How To Save The World: An Alien Comedy (2 page)

“I don’t mean controversial as in a controversial subject,” Eric explained.  “But it sometimes gets really strong opposite opinions … even though it’s clear cut, like, I reckon.”

“Right, well what is it is, then?” Monty inquired.

“Aye right, anyway ... there’s a bath full of Angelina Jolie’s piss,” Eric began, setting the scene.  “And then there’s another bath next to it, full of water ... but then you pour a cup full of a sweaty old tramp’s piss into that bath, right.  And the dilemma is you’ve got to sit in one of the baths for ten seconds … which one would it be?”

“You see, I’m not that bothered about piss,” Garth remarked.  “So, like, if a fit lass wanted to piss in my face I’d let her, so I’d definitely go for the bath full of Angelina’s piss.”

“Yeah, so would I,” Monty agreed.  “In fact I’d probably sit in her bath for longer than the requisite ten seconds,” he added.

“Aye, so would I,” Eric
nodded emphatically, before quickly clarifying, “I mean, just for ten seconds, like ... not for any longer.  Just for ten seconds,” he repeated, perhaps protesting just a little too much.  “It’s mad, though.  When I was in The Cook Islands
[2]
everybody there went for the bath with the sweaty tramp’s piss in it.  I was, like, ‘Eh!  No way, man!  You don’t understand!  You mustn’t have been listening properly.  It’s Angelina’s piss versus a sweaty old tramp’s piss!’ but they were all going on like I was some sort of deviant piss freak.”  Eric looked quite pleased with his friend’s answers.  “Aye, it’s reassuring to know that yous are on the same wavelength as me, like.”

“Have you got your breath back yet, Garth,” Monty inquired, “or are we having another round?”

“Ar, I’ll need longer than this, like,” Garth replied.  “That was only a short round.”

“Right, I’ve got another one, then,” Eric remarked.  “If you could score with any lass you wanted for the rest of your life, or eliminate malaria from the world, which would you choose?”

“I’m not too genned up on my diseases,” Garth admitted.  “What does malaria do again?”

“It kills loads of people, like,” Eric explained.  “It’s canny dodgy, like, but it’s mainly kids that it kills.  It’s something like ninety percent of all malaria deaths are kids.  And then the other ten percent who die are poor Africans.
[3]
  If you’re a rich westerner who can afford the drugs then you’re usually alright.  I mean, it’s still totally dodgy, like … I’m not suggesting you go out and catch it deliberately, like ... but it’s mainly poor African kids that have to worry about dying if they catch malaria.”

“Well you’d have to go for the eliminating malaria option, then,” Garth answered, maturely.

“Yeah, I’d obviously go for the malaria option as well,” Monty agreed.

Eric started chuckling to himself.

“What about you, then, Eric?” Garth inquired.

“Right, well when I was in Haad Rin there were these two absolutely gorgeously fit Swedish lasses...”

Before he could get any further Monty cut in.  “So you wouldn’t!?”

“Well, I’ll just explain,” Eric continued.  “There were these two totally fit Swedish lasses who’d been there for a few weeks, and on the last Full Moon Party
[4]
they were dressed in nurses’ outfits, right.”  Eric paused at this point.  “In fact, actually, we should probably all take a few moments to picture the scene ... purely for the purposes of helping to illustrate my story, like.”

“Ar, yeah, obviously,” Monty agreed.  “What other possible reason could there be for imagining two totally fit Swedish lasses in nurses’ outfits?”  It was a rhetorical question laced with irony.

Eric continued with his story.  “And that time the scenario wasn’t even to score for the rest of your life.  It was just for a one night threesome with those two fit Swedish lasses.”  Eric paused again for one last memory of the two Swedish lasses.  “And
every
dude went for the threesome, like.  Like, and no-one even found it worthy of deliberation.  It was that clear cut.”

“Eh, that’s shocking, that, like,” Garth criticised, shaking his head.  “So you’d let all those kids die of malaria just for one night of pleasure?”

