I originally wasn’t going to post this “Self-Help Thursday” story about Van Halen’s vocalist Sammy Hagar because although it accurately described my childhood confusion about this song’s implied extraterrestrials, it didn’t make me laugh.  And then … turns out Little Splarks was not incorrect.  Sammy Hagar really was abducted by aliens and has publically announced it! So now I have to post this, even if it is goofy (as if I write any other kind of post on this site).  Because I was right.  Meaning no disrespect to the Red Rocker, of course–maybe it was a good experience.  Check out the song for yourself on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYXqb6x50lA
——————–

Van Halen’s “Love Walks In” was a favorite song of my childhood, but it always confused me. The song sounds like a science fiction plot with references to space travel, alien contact, and space-age fashion (eight-year-old me mistook “silver lights” for “silver legs” and envisioned Princess Leia in shiny metallic tights). But then there’s that non-sequitor of “love comes walkin’ in.” I was annoyed—why was love was ruining a perfectly good space adventure by randomly walking in and stopping the story?

To help my inner child make sense of this mess, I revisited the song in a Self-Help Thursday session.

Tags: Alien Oddities, Based on a True Story by splarks
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Another reader wanted a story about a hedgehog named Lorna who suffers from narcolepsy.  Remember, you asked me for it.

Once upon a time, there was a hedgehog named Lorna.  Lorna came from a hedgehog family of narcoleptics, a disease in which one keels over randomly, dead asleep.  Lorna’s narcolepsy was an unfortunate yet unavoidable fact of life. Hedgehogs are primarily nocturnal and her night time naps often prevented her attendance at the best Hog Parties.  Yet narcolepsy did provide her with one welcome ability:  like Freddy Krueger, she could enter into the dreams of others.  Lorna, who came from a family of Spiritualist hedgehogs, was  intimidated by her ability until Old Aunt Genevieve counseled her one day, speaking words of wisdom through a mouthful of insect legs.  “Lorna,” croaked the old hedgehog, nose deep in a bowl of toasted grasshoppers, ”God gave you a gift, and that gift is to enter the dreams of others and prepare them for a spiritual, healthy existence.  You can shape their dreams and show them the light.”

Lorna contemplated this, then smiled broadly.  “Thank you, Aunt Genny!” she cried, racing back to her burrow before the next narcoleptic sleep began.  Her once-inconvenient stealth naps became the path to the greater good.  So many forest animals were prone to mere subsistence living: eating bugs, drinking water, sleeping dreamlessly and obsessively procreating.  She aimed to show them a better way of life.  To learn more about her abilities, she read a book on shamanism*.  The book claimed that when in a “lucid dream,” one could find “a portal” into another dreamer’s dream.  Lorna found that this was indeed true:  when in a narcoleptic dream, she had only to look around for her portal, a small peat bog.  It wasn’t as glamorous as the examples in the book, such as a rose or waterfall, but she didn’t let it deter her.  She would find the dreamer and radiate love and light from each quill, rolling herself into a ball so that she could be a miniature sun of joy and peace.

Yet inevitably, the dreaming forest animals would scream in terror.  She would pursue them, calling “Don’t you want to join the light?  Come to the light!” but their only response was continued screaming and and eventual disappearance into a poof of dust as they awoke.   Frustrated, she would then awake and contemplate her failure.  What was with these guys?  What was their problem with the light?  Was she unwittingly living in a forest devoted to evil or something?

Had Lorna bothered to read Appendix C of the shamanism book, she would have realized that “come to the light” was tantamount to saying “Time to die now, come peacefully.”  The appendix was full of stories of people who nearly died and saw dead relatives waiting at the end of a tunnel of joyous, radiant light.  But Lorna was the kind of hedgehog who only skimmed the main passages of a book, and she missed the subtle points of the preface, epilogue, and appendices.  In fact, she preferred Cliffs Notes whenever possible, and was disappointed to see that “Master of Destiny: Rainbow Shaman Turkey Healer Guide” did not have a handy abbreviated version.

As the months passed, the other animals began to avoid her.  No one could say why they felt such fear while in Lorna’s presence, though some vaguely recalled her appearance in a recent nightmare.  Lorna’s social life dwindled until she was left with just the odd Family Hog Party.  Sitting alone each evening, she sighed and pondered her unwelcome fate. Was she destined to be alone and unappreciated forever, stricken with an annoying and completely ineffective gift?

