I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my fifth drink and trying to forget that blabbering robot. I can still smell the burnt remains of that synthetic bastard as I hear its gabber echo in my head. Maybe I'm not drunk enough. And just my luck, as the bartender hands me my sixth drink, in walks this alien thing. It looked like one of those classic 20th century comic book space aliens. It was short in stature, skinny and pale grey with large black eyes. 'Fuck', I thought, 'I can't even enjoy a simple drink without something screwing it up.' Well that alien made its way to the middle of the room and started shrieking out some alien-speak at a volume that didn't sit well with my headache. Then it squatted down and shit all over the floor. 'Shit' might not be the best word to describe it. It had a flooding, foamy ass explosion. Everywhere. Great, I can't wait for the smell. At least my bar stool was high and nothing got on my feet. So I did exactly what I should have done. I turned to the bartender and ordered another drink. Damn right it's on the house. It's not my fault that some alien had a shit fest in here. Oh, great, now it's coming over to me. Right up next to me, that damn thing starts shrieking the same ear splitting alien-speak it did just before it shit. Well, I don't have to put up with this. I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out my still-warm pulse gun. Instantly, I blasted that grey fuck right back to the North Star or wherever the hell its home world was. Now the walls were covered with bits of burnt robot and roasted alien. The floors were a mix of the same along with a putrid layer of foaming alien shit. I need another drink. Some time later, the authorities arrived. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com