Parrothead Ramblings

I've have had just about enough of this nonsense.

All right, let's just get it out in the open: I grew up in Roswell, New Mexico. OK, go ahead. Let me have it. Fire off all those alien jokes and let's get it over with. There. Feel better? Good. Glad I could help.

Roswell is an interesting place. I ought to know: Not only did I grow up there, but I prowled its streets as a police officer for about five years. Naturally, every time Roswell gets mentioned, the alien thing pops up. You'd have to be pretty seasoned to have any kind of first-person recollection of this cluster-fuck, since it happened in July, 1947 - eight years before the Crime Dog was even whelped. Don't matter, Pholks still think I'm some sort of authority, since I'm a native. It usually goes something like this:

"Hey, Crime Dog! Where you from?"

"Roswell, NM."

"Seriously? Wow! That is so cool! You been to Area 51?"

"That's in Nevada, shit hook."

"Oh, I didn't know that. So, what's that alien thing all about?"

"Alien thing? What alien thing?"

"You know, that UFO crash in Roswell."

"UFO crash? What the fuck you talking about?"

"C'mon, you know. That UFO that crashed in Roswell?"

"What? Again? Goddammit! Those slope-headed little green bastards can't drive for shit. There goes another weekend! (Dialing cell phone) Honey? Pack us some things and load my guns. I'll gas up the car and pick you up. We gotta go home. What's that? Yeah. It's them again. And this time, make sure you pack those anti-death ray force field flak jackets, OK? It got a little dicey that last time.(hanging up) Hey, thanks for letting me know."

"What? You mean this has happened more than once?

"Aw, c'mon! It's not even news any more out there. There's this little bar down near Dexter that will serve anybody. A bunch of 'em like to stop in there on their way to the Vega Sagittarius Star Cluster System - hell, it's right on the way - and they end up getting all liquored up. Next thing you know, you got a bunch of ETs with attitudes roaming the streets, breaking windows, toilet papering, stealing cars. They're a pain in the ass."

"Wow, that's incredible! I never knew!"

Yeah, well, the Chamber of Commerce always hushes it up. Bad for tourism, you know, bunch of Milky Wayans flashing gang signs and spraying graffiti all over creation. Look, gotta run. Mom gets really pissed when those little turds come anywhere near her property, and she don't believe in warning shots. Her ticker ain't what it used to be, so I gotta get over there and pick off a few before they get out of hand and upset her."

"Err, um....OK.....Good luck."

"Thanks. Oh, and could you do me a favor? Call 1-800-URN-ASSWIPE and ask for Fox Mulder or Dana Scully? Tell them that Agent XB1955, Code Name "Crime Dog" is enroute. They'll be looking for me. We're on the same squad, you see, along with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Dirty Harry. See ya, dipshit."

Truth be told, I saw a lot of strange things happen around Roswell, but aliens weren't one of them. It was something you didn't hear much about. Everybody knew the story, they just didn't give a flying cow cookie about it. Count me in that number. Now, the whole town is done up in alien paraphernalia and nonsense, so local businesses can pick up a buck or two from the dorks who buy into this fairy tale and show up. Probably on their way to a Star Trek Convention. They don't seem to know that the "crash site" is actually miles away, out in the middle of BFE New Mexico, near the town of Corona. Dumbasses.

So, next time somebody tells you they're from Roswell, forget that alien bullshit. Just ask them, "Hey, isn't that where Roger Staubach went to junior college?" Now, we got us something to talk about!
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