As she sat moping one day, she was dazzled by the very thing from her dreams:  The Light!  There it glowed before her like a radiant walnut spinning in her burrow.  Curiously, she didn’t feel the intense love and joy that she usually strove to manifest, but she attributed this to being startled and blinded.

“Laura,” it began in a booming voice.

“My name is Lorna,” she corrected it, dismayed.

“Lorna, whatever.  Listen, I am your Higher Self.”

She gazed suspiciously at the Light.  The book had mentioned something about the divine guidance of the Higher Self, but – “My Higher Self?  Then why aren’t you pronouncing my name correctly?”

The Light hesitated. “I, um, know your True Name!  And is it Laura.  Laura means ‘Glorious One Who Shall Reign Supreme Over the Forest.”

She blinked in surprise.  “That … that doesn’t sound like a very noble ambition for a peaceful creature like me.  Are you sure it isn’t Latin for ‘laurel’?  I took a year of Latin, and–”

The Light interrupted, a touch impatiently, Lorna thought.  “Would you like to know why the other animals run from you in your dreams?”

“Yes, please!”  She twisted on her bed of moss so that she could see it more clearly.  Could she finally be getting the answer to her awful predicament?

“Very well.  Although you’ve tried to use your powers for good, you are missing the Point of Life.”

This was it!  Here was the answer she longed for!  “Oh Light, tell me the Point of Life!”

“Suffering.”

“Ah … what?”

“Did not the Holy Buddha say in the Bible that Life is Suffering?”

“I … I thought the Buddha didn’t write the Bible.”

“Whatever. But he did say that Life is Suffering, didn’t he?”

She paused, considering.  “I do recall that from my Comparative Religion class, yes.”

“The animals want to suffer, Laura.  Suffering is their highest purposes in life, and you are denying it with your enforced visions of love and peace.  Peace is evil, Laura, do you not see this?”

She wrung her hands.  “Oh no!  I’ve been feeding evil!  Oh Light, tell me how I can correct my error and instead contribute to the highest purpose of all forest animals!”

“You need to change your destructive ways immediately, my child!” boomed the Light.  “You must create healthy, nourishing fear!”

Lorna bowed her head in relief as the Light faded.  Finally, she had clarity on the proper use of her ability.  As she succumbed to the uncontrollable onset of narcoleptic sleep, she vowed to start instilling fear in forest animals everywhere.

*******
Bleekul the Small Gray Alien leaned back in his chair, gazing down at the forest through the spaceship’s forcefield.  “I think she has accepted our words as truth, Space Companion.”

Ookzor the Large Mauve Alien glanced up from the blinking control panel.  “Do you know this to be affirmative, Bleekul?”

“I do.  The small Earth Mammal has entered the dream of an arachnid and is creating scenes of squishing.”

Ookzor clapped.  “Excellent, Bleekul!  I knew your aptitude for deceit would provide us with this most rare dessert of mammalian fear!”

“Yes, it will create a lovely sauce over the corpses of the miserable.  Your cleverness is most valuable, comrade!”

Everyone on the Planet Schmoogquok knew that the flesh of the miserable made for the tastiest meals.  It provided a type of seasoning that could not be obtained elsewhere.  The two aliens smiled contentedly at each other.  Life surveilling Earth was not nearly so unpleasant as their superiors had led them to believe.

“Ookzor, I have heard that the flesh of enlightened human beings tastes equally pleasant.”

Ookzor frowned.  “Truly, Space Companion?  Because those enlightened squirrels were sorely lacking in flavor.  They were not at all zesty. Was this not the reason for our patented fear sauce?”

“Enlightened earth mammals are bland, yes.  Enlightened humans, however, are contrasting with this muchly.  Let us attempt to procure some by bringing enlightenment to the human masses.  Let me practice my best New Age Guru impersonation.”  The Large Mauve Alien cleared her throat.  “Ahem … let us meditate upon compassion for all creatures.  The Love of Mother Earth surrounds us.  Breathe in … focus on the breath …now breathe out …”

Bleekul clapped his hands.  “Excellent!  Your demeanor is impeccably convincing!  My mouth salivates in anticipation of our most delectable supper!”

