The Martians are coming!

 The Martians are coming!

 - Mark van Vuuren (1999)

The following is a parody. Not to be taken seriously. If you don’t have a sense of humour then turn the page and don’t come back!

It’s about time the Martians pitched. The time wasted in man hours watching made-for-television dramatisations of alien sightings and alien abductions exceeds the life span of a small nation. The number of trees cut down to put this drivel into print is enough to cover Paraguay twice over. And I’m sick of thinking to myself, “Mrs Joan Koruski of Tampa Arizona would never lie, like the other 10 000 annual bona fide sightings.” The Martians owe it to us to pitch en masse. The Millennium would make a good entrance. The once-in-a-thousand-years Millennium party is on a Saturday; so Sunday is definitely a no-no; Monday we find out about Millennium mainframe bugs and how long our Mastercards are out of action for. Tuesday? Yes, Tuesday’s good. So they pitch and the government denies it. “You didn’t see nuthin’. Ten million people are seein’ thangs.” Four days later Bill Clinton grips the podium and hesitantly acknowledges the Martian presence to the nation: “Yip.” He knew about them for quite a while but kept quiet because of concerns regarding fundamental changes to economics, ethics, communication skills and medicine. Here’s why:

On economics, have any UFO sightings described a saucer shaped object with “SHELL” or “Marlboro” printed on the side of it? These guys don’t advertise. They don’t need to. Not because they have enough money, but because they have no money. If they landed here and registered as voters some Liberal klingon is going to sell an idea like “Let’s share the world’s wealth. If we can share everything, earthlings can too!” The debts are offset from all the cash and what’s left is divided by the number of people on earth. To prevent currency arguments payment is made with food. So we each get a loaf of bread and a Coke and the day after this is announced the price of Coke shoots up.

If sharing the wealth won’t show the benefits of a cash free society the Martians will then identify the particular gene which makes us so very profit oriented. Once removed it leaves us without that hell-bent urge to make a buck. It also leaves one with communistic tendencies, i.e. unable to read a balance sheet. Our typical year begins with the vision “This year we just gotta make another 10% on turnover!”; the government has the same vision in terms of higher taxes. The year hasn’t even started and you’re 10% overworked, overtaxed, still in the same income bracket and making less. But if nobody had the urge to work for money and only worked to satisfy one’s daily needs, which included intellectual stimulation, we’d work less, stress less and enjoy life more. Now just to convince everybody to have their genes altered...

Regarding ethics, the only celebrity not seen in Reeboks, wearing designer denims, a whoosh T-shirt and Raybans, is a Martian. They don’t do fashion. In fact, they don’t do clothing. Being naked, they save a fortune on clothing. Fashion is nothing but a cruel marketing ploy. Are side-burns and bell-bottoms innate representations of our psyche? If fashion is defined as the mating apparel of the nation it’s astounding any population growth took place in the sixties. The Martians come, and clothing manufacturers and a great deal of shopping angst goes. One particular niche of clothing manufacturers will be grateful for the change: those guys who make bright blue and bright green crympolene drip-dry wash-n-wear double breasted suits will finally have a decent night’s sleep. As the suit was introduced on April 01 1948 as an April Fool’s joke, these guys have been praying for the day they could stop production without embarrassing the populace!

Regarding communication skills, for a group of space travellers who don’t have any money and wear no clothing and yet can find their way to earth, they’re doing pretty well. The secret: mental telepathy. Not only can they hear without you speaking, but a practising telepathee can also identify the disposition of the telepathor. He can sense if you’re lying, immoral or just plain nasty. Why would we need a court of law if we can sense intuitively if a person’s actions are of disreputable intent? And the phone bill will also become a thing of the past.

Medically-speaking, mental telepathy exists for blatant messages but also for subliminal messages from one’s body, like an ache. The aching Marshy doesn’t have to explain to Doc Martian how and why his ache was gotten: the Doc just knows, and treats it. And the patient doesn’t pay since he’s got no money. What incentive would Doc Martian have for curing his fellow pals? For Voyager miles? That’s just a rumour. Two double by-passes and he scores a light year is a lie. He does it for free. Any malady is seen as an opportunity to identify and destroy disease which is a victory for “the People”. Diseased Marshies are in demand! Suppose Doc Martian was only interested in Voyager miles his patients would recognise that particular shade of purple in his psyche and boycott him. Way to go, Comrades.

Economically, a world without money means less work and less stress. As for fashion, the Martian school will appeal to all tastes, affordably. That a phasing out period will raise the demand for fig leaves is not the issue. Ethically, why wear clothes if we’re born naked? If we’re to practice telepathy a lot more would be done with a lot less rhetoric. Alleged politicians may find themselves in a dilemma. Medically-speaking, here’s yet another argument against treating the symptom and not the cause. The future is looking roses: I’ll have no money problems and still have my health, so just who is this government protecting?

Thirty years on: Most of today’s telepathic messages are 3D adverts for holidays on Mars. Going for a fifteen minute spin around the globe is all the rage, and looking cool is defined by hanging out el nakedo. No more language barriers, no more junkmail and no mortgage. Did we really have to wait so long in order to enjoy the good life? That’s the last time I vote for an earthling!