Terrestrial history uniformly teaches a telling lesson. If you discover them, they are screwed. If they discover you, you are screwed. "Screwed" has classically meant plundered, crushed, and exterminated... but we have an upgrade today, folks. Science fiction discusses a fantastic breadth of first contact scenarios with outworlders. Given that mankind cannot imagine its own future - the only footnote that saves us from professional management's asphyxiating unintelligence - one more defective future is herein added to that list lest it happen.

It was a Southern California bright warm June Saturday. Nine folks not quite right between their ears gathered to edit the Orange County Mensa newsletter, the July Oracle. One was Uncle Al. Another was a Hollywood scriptwriter who passionately demanded that he never be mentioned herein for what he suggested. Congressman Anthony Weiner (D-NY) had newly resigned, censured for mundane eusexual virile male behavior of smart phoning pictures of his wedding tackle to a large number of females not his wife, but not to House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi. A superannuated female porn star, flanked by rights-rancid attorney Gloria Allred, admitted to being shocked on national TV. Perhaps she had never pondered doing it that way before, or with Weiner.

Assemble a scenario in which first contact is not faint tendrils of I Love Lucy leaked from TV transmission towers then wafted across 60 lightyears' radius of space and 113,000 cubic lightyears of volume. Reject first contact being the bowdlerized 1972,3 Pioneer 10,11 plaques bearing boyish naked male and snatchless naked female. Suppose LGM space aliens from the Star Nebula set up a lunar hyperspatial listening post, and the first thing to rattle their IN box was ex-Representative Weiner's, ah, weener. Possessed of admittedly respectable length and girth, with ample baggage, admirable contact angle, and Brazilian depilation implying no obscenity at all...

Let's get to the point: The LGMs were not shocked but instead overjoyed, and zealously replied in kind. They envisioned a really big fish bowl with everybody's star cruiser keys tossed in. Earth is the only planet in the universe where reproduction - certainly the process if not the product - is obscene. Planet of the Low-Hanging Fruit. The streets are paved with untrodden flesh.

One bright warm July Saturday, the Paul Allen-funded Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence is settee to terabytes of extraterrestrial porn setting NASA pubic hair on fire while stroking out 2/3 of the Vatican. The American public voraciously sees things that German Omas, Japanese enema girls, and much of the San Fernando Valley never fantasized. Pulling an extended itemization out of that privileged nook is assuredly science fiction.

We might wonder whether it was an ET Navy isolated from both other sexes for a year. It could have been an ET Air Force squadron doing acrobatic maneuvers, simultaneously losing control on yaw, pitch, and roll axes re the lomcevak. It could have been ET Marines accidentally given an unoccupied hour. More likely it was LGM culture, bringing joy wherever they go (and leaving behind used rubbers).

San Francisco had a cow, and then a cigarette.

Earth could have become Las Vegas ("the fertile lowlands") of the Milky Way. Anthony Weiner could have been appointed Overlord of Brothel Earth for life (eventually to be found vegitized within a pile of remarkably hirsute Muslim women). We could have been galactic contenders.

Indian brothel doorway muck is of inestimable worth. A bio-enhanced marble of soiled soil is Durga's heart (goddess of moral virtue and righteousness. Test of faith!) in her many statues. (One of her daughters is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, who lives in fresh cow dung. Test of faith!) India stood at the portal of massive cashflow. Thousands of tonnes of dried Ganges mud (the balance of the statues' composition, rich with fiber) top dollar flowed out into the universe. It eventually killed all sentient life, liquefying it integument to bowel. That hallowed, blessed, sanctified, consecrated Ganges mud was largely raw human sewage (and not in a good way).

A tangible cosmic displeasure focused on Earth while exotic fingers could still press buttons and pull triggers. They uncreated our sun. Poof! The solar system sequentially shot out tangent to each object's orbit. Earth and its moon departed 8.3 minutes after Sol went hole, still gaily orbiting their common barycenter.

Enviro-whiners' Greenhouse Effect, Global Warming, and Climate Change were given the cold shoulder. Earth was snowballed (and with the pornographic sensibility, too). Velveeta came into its own, embalming was outlawed, refrigerator and sunscreen manufacturers went Chapter 7, and ants no longer feared magnifying glasses. Inuits opened shopping mall universities.

Earth bellied up to the bar and departed with a stiff cold one.

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