Aliens Are Transporting Me from Room to Room

Try this on for size, commune followers: Inexplicably, I am sitting in a chair reading or, more likely, watching old stock footage of World War II to find proof Hitler escaped disguised as a Von Trapp, when I get up to do something. The next moment, I find myself in a room I did not intend to go into and have no idea how I got there or why I would have entered the room. What's up there?

No doubt you've figured out, as I immediately surmised, aliens are clearly using advanced teleportation devices to break down my molecular structure, turn me into a mass of unformed atoms, then reassemble me in exact working detail in another room of my house. That much is obvious. But why?

In all my years of studying the vast underlying conspiracies that affect us all on every level, I've never encountered one both so brazen and yet so curiously without motive.

My first thought was I'm likely being studied by said aliens, they beam me up to their ship, poke and prod me in every place, then return me, though they're always off by a few feet when they drop me off back in a different room. However, that falls through on several levels. For one, first and foremost, I show no other signs of alien abduction. There is no loss of time, and it would take quite a while to study this superb specimen, let me tell you. Plus, I have no feeling of being anally probed when I recover my senses, and after the commune's Christmas party a couple years ago I would certainly know if I'd been probed while unconscious. Also, speaking frankly, aliens would certainly not be so dumb as to return me without leaving me in the exact same spot, at least not anything but an extremely disappointing race of aliens.

No doubt about it, aliens are involved, but they are most certainly not taking me aboard their ship, at least not to study me. So what is their purpose if they're not adding to their vast knowledge of the human physique?

I asked Corey P. Myler, a physics professor, astronomer, conspiracy buff, and A-Team trivia master, a good friend who I sometimes catch in the laundry room of our building without explanation. Myler considered the facts I gave him and smoked three of my cigars while we were waiting for my whites to dry, then reminded me that recent crop circles outside Edinburgh appeared to resemble the giant footprints of an enormous alien who had pegs for feet instead of regular feet. This was of virtually no use in my query, though Myler said the evidence was too thin to speculate further.

On the other hand, I can speculate until the cows come home. I often do. I speculate day and night, sometimes without much to start me off. I've made a career, at least a column, entirely out of speculation, and I'm currently writing a sitcom about speculators. It's my favorite past-time, next to punching pigeons, so I figured it's up to me to speculate alone on this one.

My first explanation, and the easiest, is that I'm merely part of an alien psychological experiment. But that's boring! That's just off the top of my head. I have not yet begun to wildly speculate.

My next guess is that aliens are indeed taking me aboard their ship, forcing me to masturbate until ejaculation with nude pics of that top-heavy girl who used to play Punky Brewster before she grew up and out. They then take the "deposit" back to their world and use it to propagate their species since years of space travel have left the males flaccid and sterile. They then erase my memory and travel back in time to drop me off in my house where they found me, though because they are jealous I am able to provide healthy sperm when they are not, they exact revenge by putting me in another room. It confuses me, but I'll live on unchanged.

Or, and this may sound a little silly, but I am being observed with observing rays from the computers of the alien race, in an attempt to graph a precise robot duplicate of me to set up an alternate world of robot humanoids, or possibly even a robot world of Red Bagels that can form conspiracy theories to save the world. Perhaps just for worship on their homeworld. But the observing rays can only observe for very short moments before I am totally disintegrated. Using what they have learned, once I am disintegrated, they reconstruct me short seconds later. They cannot put me back in the same spot otherwise I would see the stain where my previous incarnation used to be standing.

Whew! That was damn fine speculating. I'm tired. I'm going to grab a Shasta.

Now… what was I talking about? Who wrote all this nonsense on my computer?

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