I searched and searched today for one of your kind who was capable of styling my tentacles in some fashionable shape so that people would cease running away while screaming wherever I go. I could not locate a single establishment that advertised such service, and, at every one of such at which I attempted to inquire about securing such service, I was met with the running away while screaming scenario. What is wrong with you people? Have you not now continually dealt with other species of the universe for a period substantially long enough for your kind not to have gained some inkling as to what services you need to offer. Surely you understand, by now, that it is your your universal responsibility to cater to our needs? Your insignificant species seems adequately capable of extensively catering to every mundane need of your own kind. I have noticed that for every item that might possibly be needed or wanted by your kind, you offer at least two choices, and, often, more choices than would be imaginable on any planet where logic had any say in the behavior of its denizens. I do really hate to have to go off world to get a tentacle styling, but I was hankering a bowlful of Terrelian Toad Soup, so maybe a little trip is in order.

Posted by: Zongo the Ruthless at 04:31 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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