Having been born on earth, I grew up among you humans. Only later, after about six rotations of your sun around your planet, have I become aware that I am not one of you. That I might be of a different kind. A Fnool.
In fact, I have never seen another Fnool, so at best my identification as one is an educated – one should hope – guess. But I’m definitely not human, and I know of no other options.
The cheese composing your planet’s only moon may rot before I’ll know for sure.
Interruption is intolerable. It shall never go unpunished, even if one did not know that he was interrupting. During the long years of our preparations, circling your planet, you have broken this law numerous times, and when our invasion is complete there will be hell to pay. Our mind manacles and soul silencers will make sure of that. You have no chance against us.
But meanwhile we, being of a society of culture and manners, cannot bring ourselves to interrupt you, O busy people of the planet below. Not while even one of you is busy doing anything at all. That would be unthinkable – a barbarian act to which not even our lowest of the low would succumb. And so we wait.
One day you will rest, the lot of you, all at once. And then we’ll strike.
I hope that day shall arrive soon.