Spacemen to the left of me. Spacemen to the right of me. Spacemen above my head. And beneath my soles? Astroturf. That’s right… astroturf.
Welcome back, Big Green-ites, to a world turned upside-down. Well, not upside-down exactly… probably more like 180 degrees clockwise, with a slight southward dip on the “y” axis. Either way, things are not what they used to be. This neighborhood has gone downhill fast. Jeebus christmas – just three weeks after the first spaceship arrived and we’re practically the only people in this village who were born on the planet Earth. (All except Big Zamboola, of course, who was born on… on… well, on himself, because he is, in fact, himself a planet… or planetoid.) Those strange, lawn-obsessed space people have brought their interstellar modular homes to our sleepy little town and set up their own community superimposed over ours. WTF!
You know, it wouldn’t be so bad to have all of these new neighbors if they had taken up residence the normal way: the way we got here… find an empty house and squat. No, that wasn’t good enough for them. They had to bring their own houses. And before you say anything, no, I don’t have a “problem” with space people. In fact, some of my best friends are from far beyond the confines of our little solar system. Did I mention Big Zamboola? I did. Okay. Well, there’s also sFshzenKlyrn, our perpetual sit-in guitarist. He, of course, is from the planet Zenon in the Small Magellanic Cloud, a galaxy far, far, away. sFshzenKlyrn and I go way back, so you can’t say I don’t like space people, even if they do keep me up all night with their smelly lawn mowers and their noisy stellar infrarometers running incessantly over the same measurements. (Ooooooh, I hate them, I hate them!) Don’t listen to Mr. Subliminal. I love those dang space people, I really do. (RRRRrrrrrr)
Not that there aren’t remedies open to us. Sure, I know – we’ve been squatters here at the Cheney Hammer Mill for more than six years. And yes, we have run afoul of the law one, two, or perhaps a dozen or more times. But we do have some items in the plus column. For instance, Marvin (my personal 
robot assistant) did serve with distinction in the local constabulary. And we have, in fact, generated a little bit of economic activity in the area with the occasional payout we receive from our new corporate label, Loathsome Prick Records, which has been willing to advance us a bit on our upcoming release (still in the mixing stage – arrrrrghhh). Yeah, we help keep the pizza joint and the pub in business, so that’s probably worth an ordinance or two from city hall about unauthorized extraterrestrial housing and landscaping. (Turns out, it isn’t even real grass. It’s like a freaking lawn toupee, man!) So one would expect a little cooperation from the authorities, eh?
Well, if one were to expect that… one would most certainly be mistaken. When we made our way over to city hall, we couldn’t help but notice the flawless green carpet of newly installed lawn on either side of the walkway. And the mayor has a strange unearthly glow about him. Don’t know about you, but I think the fix is in.