*******

I would like to tell you that Lorna eventually caught on to this cosmic deception, but I cannot.  Good does not always triumph over evil, and Lorna unwittingly provided the aliens with scores of breakfasts, brunches, suppers and snacks.  However, the aliens did meet a disgraceful end when they moved on to human beings and discovered the flesh of humanity to be poison to their alien digestive system.  Eventually, Bleekul and Ookzor’s superiors towed the spaceship away, burned the corpses inside, and placed a hunting restriction on Earth. So I guess good did triumph in a small, incomplete way.  Better than nothing.

*Where did a hedgehog obtain a book on shamanism?  Well if you were a shaman, you wouldn’t have to ask!  I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you Freddy-Krueger-style.

Tags: Alien Oddities, Bizarre Animal Stories, Super Powers Suck by splarks
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I admit to liking some old Jefferson Airplane songs, but I fail to find kind words for its later incarnation, Jefferson Starship. Recently I was tortured with the song “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” and an alternate interpretation came to mind.

Don’t you wonder what they’re really singing about? Let me tell you, friends, in another installation of Self-Help Thursday.
***

Hello there, Grace and Mickey.  Welcome to my Rock Star Therapy practice.  So you’d like to talk about your relationship.  I’m surprised, since I didn’t think you two were in a romantic relationship.  I guess things are complicated, huh?  I’m happy to help you using my vast array of psychotherapy credentials.  Mickey, why don’t you start? Tell me about your feelings for Grace.

Looking in your eyes I see a paradise
This world that I’ve found
Is too good to be true
Standing here beside you
Want so much to give you
This love in my heart that I’m feeling for you

Mickey, this is a classic case of self-fulfilling prophecy.  By assuming that the relationship is too good to be true, you set yourself up for failure.  People with low self-esteem often feel this way, but you don’t have to join them.  Recognize your own self-worth and infuse your relationship with it.  Grace, care to comment?

Let ‘em say were crazy
I don’t care about that

Well, Grace, you’ve made it clear that you don’t care about other people’s interpretation of your mental state.  I’ve seen your art exhibits and you’re in the other polarity:  very high self-esteem.  Mickey, you could learn a little from Grace’s approach.  But I’m sorry, Grace dear, I didn’t meant to interrupt.  What were you saying?

Put your hand in my hand baby
Don’t ever look back

That’s right!  Don’t look back at those people who very obviously think you’re crazy.  Are they trained mental health professionals?  No, they are not!  So what will you say to those nay-sayers and name-callers?

Let the world around us just fall apart
Baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

Grace, this is where a high self-esteem person like you runs into trouble. This normally positive trait becomes overconfidence.  If the world fell apart, you would certainly not Make It.  Skyscrapers could fall on your head or a giant sidewalk hole could open, or the monkey cage in the zoo could collapse and let loose a pack of raging gorillas.  You won’t survive raging gorillas, Grace.  No matter how strong our confidence is, we humans have our limits.  Try again.

And we can build this dream together
Standing strong forever
Nothing’s gonna stop us now.

Please, let’s look at reality.  You won’t live forever, and things can definitely stop you.  In fact, taking the time to identify your obstacles is the first step to prevent them from ruining your lives.  I sense that this this unrealistic view of the future is holding back your relationship.  Let’s rephrase and try for a more sensible approach.

And if this world runs out of lovers
We’ll still have each other

Grace and Mickey, I’m a little suspicious of your motives.  Previously you referred to the world falling apart, and now you say the world also risks running out of lovers.  Given that the world is steeped in delusional romantics, a shortage  is impossible unless you know something the rest of us don’t know.  You … you don’t, do you?

Nothing’s gonna stop us
nothing’s gonna stop us now.

Ok, nothing is gonna stop you from WHAT?

I’m so glad I found you
I’m not gonna lose you
Whatever it takes I will stay here with you.

You’re making me nervous now.  Come on, I thought you wanted relationship counseling but you keep hinting at some dangerous event on the horizon.  So you have insider’s knowledge on what it will take to stay alive?  What is it?

Take it to the good times
See it through the bad times
Whatever it takes is what I’m gonna do.

The good times end and the bad times are coming?  I think you aren’t telling me something.  What are you two planning?  Unleashing the plague?  Poisoning the water supply?  Calling up the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse so you can laugh at us poor mortals screaming in the face of divine wrath?

Let ‘em say were crazy
what do they know?

Who are “They,” Grace?  When people in my practice talk about “They,” it’s never a good sign!

