The main problem of every invasion fleet is, always, the question of branding. Therefore, the English-speaking persons of your world are kindly asked, when discussing our arrival, to use only the term selected by us: Fnool Injection.
Using any other term would result in us inflicting upon you the full penalty of the law. In particular, the law of physics.
One morning, when a dead man woke from troubled dreams, he found itself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armor-like back, wishing he was dead, and then it occurred to him that this was, in fact, the case. He could remember the excruciating pain, the illusion of a white light at the end of an endless tunnel, the feeling of his mind shutting down, the certain knowledge that this was the end, followed by the swift separation of his head from his body by a giant bug-like monster which suddenly materialized by his bed, and then the mounting of said head on top of a ten foot dirty brown lump surrounded by ridiculously small, twitching legs.
Everything fits perfectly, he though. I can go on with my life now.
Invading your world isn’t very difficult, and there lies the rub: you have been invaded so many times that nothing remained of your original form. In other words – there’s nothing left to invade.
This, unfortunately, did not prevent my honorable ancestor from trying. You may have heard of him, or at least of the alias he has taken here. You probably won’t like his name to be mentioned, being a follower of a rival of his, the one you call Jung.
Oh, is my hour over? See you next week, then, Doctor.