“One night of
extreme
pleasure,” Eric corrected.  “And you see though, we’re all halfway up a mountain all knackered out and not feeling very horny, so it’s easy to be logical and selfless when you’re not feeling horny.  But when the two fit Swedish lasses are actually there in front of you dancing on a bar, shaking about all cool and sexy like, then it’s a bit harder to worry too much about all the people that’ll die.”

“I know but still,
” Garth pressed.  “Eliminating malaria ... it’s a massive world changing event.  It should still be a simple enough decision.”

“Well it
was
a simple enough decision,” Eric pointed out.

“Yeah, but in the wrong direction,” Garth
highlighted.

Eric had set him a trap though, and Garth had walked straight into it.  “Right, well Garth, if you’re so into saving lives and all that, then for two pounds fifty you can pay for an inoculation to protect a kid in Africa from six diseases.  Two pounds fifty …
less than the price of a pint.  So next time we go out boozing I’ll remind you of your priorities.”

“Aye, but, er ... it’s, er ... not as simple as that, though,” Garth stuttered.

“Well, it is, like,” Eric insisted.  “Two pounds fifty could save a kid’s life but you’d rather get boozed up.  Not that I’m knocking you cos I would as well, like.  The only difference is I’m not a hypocrite about it.”

Garth racked his brains to come up with an argument to justify his preference for booze over saving the lives of African kids, and if he had a few hours he could probably have mustered something together, but with only a few seconds it was considerably harder.  And with Eric staring smugly at him it only made things harder still.

“So if you think I’m bad for choosing a Scandinavian medically themed fantasy threesome…” Eric continued, pressing home his advantage, “…over saving lives, then imagine how bad that makes you for choosing booze, which let’s face it, ranks about fifty leagues below the Swedish option, over saving lives.”  Eric stared at Garth and shook his head in an ironic mocking manner.  “If
you
can live with yourself...”  His voice trailed off as he shook his head some more.

“Ar, but
I mean … like, it should be up to governments and stuff,” Garth blustered.  “And rich people.  Not me.”

“Aye, well it’s easy to be generous with other people’s money, like, Garth,” Eric argued, “but it’s a lot harder when it’s your own money.”

“Well you don’t give money to charity either!” Garth pointed out, going on the offensive.

“Aye but you see, I’m not some self-deceiving hypocrite trying to kid myself that I’m this totally class person who totally cares about the plight of poor African kids when really I’d blatantly rather spend all my money on booze and having a good time,” Eric replied.  “
I
openly admit that I’m a selfish snide whereas
you
feel the need to convince yourself that you’re a really charitable person … as long as it’s with the government’s money and rich people’s money.”  Eric paused for effect.  “But not your own money.”

“You’ve ruined the light-hearted atmosphere now, man, Eric,” Monty moaned, “with all this talk of malaria and kids dying and stuff.”

“Aye, soz,” Eric apologised.  “Anyway, are we heading off again now?”

So they headed off once again.  Hill-walking is tiring work though, especially when you haven’t done much training, as was the case with Monty and Garth, so after only another
fifteen minutes they were once again starting to feel the burn. And as they had now reached the pool known as Red Tarn which lies just before you start the final stretch to the peak they decided it was the perfect time to stop once again for another round of ‘Would You Rather?’

Once again it was Eric who came up with the scenario.  “Right, you’re walking home one night, right.  And then a spaceship lands in front of you and this alien steps out, right.  But he looks totally like a human and he’s got a totally smiley friendly face, right.  And he’s, like, ‘Ar, if you want to come into the spaceship and have a bit banter on, like, you can, like.  But no pressure, like.  Either way is fine.  If you just want to go home then no worries either, but if you fancy a bit banter on with me and my alien mates then that’s sound as well, like.”

“So he’s a Geordie then, is he, this alien?” Monty smirked, sarcastically.

“Well obviously I’m paraphrasing the alien’s words into my own words, but that’s the general gist of what he says,” Eric explained.

