[Note: This is satire. In the spirit of the New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” satirical op-ed slot.]
New bombshells revealed after the recent release of the shocking documentary The Age of Disclosure, detailing U.S. government’s possession of recovered UFO craft and “biologics.”
When the Sandblasters from Alpha Centauri first invaded we all panicked, of course: They’re zapping innocent citizens into ash-puffs all over the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse and IHOP, so who wouldn’t? Conventional weapons seemed to have no effect on the many tentacled, green-lipped creatures. So our fearless POTUS came up with a capital idea: Why waste the murderous talents of the Hunting Wives on suspiciously “pregnant” high-school sweethearts and troublesome methhead brothers? Point them in the direction of said alien menace and give ‘em a good swat on the keister, problem solved, right? Kristi Noem of Homeland Security chimed in enthusiastically, “I’m a hunting wife myself, and these gals ain’t just shootin’ puppies.”
After being deputized as official border patrol agents, the indefatigable crew of Margo (aka Mandy from little ole Alba, Texas), “Boston” Sophie (uppity Yankee but a killer behind the wheel), “Longjaw” Callie and “Bible-thumper” Jill played along. During a shooting hiatus of Season Two they got in the mood by having a Guns-for-Gals afternoon at the local semi-automatic shop. Lunch began with Cadillac Margaritas and footsies beneath the table. Halfway through a plate of nachos Margo got a text and excused herself for a moment, saying she’d forgotten something in her Lexus. “You mean ‘Sexus,’” said Callie, grinning. When Margo returned a half-hour later her dress was covered in green goo and her hair was a bit mussed. Time for bizness. “Let’s not get our panties in a wad over these E.T.’s,” she began. “They may shoot all kinds of laser gizmos but I tell you what they ain’t resisting the girls,” and here she cupped her fulsome breasts in their push-ups and gave them a boost.
Even so, the gals decided to add some heat to their weapons portfolio. At the mini-mall gunshop Jill went with a Ruger 10/22 for being easy on the shoulder while Margo preferred the no-nonsense AR-15 for blasting some extraterrestrial ass to Jupiter and back. Margo said they probably didn’t need all that firepower. “Really, they’re not so bad. I had a little look-see of their mother ship and it’s like the set of Yellowstone, with lots of wooden beams and Navaho rugs, stuffed grizzly bears and expensive whiskey. The big kahuna is a teddy bear if you ask me. Got a funny name like Crabmonkeyprawn or something, so let’s just call him Crabcakes. He showed me their shuttle bay and let me fire the photon blasters at some illegals, getting cheeky with his tentacles if you know what I’m sayin’.” She added that she didn’t like the smell of so much ammonia in their spacecraft AC. “I told him to go terraform France if you want a wreck an atmosphere. They’ll lie down like dogs for a piece of cheese.”
At press time President Trump proposed a ceasefire while taking a “drone tour” of the smoldering ruins of Los Angeles. “It will be beautiful,” said Trump. “I’ve met with Emporer Crabcakes and he’s apologized for wiping out most of the blue cities, explaining the Samsonites are really color-blind, so whatever. Not like it was on purpose! I didn’t know a thing about it. Really. Crabcakes is a great leader, a true arthropod slash cephalopod with silicon-based armor, and such a kind man! Or being I guess. His gift of a solid-gold statue of myself was truly heart-warming.”
When a reporter from the Associated Press tried to derail the joyous news of the Hunting Wives being unleased on the Samsonites (Trump got the name wrong, true, but the luggage corporation is thankful for the press and has promised a 15% stake in stock options, class A) by noting that the so-called “Hunting Wives” aren’t “real,” but actresses playing . . . . The press secretary cut her off and frowned, saying, “That’s loser talk. Why don’t you take your chubby woke ass out into the hallway and vape or whatever it is libtard losers do when you’re fuming for attention.” The AP reporter tried to speak but no one could hear her for all the laughing. “What does that mean, anywho?” said the press secretary. “‘Associated’? Like you know someone in the media or something?” She pressed a button that made a mwah-mwah-mwah sound. The press secretary’s staff assistant (daughter of a wealthy donor) giggled and took an iphone shot of the AP reporter looking gobsmacked. Within moments a squad of masked agents entered the briefing room and muscled the reporter. When she tried to resist they pinned her right arm behind her back and rushed her into the hallway. “Bye bye now, Pastor Pete!” called the secretary. “Who are you to decide what’s real or not, anyway?” she added. “Perception is reality, dogface. Don’t forget it.”