“Ok, I’ll admit,” Secret Galactic Overlord Zurbox claimed, “Using recovered alien technology reverse engineered into voting machines doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.” It pulled up his gamma-trousers, adjusted its omni-cod-piece, and continued.

“It all started as a search for a cost efficient alternative to mind control. Brain washing the masses is a very subtle and costly process. I thought that we could cut out the middle man, you know humanity itself and go straight to controlling the voting machines…” The monster waited a predetermined moment to survey the effect its speech was having. The confused and hostile human faces staring back were disconcerting it. “Time for Zorbox to pour on the old Galgapootin charm,” Zorbox thought to itself in the third person. (Oh, didn’t I mention it was from Galgapoot? It’s not really important as this is the only time it comes up.)

“You know, I’m not Tony Snow. I’m the freaking space monster that secretly runs the universe. So I don’t get a lot of practice conversing with the general public. Most of my work gets done while vacationing at my reclusive Space Ranch. The proper name of which can only be pronounced if you have your tongue sliced into fourths lengthwise.” The monster paused to take a deep breath as if to collect itself, then it resumed. The breath was purely for show of course. Secret Galactic Overlord Zurbox didn’t breathe air, as it didn’t have a respiratory system like you or me. The truth was far more sinister indeed, something involving peat moss and a nuclear breeder reactor. But the mere fact that it was trying to appear more congenial was nice.

“You see? That came out sounding like a threat, but it’s just a comment on the various inadequacies of your human biology.” Zurbox felt it was getting way off the subject and decided to cut to the chase.

“Voting machines have always caused you Earth-monkeys problems. If they’re not confusing you into voting for Dukakis or Perot they’re demeaning your sensitive misguided religious beliefs.” Zurbox had no idea there were so many humans who were so sensitive about their misguided religious beliefs. Otherwise I’m pretty sure it never would have said that.

“So when an advanced alien craft from another dimension crash landed in Euro Disney we took the opportunity to make things right. Imagine the possibilities of a new intelligent voting booth that does whatever its command to do. We could skip controlling your minds and control your votes directly with a simple Wi-fi command. Decades of bothersome propaganda will be avoided. Now that’s great for all of us! Let me explain.”

With the wave of a hand, or what passes for a hand if you are a twelve foot tall, 50 mega-ton, spore monster from outer space, Zurbox had its human assistant turn on a top of the line, poly-dimensional, Higher-Definition hologram, on which was displayed a rudimentary PowerPoint presentation.

Zurbox clarified, “What you see here is a picture of a flying saucer from the ≤ 6th dimension crashing into a picture of Goofy bending over and grabbing his ankles, which obviously represents Euro-Disney.” There was the sound of shocked silence. You would have to be there to understand the qualities of this particular sound, but if you were there, you would soon be dead, so it’s for the best that you’re not.

By this time each and every person in the room was so awe struck and scandalized by the asinine slide show that their molecules, their quarks, and even the very tiny vibrating strings of their existence all stopped moving at the same instant only to lurch back into motion a moment later. The strain on their bodies was enormous, but it didn’t kill them. Sure some people experienced some headaches and light nausea but everyone was fine. The universe itself however, was pissed. This was the only time since the birth of recorded history, October 23^rd 4004 B.C. that such an event has occurred. And due to the trauma involved, it would appreciate it very much if such a happening never happened again.

Things really didn’t seem to be going in Zurbox’s favor today and now, after it noticed what the scandal was about, its spores started hurting. Quite a problem for a spore monster as you could imagine. See, it wasn’t just a few pictures of a space ship anal-raping a beloved childhood icon, that’s fine. That’s what it intended to show. The situation was taken a few steps farther however.

“Oh yeah I forgot,” the flustered space monster tried to explain. “We don’t exactly know what the flying saucer looked like so I used a picture of my fist as a stand-in. Watch and enjoy as I fist Goofy’s ass over and over and over again!” Zorbox was never supposed to behave like that in public. That’s why the Secret Galactic Politicians from space that put it into office decided to act. Zurbox’s vision went white and its spores felt hot. First it noticed it was a dead pile of ash. Then it sincerely regretted the last ten years of its life.

As an aside, it was actually proven by Galgapootian (I lied earlier) Religeologists that god does exist. The problem has always been that this knowledge always comes directly after death. But unique to the universe, the Galgapoot conscience stays intact for a full ten seconds after death. In rare situations an enlightened individual can pass along a message to the living. This is however the far most common final three thoughts experienced by every single Galgapooter in the history of Galgapooting:

3: “Oh shit! I’m dead! I wasted the last ten years of my life.”

2: “Oh shit! If I’m still thinking after my death than that means there must really be an afterlife!”

1: “Oh Shit!”

To resume:

When everyone thought the situation could not possibly get any worse, they were right, the situation got better. The white hot death was dealt at the hand of, or what passes for a hand of, a twelve foot tall, 50 mega-ton, nuclear missile. The missile was fired from a secret invisible spaceship, shaped exactly like Former Secret Galactic Overlord Zurbox’s fist.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” said one faulty hyper-intelligent voting machine from the ≤ 6^th dimension to another. “Things almost got crazy for a minute there. Do you want to go choose a new Secret Galactic Overlord?”

“What’s the point?” replied his ornery companion.