“What is your name?” I asked.
“Failure to fit the pattern of logical and valid sentences which can exist in this universe,” croaked the grey wet blob through the translation grid.
“Isn’t that a bit pompous of you?” I said. “Can’t you just tell me what your name is?”
“I just did.”
“Define and describe your entire atomic structure, thought pattern and history of existence,” sang the fragile-looking alien, slowly raising its weird, sticky appendages, through the language-conversion contraption.
I dripped and soaked and croaked the information at it.
“That is blobbingly miscorrect of you,” it sang. “Can you not please define and describe your entire atomic structure, thought pattern and history of existence?”
“I just did.”
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.