You aren’t going to believe this. I can’t decide if I believe it or not, but I sort of want to. I got an email this morning. It came from some website called ‘aterriblethingtowaste.org/gov’, but by the time I tried to answer the email, the site was no longer in existence.
The guy told me, in this email, that he had been poking around the internet, and had stumbled across my blog. He went on to say that he thought my blog was the perfect place to share his story. Okay, at that point, I was ready to stop reading the email, because this guy already sounded more self-centered than me, and if there is anything that self-centered people like me hate, it’s other self-centered people. Like my blog has nothing better to do than post the story of his life. I am way too busy making fun of Donald Trump and posting about my own life.
But what he said next sort of intrigued me. He said that the reason he had chosen my blog was that nobody would believe his story… including me… but that my blog was so weird and so full of made up stuff, that everyone would assume this was like some new idea for a novel I was writing, which I would then try to fool people into buying once it was done. He does seem to get me, I must admit. And I do pride myself on having a particularly weird blog. On top of that, I like to learn things that I am told I won’t believe, just to see if I end up believing them or not. Because nobody tells me what I am crazy enough not to believe.
That was all the main email said, except for one last line saying that he would send me more emails about his life as his life happened. I found myself liking this guy… sort of… I opened the attachment. He was right. I don’t believe it. But, as I already said, I sort of want to.
Here is what he sent me, just cut and pasted from the email…
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My name is Rufus Nolana. The last name is sort of a joke, because I have no last name, so the government shortened No Last Name into Nolana. And you thought the government doesn’t have a sense of humor. Trust me, they do. A sick, dark, twisted sense of humor, but a sense of humor nonetheless.
I am 17-years-old. The reason I have no last name is because I was dropped off on the porch of a church when I was a baby. I was in a cardboard box, and I was covered with newspapers. I was also still covered with bodily secretions, because I had been born in the alley behind the church about a half hour before being dropped off. My mom was a crack addict. She cut my umbilical cord with a rusty razor blade, and if your doctor tells you that babies can’t feel the umbilical cord being cut, they are lying to you. It hurts.
Now, you may be wondering how I know that stuff. It is because I remember it. I remember it all. I even remember being sort of pissed that my mom was just leaving me. I knew that wasn’t right. The reason I remember my birth is both simple, and one of the most complex mysteries in the universe. I have total recall. I don’t mean I have eidetic memory or photographic memory. I mean that I can remember precisely every single thing I have ever seen, heard, or been exposed to since the moment I popped out in that smelly alley. Because I am, as far as anybody, including myself, has been able to determine, the only human being ever born with access to his entire brain. I am not saying this out of pride. It is a biological fact. Ironically, only someone who has access to 100% of their gray matter can possibly know that they have access to all of it. I suppose that someone with access to 95% might think they can use the whole thing, but they would be deluding themselves. And trust me when I tell you, this freak genetic accident hasn’t exactly been a blessing for me.
It took the good people of the Children’s Protective Services in the city where I was born about three hours to determine that there was something different about me. It took another hour for them to realize that they were totally unprepared to deal with me. Due to the inefficient ways our government works, it took two more days before I ended up in the hands of a government agency that did feel as if they were equipped to deal with me. Those were the not-so-good people in charge of the research facilities known as Area 51.
Let me just say that most of what you hear about Area 51 is true. Let me also say that Area 51 is just a smokescreen for the really weird stuff our government is doing in other places. Yes, there are aliens in Area 51, both living and dead. That was one of the boring parts of growing up there. They look exactly like the pictures you have all seen. They come from an ancient race that stopped progressing long before we crawled out of the mud. They didn’t come here to study us or enlighten us or conquer us. A damaged ship hit Earth by pure, random chance. The crew, well, they have as much interest in communicating with us as we have in communicating with moss. They reached a high level of scientific advancement long ago, and then stagnated. Their lives are now, and I don’t mean just the ones here, but the ones back where they came from as well, quite a bit like the lives of your average, boring preteen living in a very small town. They spend a lot of time saying things like: “What do you want to do now?” and “I don’t know, what do you want to do now?” Cats and dogs have more life choices to make in a day.
That isn’t to say that there aren’t lots of other aliens out there, some who could help us and some that would definitely hurt us, but we don’t need to get into that right now. It is a big universe, and there are lots of other universes, and in all of them, we aren’t exactly in the middle of the main shipping lanes, and that is a good thing. I suppose that you would consider a lot of the things our government is doing with alien technology to be interesting, and I will probably end up telling you about some of it sooner or later, if I remember to. That was a joke. Of course I will remember to, I just might choose not to.
To make a long story short, I walked out of Area 51 yesterday. Well, I make it sound easy, but it took me twenty minutes of planning and research on the alien tech computers the government so thoughtfully provided, to pull it off. Just so you know, your computers and cell phones also have alien tech in them, you just don’t know it, because they are dumbed-down copies manufactured here on Earth.
It took me all of three hours to get to Las Vegas. It took me another hour to set up a false identity. I hacked a few accounts for some quick cash. Don’t worry, I only took money from people that have way too much of it and got it in illegal and immoral ways. The rest of the afternoon I spent creating documents to match my new identity. I took my first plane ride, and am now booked into a very nice, very exclusive resort somewhere near an ocean. How is that for being vague?
Right now, I am sitting on a veranda, typing this email on a laptop I brought with me when I ‘ran away from home’, and would totally blow your mind if you could get your hands on it, watching the sun come up over the ocean and enjoying a lovely room service meal. I never got to eat food like this growing up. I will have to be careful not to overdo it.
I am not quite sure what I will do next. I will let you know. I really do enjoy your blog, by the way. You are a weird person, in that sense that I know you like to be thought of as weird, and I hope we meet in person before too long.
Best wishes, the mutant formerly known as Rufus Nolana.
