Physical Domination
You have spent a lifetime acclimatizing to the gravity and motion of planet Earth. Certainly no alien could best an Earthling (even one wearing an elephant costume) with home-field advantage in a test of strength. Besides, he looks like a fleshy-flower and flowers are wussies. Looking the hostile invader up-and-down, with overt disdain, you say: “Clut, I shall defend my home-world by besting you in a game of one-on-one basketball. You’re no match for my all-American skills.” To demonstrate the excellence of your physique you jog in place and throw a few lightning-fast jabs at the air. Pointing at Clut and drawing your thumb across your throat you mutter: “You gonna feel the heat off my balls, sucka.”
“Challenge accepted. Basketball was one of the many Earth-sports I studied while planning to turn your planet into a resort and I have assimilated the nuances of the game quite capably. I shall transport us to a suitable playing surface. K’vatlana!” As Clut speaks these words, in an unrecognizable tongue, a bright light envelops you. When it dims you are standing on a basketball court opposite the potential harbinger of Earth’s enslavement. A black, stippled basketball rolls from places unseen, coming to rest at your feet. You pick it up, feeling the perfect shape, noting it has been inflated to exactly 7 psi and bears a WNBA seal of approval. This a good omen because you really love the WNBA. It provides game-action equally as exciting as its all-male counterpart.
“Check,” you say, bouncing the ball at your opponent, “Let’s dance.” The alien does not even raise his hands and the ball bounces off an invisible surface several feet from his slender body.
“Unfortunately, due to millennia of evolution, my body is unsuitable for handling petroleum based spheres,” Clut says, “But I have alternative means.” He points his finger at an unoccupied space directly between you and screeches “D’lalalalalabzint!” You are blinded by another flash of light; soon a familiar shape appears before you. Can it be some light-induced hallucination? Where there once was nothing stands a living breathing clone of yourself, only instead of wearing an elephant costume, it is naked.
“Oh my!” you exclaim appreciatively. The duplicate is a match in every way, and you take a moment to admire the contours and ripples of your naked body in a new light. Remembering the hostage-planet, you shake off the narcissism, and picking up the basketball, bounce it at your double. “Check!” you say threateningly.
“Check!” it retorts, bouncing the ball back. The ancient rituals of the game having been observed, the contest for the fate of all human life begins.
You’ve never had a more challenging match of one-on-one. The double seems to know every juke, jive, and shimmy in your arsenal of awesome basketball dekes. Despite your best effort, the game is tied. Panting heavily and sweating, you stand before the doppelganger as it prepares to score the game-winning point. “This is for Earth!” you yell and stick out your leg as it attempts to dribble pastFeeling only a little remorse, you watch as the clone sprawls across the asphalt. “Sorry bra, my bad,” you say and help up the double. It’s bleeding from numerous scrapes and abrasions and totters uncertainly on unshod feet. A strange whistle rips through the foreboding silence.
“According to the rules of the Earthling-sport basketball, you are to be penalized for that overt act of aggression. This is not hockey, where such displays are rewarded,” says Clut, “Your opponent is granted a free-throw and will now claim certain victory over all of Earth.”
You never suspected the alien would be so well versed in the rules of basketball. The you-clone is preparing to score the game point; the basket that will cost Earth and all of its citizens their future, children, and freedom to pursue frivolous things like stamp collecting. The worst part of all of this is that everyone will remember how you scored the winning basket and lost the chance to save the planet at the same time. That’s when it hits you: This thing is you. It shares your hopes, dreams, and fears. The alien champion is preparing to take the shot – there’s no time to lose. The planet’s salvation now depends on psychological warfare: “You came out of your mother’s vagina!”
The evil clone looks shaken and licks its lips nervously. “I can see your genitals!” you blurt out next. Evil-you uncomfortably looks down at its exposed areas, but recoils its arms to take the shot. “You look just like me!” Your nemesis fumbles and takes the shot: a high arcing lob that seems suspended in thick jelly. Coming down on the rim, it bounces around uncertainly, trapped in a state of quantum flux. Finally, the ball and your evil twin drop simultaneously to the ground. The game is still tied! Without hesitating, you scoop up the live ball. With three triumphant steps you leap toward the basket and slam the ball into the hoop, swinging arrogantly from the rim in slow-motion.
“Unsatisfactory,” exclaims Clut, “It seems you have won… Zig’phaggithus! As agreed I will now depart Earth and find another planet to pillage. I will also erase any memory of this so you may resume your pathetic life unhindered by the knowledge of advanced civilizations.” With no one around to witness your victory, staring down at the defeated face of your greatest foe, you are enveloped by a blinding pulse. Everything fades into the warmth of that final light…
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