Put your arms around me baby
Don’t ever let go
Let the world around us just fall apart

Again with the world falling apart!

Baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

What is this, some kind of twisted version of the Vulcan mind meld but using hearts instead?  I knew it!  You’re aliens, aren’t you, and this whole spiel is a smug foreshadowing of your impending invasion!  The name change from Jefferson Airplane to Jefferson Starship all makes sense now.  And to think I was lecturing you about the limitations of human beings.  You don’t have to worry about that, do you?

Ooh, all that I need is you
All that I ever need
And all that I want to do
Is hold you forever, ever and ever
Hey!

Oh my god.  You’re looking at me.  You want to hold ME forever and ever in your twisted world of alien invasions and vampiric everlasting life.  Dear God, help me.  They’re coming closer, closer …

(guitar solo;  sound of shrieking and slurping)

***

The bad part about writing this is that I have that song stuck in my head now, and I particularly dislike it.  I do think singer Grace Slick is a cool chick;  she’s an artist now.

Tags: Alien Oddities, Self-Improvement by splarks
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Oh my. I found an old story that Dave Goff from Gestalt Digital (www.gestaltdigital.com) kindly formatted and found pictures for several years ago. I thought I had lost it forever, but no, it lives in infamy and I’ll post the scanned copy here to amuse/horrify/stupify you. Happy Holidays!

Tags: Alien Oddities, Bizarre Animal Stories, Extreme Optimism, Rampaging by splarks
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Once upon a time there was an absolutely gorgeous frog named Enrique. The idea of an attractive frog might seem ludicrous, but you aren’t a frog, are you? Thousands of swooning lady frogs can’t be wrong; Enrique was hot. His bulbous eyes were perfectly round and always shone with a dreamy, sensitive cast. His luscious green skin had the ideal amount of slime to its texture. His webbed feet were large yet delicately formed, and left aesthetically pleasing prints in the swamp mud. Yet Enrique’s most remarkable feature was the brownish spots on his left shoulder. While his admirers frequently commented on the artistic placement of the spots, Enrique thought that when viewed from the proper angle, they looked rather like the Virgin Mary. He mentioned it a few times to his friends, but they only laughed and said, “Oh Enrique, that sense of humor is simply dangerous!” Humiliated, he told himself that they were just spots, not some grand proclamation of divinity, and followed his friends into their exciting and fast-paced nocturnal activities.

One night Enrique was lounging on his favorite crusty log, hoping to score. He’d prepared himself for yet another wild night on the swamp, carefully stretching out the balloon under his chin so it would swell to full capacity and impress the females. He’d recently started a little modeling work (nothing special, he liked to tell people, just a couple of spreads for Toad Today magazine), and modeling was much more tedious than he’d expected. He was exhausted but his agent had promised him a bottle of Jack Daniels, which was about three times his body weight, and he wasn’t about to let that opportunity go. The bottle now lay securely behind the log, and he was just about to pry off the lid when a shriek interrupted him. An old wrinkly frog cowered before him. “The chosen one!” the old frog wheezed. “Look, it’s the sign of the blessed Virgin! She speaks through this one!” The old-timer pointed a trembling finger* at Enrique’s left shoulder. A couple of nearby frogs glanced over. “Hey,” one said, craning his neck, “that does kinda look like the Virgin Mary.”

“Where?” asked his companion.

“Well, if you—here, come sit where I am. Ok, now turn your head a little—no, the other way—yeah, ok see that spot there? Ok, that’s her nose, and that one there is her ear –“

“Oh yeah, yeah,” said the other frog excitedly, “Yeah I see it now. Holy crap, I’ve never seen anyone with a picture of the Virgin Mary on their shoulder! Do you suppose–?”

The two frogs stared at him in awe. The old frog leaned against the log and continued to wheeze, with occasional mutters of “chosen … holy amphibian … tadpoles of doom …” Enrique stared back at them, unsure of how to respond. More curious frogs had gathered around his log, jostling each other for a glimpse of him. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak something profound.

“Uhh …” he said. The circle of frogs drew a collective, anticipatory gasp. “Uhh…” he repeated, scratching his belly nervously. “I, um, well I’m going over to that puddle over there.”

“The puddle!” someone shouted. “It’s the Holy Puddle of the Lord! He goes to contemplate! Tell us our future, oh Sacred One!”

