2012-05-18
Original: 2012-05-18 on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Title: The Bachelor
[Narration, set against an image of Earth in space:]
When the first signal arrived, it was clearer than anyone had anticipated. The location and blue-shifting of the transmitter's signal suggested it would be here in months. Months in cosmic time are like seconds in human time.
As many predicted, the immediate result was a unified human effort to prepare. However, it was less a grand harmony than a sort of global version of a bachelor scrambling to clean his apartment before a pretty girl makes a surprise visit. There were many sources of embarrassment that had to be destroyed or hidden.
[Speech bubble:] OH, GOD! THERE ARE PLACES WHERE EVERYONE HAS DO THEY GET UNDER ESTONIA? THERE'S A MOUND OF KAFE IN JAPAN THAT'S BEEN SITTING OUT FOR... HOLY ADVANCED PERSON, WHAT BUG COULD ON LORD CHARLIE BROWN. THERE'S GOT TO BE A SPOON FOR THAT.
These three problems were simple. The president of the UN pretended an attractive blonde woman was kidnapped and hidden in the war mound. Once the reporters arrived, all the fusion bombs were detonated.
But the aliens would also see the social problems - the tent cities, the slums, the favelas. Surely Earth would be more inviting if all those poor people lived in suburban households with a few precious children and a labrador retriever.
[Two men in suits, one holding a phone:] WE CAN'T HAVE SOIL-CRUNCHING POVERTY. COMPANY'S COMING OVER!
The world turned to China, which alone possessed the vast industrial complex and sheer tonnage of orphans needed to pull off the operation. Families were assembled and enrobed with picket fences. Labrador gestation rates were constructed, able to deliver acres of beloved hounds on a daily basis. Kids were instructed to say the darndest things. Those who did not were culled.
War was cancelled. This was easily accomplished - the UN stipulated that any time a person committed a noble act of patriotism, a picture of that person sitting on the toilet was to be sent to an attractive member of the opposite sex. Cleavewitz once said that war is the extension of policy by other means. What most people don't know is that 'policy' was slang for 'penis.'
[A man in suits at a podium:] I ASSURE I $1000 AGAINST THE TIDE OF THE ENEMY DRENCHED IN BLOOD OF DOOH. YET ALWA- WHAT'S FUNNY? WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING?
We attempted to halt sex trafficking. Concern arose as to whether this was possible, but we decided that if the aliens found any, we'd pretend to find it gross and claim that the last people to live here must've left it.
With a few weeks to spare, the thin apartment on the planet's surface looked halfway decent - the sort of place a more self-conscious species would inhabit. Like a bachelor surprised by how easy it was to hide his squalor, the people of Earth began to gild the false lilies. Museums and monuments to past atrocities were destroyed with tragic speed. Unmooring from the past produced a sort of temporal seasickness. But, some loss was inevitable - how often do you have a chance to bring aliens over?
[Two figures, one human gesturing at a green alien:] BUT THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE DIED HERE! / YOU'RE KIND OF RUINING MY POINT FOR ME.
Then they arrived, massive and spheroid, in the sky. We beamed light on to the atmosphere, showing the first few seven prime numbers. The aliens halted signal transmission. The whole of humanity waited in silence. A message came.
We watched as the president of the UN adjusted her spectacles and tried to parse the information. She moistened her lips, breathed in through her nose, and spoke.
[The president at a podium:] "SORRY, WE THOUGHT THIS WAS MARS."
That night, we trained our telescopes on our planetary neighbor. A sort of shared envy gripped all of us as we watched parties erupt on the red planet. Finding out Mars had life on the same day we found out it was better than us was painful. Like meeting a long lost brother by walking in on him doing a commendable job screwing your wife.
We had collectively combed our hair and worn fresh underwear, and for what? With each moment, we were reminded that we were still a bachelor. The parts were too big and the hair cut looked so very stupid.
Even if they had come in, it wouldn't have worked out, we told ourselves. Eventually they would've found Chernobyl, and we'd have to say "baby, that was a phase," but the attempt to salvage things would only make the inevitable failure more embarrassing. Then they'd probably go find some rich civilization with a bunch of fancy pretentious crap like universal sanitation.
[A flying saucer over Earth:] HEY, BABY, NOBODY ON ME IS DYING OF CHOLERA.
Worldwide sour grapes (which is, after all, unity of a sort) set in. Humanity loosened its proverbial belt, let its proverbial gut hang low, and noted with a queer sense of relief that it had completely forgotten to sweep North Korea under China.
Perhaps it was good that we believed aliens were coming. Perhaps we should always live as if we're about to invite an otherworldly mate over to dinner. Perhaps... perhaps... for a moment, we all inhaled the chamomile odor of perhaps.
[A row of people on a hilltop under stars, holding hands or gathered.]
But there were other less subtle odors soon. Within a few days, the proverbial Taco Bell was allowed into the apartment*. Being a bachelor does, after all, have its small joys.
The End
*In case you're wondering, Taco Bell is a metaphor for Taco Bell.
Votey:
[A bearded man with eyes closed, content, holding a finger up. A thought bubble above his head:] COME ON TACO BELL ENDORSEMENT.
[Narration, set against an image of Earth in space:]
When the first signal arrived, it was clearer than anyone had anticipated. The location and blue-shifting of the transmitter's signal suggested it would be here in months. Months in cosmic time are like seconds in human time.
As many predicted, the immediate result was a unified human effort to prepare. However, it was less a grand harmony than a sort of global version of a bachelor scrambling to clean his apartment before a pretty girl makes a surprise visit. There were many sources of embarrassment that had to be destroyed or hidden.
