BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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The United States Space Surveillance Network tracked this ship for weeks. The leaders decide, for some odd and strange reason, to share this information with the people, including the ship's coordinates. They estimate their arrival in two weeks. They express their uncertainty regarding this matter. But it's indeed a spaceship — a large motherfucker. The leaders get their know-it-alls to recreate the ship using computer graphics from the intel they have and share that with the people. A few networks dedicate their cable stations to that spacecraft 24 hours a day, showing the viewers the incoming wessel on their wittle space map. It's a dot. Or maybe they get creative and miniaturize the actual ship into a tiny ship and place that on the space map.
This historic event brings together video-sharing networks and content creators from across the world. Astronomers also get involved. Telescope company stocks go sky-high. Invest now, right?
As we get near their arrival, people on Earth make all sorts of wittle revelations and share ideas about who they are. Of course, the religious folks will claim and insist, "These are messengers of the Almighty!" Some will claim angels. Ah, yes, spiritual entities that need a spaceship to travel the universe at a slow speed. Ugh, awkward.
However, there's a larger group of people prepared to worship whatever comes from that ship. Ouchie mouchie. What if they're hostile? What if they had just destroyed their planet and were now trying to find a new one? World destroyers, indeed. Wealthy aliens! Who else destroys civilizations if not the rich, right? Rich Jewish aliens are just what we need. More snobby, conceited beings. Brutal.
The Earth's wealthy society feels threatened. They believe that ship is coming "To take me gold." They begin the paranoiac conspiracies through mainstream media. Ah, yes, it was them the entire time who created conspiracies and then attacked the little people who repeated them. They insist to the leaders and military, "That ship must be destroyed! Blow that motherfucker out of the sky!"
The military corrects them, "Um, they're not in the sky yet. They're still in space. At least twelve days from us, unless they slow down. And we're expecting them to slow down, if not, they'll run right into our planet like a comet. Not good! So let's hope they slow down, right?"
"Exactly! Blow them out of space. We have no extra room on this planet for them anyway," the wacky wealthy dimwits swear, insisting they know everything and that ship has one thing on its mind: they come to take me gold.
Our Googlement creates a special team that makes the Space Force resentful. "We have appointed members to our newly created branch, which we're calling The Arrival." Hollywood's producers and writers immediately filed a lawsuit against the Googlement for copyright infringement.
The Arrival appoints a spokesperson to speak with the rich people's rimjob journalists. The journalists claim they are the voice of the people. Noooooo, you ONCE were that, but everyone knows today that you people are full of shit and should be in Gaza right now, specifically a hospital Israel's about to bomb. Ugh.
A rimjob asks The Arrival, "Who do you believe these aliens—we assume that's what's inside that ship—will support, the Democrats or Republicans?"
"At this time, we only know what you all know," says the Arrival. "But in our foremost supposition, we believe they will support the Trump administration."
Another rimjob asks, "Do you believe the aliens on that ship are carrying diseases we're not immune to that could possibly wipe out mankind?"
"That's a very good question. So we're trying to communicate with them through the DSN. As of now, they haven't responded. We haven't picked up any transmissions from them on the Deep Space Network. It's as if, they don't communicate like we do."
"Telepathies?" a roastie rimjob injects.
"Ugh, that would suck, Megyn Kelly. But if so, they probably communicate telepathically among themselves. We're also expecting them to look different from us. But enough speculation, we don't know anything yet!"
A week until their arrival. The Arrival is convinced the ship must now slow down as it passes Mars. If they don't, they'll either miss us or slam into us like a fucking comet. The military asks the Googlement if they should be worried.
"We're sending Space Force to rendezvous with The Ship," the shady feller says.
"Space Force? What about The Arrival? Shouldn't it be them?"
"The Arrival's job is preparing for their arrival. Space Force is used to protect America's interests from foreign nations as well as aliens. Obviously, that ship is alien."
"Then why the fuck did you all create The Arrival and need 300 billion dollars?" the military asks.
"As we said before, The Arrival's responsibility is to address their arrival," the Googlement concludes.
Six days before their arrival, The Arrival is convinced the ship will run into us like a comet. It's too late to slow down. They contact Space Force and say, "They're not stopping, we need to discuss — the unthinkable."
"If you think of it, it's not unthinkable. Do you mean the unforgiven?"
"Perhaps the unimaginable?" The Arrival suggests.
"That correlates to the unthinkable."
"Fine! We need to consider the impossible."
The Space Force spots another omission in The Arrival's terminology and responds, "If you're suggesting we should bomb them, that's possible. Impossible would be Hitler killing six million Jews."
"Do it."
"That's not your call, asshole. Fuck off!"
And so Space Force tells The Arrival to fuck off and relays the concerns to the Googlement. They inform the people that we might have a massive pickle evolving. However, Russia and China launched their resources into space to meet the ship before we did. Oh, boy. The Ship Race begins.
Who will get to the ship first? Motherfucker. SMH. This world is fucked. I'll end this story now. I'm disappointed by what I was shown in a dream. But one thing that was odd in the vision ... the males didn't eat with the females. I don't know what that means.
