Dear NASA, I'd Like To Fight an Alien

I'm ready for a fresh challenge — help a brother out? • James Folta

ear NASA, You don’t know me, but I’m a longtime fan of your organization and its various missions. Congratulations on the Moon landing and my condolences on the lost rovers. 
     I’m writing to make a specific request: I would like to fight an alien.
     Let me start with my qualifications: I’m a U.S. taxpayer, and I’m excellent at fighting. I’ve gotten into at least two bar brawls every weekend since I was 18 (I’m 27 now). After nearly 1,000 fights, I’m getting pretty darn bored of fighting other humans. Just to switch it up I’ve battled most of the appliances in my home, but it’s hard to tell who wins. I tipped over the dishwasher and broke its utensil basket. I took on a midsized car, and we tied on a technicality when it ran out of gas. It’s all been unsatisfying. I’m ready for a fresh challenge, and what better 1,000th opponent than a space creature? Whether it be tentacled, slimy, scaled, or made of pure gas, whatever form, I just want the chance to try and pummel the little freak into the dust.
     Going toe-to-toe, or toe-to-whatever-those-alien-guys-got is my dream fight. But beyond personal reasons, this fight could benefit NASA. How else can we see how little green men react to my stout grapple, my famed left hook, or my flailing kick once I’ve fallen down? How else will we know how aliens respond to me tweaking their weird elephant noses?
    Imagine the scientific knowledge to be gained! How do aliens cheer each other on or throw chairs around when they fight? Do they even have concepts like cheering, booing or throwing chairs around, the three cornerstones of human behavior? What sort of weird intoxicants do the aliens ingest before a fight? Do they have stimulants or depressants similar to the cocktail of whiskey and slaps to the face that I use before I “get down”?
     This fight would also be a great cultural exchange. What better way to share our Earth values than to get scrappy on a plot of grass and dirt in my backyard, within a rough circle scratched out with a stick? What better way to let the aliens know what humans are all about than a sweaty contest where I try to pin down the alien’s arms/legs/flesh wheels, and wail on its thorax?
     I know I’m not the only one who wants to fight an alien. So why should I be the one picked to strip down and get wild? As I said, I’m an experienced fighter. I’ve been in tons of fistfights and scuffles with everyone and everything, from neighbors to family, fire hydrants to my diabetes, and I’ve always walked away with my head held high. I even fought one lady, which I try to avoid, but I had no choice after she kept coming at me. She beat my ass, so I made her my wife. Who better than me to outmaneuver many tentacles and land a clean high-kick to a big, blobby ET head?
     It should go without saying that I want this to be fair. No weapons allowed. I can’t use my brass knuckles, and the alien can’t use their laser knuckles. Obviously, we’ll both have to be naked. Whatever this alien’s body is working with and whatever my body’s working with, that’s all we’re bringing to this brawl. I’m even willing to shave all my hair if the alien is hairless. Anything to make it fair.
     Obviously there’s a question: What are we fighting for? Me, I’ll fight for nothing. You know that. But if the alien needs stakes, you guys can do whatever you need to do, I’ll sign whatever, I just want to fight. If I lose, I’ll go back to their home world and be their slave; my wife is cool with it. She wants me to follow my dream: to fist-tango with a freaky alien.
     Boy, if you NASA guys let me, I’ll do us all proud and stomp this Moon bozo into our good Earth soil. Let’s make my 1,000th fight a giant leap for mankind. Are you in?! ◊

This piece originally appeared in The American Bystander #4.

James Folta
is a New York-based comedy writer, and co-creator of the parodies The Neu Jorker and Paul Ryan: The Magazine.
James Folta is a New York-based comedy writer, and co-creator of the parodies The Neu Jorker and Paul Ryan: The Magazine.
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