[Speech bubble:] OH, GOD! THERE ARE PLACES WHERE EVERYONE HAS DO THEY GET UNDER ESTONIA? THERE'S A MOUND OF KAFE IN JAPAN THAT'S BEEN SITTING OUT FOR... HOLY ADVANCED PERSON, WHAT BUG COULD ON LORD CHARLIE BROWN. THERE'S GOT TO BE A SPOON FOR THAT.
These three problems were simple. The president of the UN pretended an attractive blonde woman was kidnapped and hidden in the war mound. Once the reporters arrived, all the fusion bombs were detonated.
But the aliens would also see the social problems - the tent cities, the slums, the favelas. Surely Earth would be more inviting if all those poor people lived in suburban households with a few precious children and a labrador retriever.
[Two men in suits, one holding a phone:] WE CAN'T HAVE SOIL-CRUNCHING POVERTY. COMPANY'S COMING OVER!
The world turned to China, which alone possessed the vast industrial complex and sheer tonnage of orphans needed to pull off the operation. Families were assembled and enrobed with picket fences. Labrador gestation rates were constructed, able to deliver acres of beloved hounds on a daily basis. Kids were instructed to say the darndest things. Those who did not were culled.
War was cancelled. This was easily accomplished - the UN stipulated that any time a person committed a noble act of patriotism, a picture of that person sitting on the toilet was to be sent to an attractive member of the opposite sex. Cleavewitz once said that war is the extension of policy by other means. What most people don't know is that 'policy' was slang for 'penis.'
[A man in suits at a podium:] I ASSURE I $1000 AGAINST THE TIDE OF THE ENEMY DRENCHED IN BLOOD OF DOOH. YET ALWA- WHAT'S FUNNY? WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING?
We attempted to halt sex trafficking. Concern arose as to whether this was possible, but we decided that if the aliens found any, we'd pretend to find it gross and claim that the last people to live here must've left it.
With a few weeks to spare, the thin apartment on the planet's surface looked halfway decent - the sort of place a more self-conscious species would inhabit. Like a bachelor surprised by how easy it was to hide his squalor, the people of Earth began to gild the false lilies. Museums and monuments to past atrocities were destroyed with tragic speed. Unmooring from the past produced a sort of temporal seasickness. But, some loss was inevitable - how often do you have a chance to bring aliens over?
[Two figures, one human gesturing at a green alien:] BUT THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE DIED HERE! / YOU'RE KIND OF RUINING MY POINT FOR ME.
Then they arrived, massive and spheroid, in the sky. We beamed light on to the atmosphere, showing the first few seven prime numbers. The aliens halted signal transmission. The whole of humanity waited in silence. A message came.
We watched as the president of the UN adjusted her spectacles and tried to parse the information. She moistened her lips, breathed in through her nose, and spoke.
[The president at a podium:] "SORRY, WE THOUGHT THIS WAS MARS."
That night, we trained our telescopes on our planetary neighbor. A sort of shared envy gripped all of us as we watched parties erupt on the red planet. Finding out Mars had life on the same day we found out it was better than us was painful. Like meeting a long lost brother by walking in on him doing a commendable job screwing your wife.
We had collectively combed our hair and worn fresh underwear, and for what? With each moment, we were reminded that we were still a bachelor. The parts were too big and the hair cut looked so very stupid.
Even if they had come in, it wouldn't have worked out, we told ourselves. Eventually they would've found Chernobyl, and we'd have to say "baby, that was a phase," but the attempt to salvage things would only make the inevitable failure more embarrassing. Then they'd probably go find some rich civilization with a bunch of fancy pretentious crap like universal sanitation.
[A flying saucer over Earth:] HEY, BABY, NOBODY ON ME IS DYING OF CHOLERA.
Worldwide sour grapes (which is, after all, unity of a sort) set in. Humanity loosened its proverbial belt, let its proverbial gut hang low, and noted with a queer sense of relief that it had completely forgotten to sweep North Korea under China.
Perhaps it was good that we believed aliens were coming. Perhaps we should always live as if we're about to invite an otherworldly mate over to dinner. Perhaps... perhaps... for a moment, we all inhaled the chamomile odor of perhaps.
[A row of people on a hilltop under stars, holding hands or gathered.]
But there were other less subtle odors soon. Within a few days, the proverbial Taco Bell was allowed into the apartment*. Being a bachelor does, after all, have its small joys.
The End
*In case you're wondering, Taco Bell is a metaphor for Taco Bell.
Votey:
[A bearded man with eyes closed, content, holding a finger up. A thought bubble above his head:] COME ON TACO BELL ENDORSEMENT.
Alt text
A tall, text-heavy SMBC comic titled "The Bachelor." Blocks of narration are interspersed with small illustrated panels. The story: when aliens are detected approaching Earth, humanity frantically tidies up the planet like a bachelor cleaning his apartment before a date - hiding poverty, ending wars (by threatening to send toilet photos of patriots to attractive strangers), and concealing embarrassments. A panel shows two suited men, one on a phone, saying "We can't have soil-crunching poverty. Company's coming over!" Another shows a man at a podium giving a garbled war speech. When the spheroid alien ships finally arrive over Earth, the UN president (at a podium) reads their message: "Sorry, we thought this was Mars." The aliens go to Mars instead, where parties erupt. A flying saucer over Earth taunts: "Hey, baby, nobody on me is dying of cholera." Humanity, dejected, relaxes back into its old squalor and lets the proverbial Taco Bell back into the apartment. A footnote reads: "In case you're wondering, Taco Bell is a metaphor for Taco Bell." Votey: a single panel showing a smiling, content bearded man with closed eyes holding up a finger; his thought bubble reads "Come on Taco Bell endorsement."
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.