it's in the past,
you're the outcast now."

Now the gray men looked away,
seeing stars,
looking for bars,
one grabbed some drink,
the others started to think,
the tall one looked strong,
so he grabbed a bong,
and went on ...

"We made a world,
safe for freaks,
robot whores,
24-7 s'mores,
no more chores,
nothing to do,
but eat and poo,
and so we went looking,
for you ...
A planet of jerks,
having all the perks,
even though nothing works."

Then with somber breath,
nothing left,
nothing born,
the tall one said,
with bitter scorn:

"Your lands are paste,
your moms are paste,
your children are paste,
and none will go to waste.
We're ready for LUNCH,
we've gotten the hunch,
soon you will be dead,
and in the sees the blood flows red.
So we are here,
so very near,
our fleet near Spain,
and the burning rain,
will fall,
answer the call,
meet your fate,
you are PASTE and it's too late."

That's the thing,
the doorbell rang,
the aliens left,
I was bereft,
startled and foul,
tired and drunk,
smelling of skunk,
the cop came by and tossed me in the trunk.

The cop grabbed my junk,
he shoved me around,
he pulled out his STICK,
acting like a prick,
the cop's dick got hard,
bubbling lard,
decrepit and diseased,
and now I lay,
by the side of the road,
eyes white,
body covered in toads,
sad and forgotten,
the land ready for death,
take your last breath,
it's over Clover,
move on over.

That's the message,
the signal,
the idea,
the lore,
and now gore.