When the aliens attack, I’ll help the resistance in every way I can. Earth is one of my favorite places. It’s where I shop for groceries. Its movies are top notch. My cat lives there.
There are many ways I can help. I can count how many canisters of fuel we have left and arrange them in a nice pattern for pickup. Need a barrel of gasoline rolled across the hanger bay at a moderate pace to the next ship? I’m your guy.
I’m good at washing uniforms (Probably. I’ve used a washing machine before). If we have droids, I’ll work on minor repairs. I’m not very technically-minded, but I can wipe alien guts out of wheel sockets and use compressed air canisters to blow off circuit boards.
If administrative support is needed, I think I’d be a superior choice. Maybe one commander needs a letter written and handed to a runner who will take it to another commander. I can do that. (The writing, not the running. My knees, you know).
And let’s not rule out a GoT-style system of communication involving birds with messages tied to their legs. I’d be a real talent at gathering the leftover bird seed from abandoned PetSmarts and Petcos and Petsupermarkets and Wal-Marts and Targets and Ace Hardware. When it comes to training pigeons and cleaning their cages, I will be UNSTOPPABLE.
Because this is for Earth, and I will do my part.
I would be a great chronicler of the invasion. Just give me some pen and paper (probably too much to hope for a functioning MacBook), and I’ll do wonders. Those aliens are going to come off like real jerks in my manuscript, but the humans will look great. Not the collaborators—they will be the true villains. So when you’re out there fighting toe to toe, laser to laser with those Big Green (probably green) Bads, you won’t have to worry that no one is telling your story.
Did I mention I have asthma? It’s true.
If the alien attack is not a military invasion but something more in the Arrival vein—a sinister, confusing appearance—then I’ll help the scientists. If there’s one thing I know, it’s coffee, and they are going to need it round the clock to decipher the alien language or uncover what spectrum of sound or light they communicate with.
I could even be dog and cat sitter for the scientists while they work, explore, and forge a new understanding of interspecies communication.
So you see, people of Earth? You need me. I have so much to offer. Battles don’t get won without someone to make the snacks. Invasions are repelled without an advertising department to write motivational slogans. Check this one out:
This is Earth. We Like Ourselves Just As We Are. Go Away!
Don’t forget about me when the guts hit the fan.
I’ll be waiting.