When visiting Earth I generally try to blend in with the locals, choosing skin and hair tones that do not instantly invoke Tasers or high pitched screams. Here I am in Brazil artfully blending in during carnival.
I went with the ‘blonde bombshell’ camouflagulator setting as I thought it would aid me in my quest to seduce men and gain free nourishment and spirit juice. I also happen to be a huge fan of the media they have here called ‘cartoons’ and feel I have built up quite an addiction to one Captain Caveman.
This disguise also helped me to secure some very lucrative contracts to DJ in a country called China. A fascinating land, the locals stared at me as if I were an alien even with my camouflagulator concealment and took too many photographs to count, all the while forcing me to consume copious amounts of spirit liquid. Which may or may not have been poisoned. It was hard to tell through the vomit it induced. Passing out, the indigenous beings informed me, was normal.
The word stayed with me until the next day as did the cluster thumping and vomiting.
What was this normal they referred to? What was it to be not normal? Abnormal even?
Weirder still, is at the same time as fitting in and being as normal as possible, one must also worship abnormality in all it’s forms. They call it pop music and theatre. But being abnormal isn’t acceptable unless you are paid well, when you are rich everyone accepts you, even if you speak to vegetables on a regular basis.
Prince Charles. Not normal, but acceptable.
A possible future husband?
Either way, I like a man who knows how to talk dirty to his vegetables…
Through my research I found that normal looks more like this:
This one also comes with a meat bikini at times, but because she is rich and entertaining, her abnormality is acceptable.
Then there is this specimen — The King of Pop:
He removed his face and replaced it with another one to be more normal. I’m not sure I understand. A brain muddling concept to be sure, one I found myself falling dizzy from. I was yet to hit the helium that afternoon, so I knew I wasn’t high. My mind frizzled and then frazzled as I grappled with those strange six letters, swimming around, blowing raspberries at me like a gaggle of horny geese. Words have such a powerful effect on the psyche that when a new one appears it either smashes through your cluster like an out of control FUCK or it creeps up slowly from underneath the blankets like a sneaky fart.
Normal was the sneaky fart in my mind that day and for many days to come. I tried to waft it away but it kept on creeping, I was being judged by normal everywhere I turned.
Before I knew it a new connection formed in my cluster and a meaning to the new word implanted itself firmly. My reality gradually morphed into a world where suddenly I could see that some things were normal and some things just weren’t normal at all. It started with a hair style, and then a misshaped tooth, before I knew it my once serene mind began filling itself with abnormalities of all kinds. Where there had been only perfection now sat untold flaws and deformities.
Rationale left the building. Joy disintegrated. My whole world crumbled.
For the first time in my life I had to be normal.
This is what I found:
To be normal I must act terrified of nature, scream at bees and spiders regularly for no apparent reason other then they are in the same space and air as me. Normal also gets drunk for a good portion of the day and eats foods that kill slowly but deliciously. Which is quite fun I have to admit. They have many shops selling normal food with little nutritional value, to fit in one must consume this food and gain weight, one then goes to a place they call ‘the gym’ to burn off all those extra empty calories.
I have also ascertained that normal doesn’t speak up or ask too many questions unless they are about the weather or sport. Normal obsesses over finding something the Earthlings call ‘Mister Right’ or ‘Mrs Right’ (they set the bar so high that no mortal could ever hope to live up to such momentous expectations) and normal wears clothes, lots and lots of clothes. Naked is definitely not normal. Normal doesn’t stand out, it blends in, goes unnoticed. Unfeared yet fearing everything different, which is important if you want to survive here. Normal isn’t just about having a skin tone that comes from the planet, it is about having the same skin tone as everyone else in your surroundings. Apparently, their gods only love normal people, so to go to heaven one must do what everyone else is doing. The more normal and samey you can be the better.
This explains a lot and helps me to gain further insight into these fascinating creatures called Man and Wo-Man. I may have to work on my vegetable infatuation as this, I have learned with some surprise, is considered abnormal. I have quickly come to understand that here, on this planet, I am considered what some would call a freak, part of a collective I have named the freakle. They refer to other normals as sheeple and do not class themselves in the same category. A freakle is a black sheep, a weirdo, a freak, confusing, an abnormality, a glitch. Even though I fit in with these freakle, I still want to try to master normal as I have a feeling my life will run more smoothly then.
I fear it could take some time to adjust however as I’m not quite finished with my aubergines…
May one of their many gods forgive me.