Enrique snapped his head around angrily. “What the hell?” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous! Two minutes ago, that old geezer noticed my spots, and now you’re all following me and asking me to predict the future? I’ve known about these spots for years, but you all gave me patronizing little laughs! Yeah, I know what you all said about me! ‘Oh, that Enrique, such a pretty face but he’s got pond-scum for brains.’ Do you think I didn’t hear you? Well? Do you?”

In the silence that followed, he clearly heard the crickets and the cicadas. Someone flicked a tongue and the chirping stopped. The subsequent crunching irritated Enrique even more. “So yeah, you easily-led sycophants,” he growled, noting smugly that the majority of the crowd seemed perplexed by the word choice, “I am going to contemplate. I’m going to do what I should have done long ago—believe in myself and ask the Virgin what she wants of me, her humble servant. But I don’t have to share it with you. Get out of here!”

The crowd didn’t move and instead everyone waited patiently for Enrique to move towards the “Holy Puddle of the Lord.” Enrique sighed. “There’s a full bottle of whiskey behind my log,” he muttered.

The crowd scattered immediately towards the bottle, and Enrique lowered himself onto the grass beside the puddle. He tried to ignore the disgust and fury in his heart, closed his eyes, and called out to the Virgin. He used no elaborate incantations or frivolous props, only his sincere desire to serve the Holy One. Soon he heard an angelic voice.

“Enrique.” A lovely calm fell over him like soft blades of grass. “My beautiful little frog … you have finally come to me.”

“Yes, O Mary,” he whispered.

“Well,” the voice said, now sounding slightly perturbed, “that’s wonderful, but I’m afraid you’re too late.”

“Uh … what?” his eyes opened and he saw the Virgin’s outline. Though hazy, he couldn’t mistake the look of consternation upon Her Divine Face.

“How long have you know about the spots on your shoulder?” she demanded.

“Well,” he mumbled, scuffing his toes in the mud, “Um … abut 10 months, I guess.”

“Right,” the Virgin said sharply. “And ten months ago I was ready to tell you that your swamp was going to be annihilated to make room for a landfill.”

What’s a landfill? Enrique wondered, but the Virgin continued speaking. “If you’d called to me then, you could have warned your people and evacuated them to a new, safe home. But what did you do, Enrique?”

“I … um …” he blushed. “I started modeling.”

“And drinking whiskey,” Mary accused.

“Yeah.” He looked miserably around him at the swamp.

“You ignored the Divine signals, even though you knew they were genuine, Enrique. And you must know that I am truly sorry, but as you chose a life of debauchery instead of using your holy gift … well, now you lie in the grave you dug.”

The calm presence withdrew, the figure faded, and the frog’s shrieks were heard for miles as the bulldozers descended into the swamp. Enrique’s drinking buddies were consumed in a tangle of steel jaws and mud, while the handsome frog himself drowned in his own reflection as the giant wheels flattened him into the puddle.

Millennia passed, and an advanced reptilian race from a distant solar system began studying Earth. A team of archaeologists was dispatched into the swamp-cum-landfill, which was now a snowy wasteland. The reptilians used a heat-producing device to melt all the snow and produce a comfortable working environment. For several months they excavated the site. During the fifth month, a research assistant unearthed something odd. It appeared to be a hideously underdeveloped member of their species, yet it was not fossilized like the rest of the primitive creatures they found. It appeared to have perished only yesterday. The archaeologists stood around this curiosity, poking it periodically, but nothing happened.

“We will take it back to the mother planet,” declared the head archaeologist. “Perhaps it can be revived using our recent technological developments. Say … look at the markings on its shoulder. Looks kinda like … what was that god the primitives worshiped? The Sturgeon Larry?”

“Virgin Mary, sir,” said one of the assistants.

“Right, Virgin Gary. Interesting. It may be some sort of a holy relic. Well, send it home and let’s keep digging.”

Perhaps … just perhaps … Enrique the Handsome Frog would get a second chance to fulfill the destiny he so foolishly squandered. Unfortunately, the reptilians’ technology wasn’t so great and they failed to revive him. Because no one had a better idea, he was turned into a paperweight labeled, “Deformed Man; Virgin Gary” and presented to the head archaeologist’s father-in-law as a birthday present.

THE END

*Do frogs have fingers?

Tags: Alien Oddities, Bizarre Animal Stories, Religious Peril, Repentance & Wailing by splarks
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