“Well it’s a bit unrealistic, like,” Garth commented.

“Ar yeah, and of course having to choose between sitting in a bath full of Angelina’s piss or a sweaty tramp’s diluted piss is
totally
realistic,” Eric countered, sarcastically.

“Well no,” Garth admitted, “but I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, but you’re missing the concept behind ‘Would You Rather?’” Eric remarked.  “The point of the game isn’t to see who can come up with the most realistic scenario.  Otherwise I would have asked, ‘You’re walking home one day and you pass a newsagent.  Do you buy a Twix or would you rather go for a Snickers?’”

“I’d go for the Snickers,” Monty replied.

“Well that wasn’t an actual question,” Eric explained.  “I was just demonstrating how boring ‘Would You Rather?’ would be if you made it realistic.”

“I dunno, like,” Monty disagreed.  “I’ve had some pretty interesting chocolate debates in my time.”

“I doubt I’d go in the spaceship,” Garth remarked, getting back to Eric’s original question.  “It’d be too risky.  The alien might just be pretending to be friendly when really he wants to kill you or do experiments on you.”

“What if the alien looked like Angelina Jolie, though?” Eric inquired, tinkering with the scenario.  “Would you be up for a bit banter on in the spaceship then?”

“Ar, yeah,” Garth quickly replied.  “If it looked like Angelina then I’d definitely go in the spaceship ... but it wouldn’t be for a bit banter on.”

“Hey, you’re obsessed with Angelina Jolie, you, like, Eric,” Monty commented.

“I just really admire her talents as an actress,” Eric answered.  “And like, giving a third of her money to charity and stuff … that’s canny impressive, like.  And adopting all them orphans and stuff.  You can’t help but admire someone like that.”  Just in case any naive trustworthy people are reading this I should probably point out that whilst Eric did actually admire Angelina Jolie’s talents as an actress and as a person, if he was being totally honest a big chunk of his admiration was nevertheless based on significantly more shallow motivations than the reasons he quoted.

Monty turned to Garth.  “Anyway Garth, so you’d be scared you might get killed ... but if the alien looked like Angelina you’d think, ‘Well, I might get killed but it looks like Angelina, so that’s alright?’”

“Well, yeah,” Garth shrugged.

“Hormones have never been renowned for their logic,” Eric pointed out.

Eventually Monty finally got around to answering the question himself.  “I think I’d be tempted,” he mused.  “I mean, even if it was just a friendly looking dude alien.  It wouldn’t have to be a fit lass.  I mean, it’d be a once in a lifetime chance, wouldn’t it?”

“Aye, it would, like,” Eric agreed.

“I suppose you’d have to take the opportunity,” Monty concluded.

“I’d definitely want to, like,” Eric replied, “but realistically, I reckon I’d probably bottle it.”

“Realistically?” Monty queried.  “That’s not a word you hear very often when you’re having a discussion about alien dudes that talk with a Geordie accent.”

Then, right at that moment, something very strange happened which distracted the three friends from th
eir game of ‘Would You Rather?’  In fact ‘very strange’ doesn’t really describe the thing that happened with any real degree of accuracy.  If a slight cold was the equivalent of ‘very strange’ then the thing that happened would be the equivalent of a worldwide epidemic of really bad malaria.

A spaceship appeared.

No more than twenty metres in front of them.

And it didn’t appear by coming down from the sky and landing in the traditional manner.

It just appeared.  One second it wasn’t there.  A couple of seconds later it was.

Monty’s mouth dropped.  He turned to the others.  “Fuck!”

“Fuck!” Garth reiterated.

“Flip!” Eric exclaimed, opting for a more family-friendly exclamation, although his sentiments were nonetheless the same.

After all staring at the spaceship for a few moments, frozen in shock, Garth was the first one to respond.  “Quick!  Run!” he exclaimed, before turning around and quickly running, paying heed to his own advice.  The direction he chose, not surprisingly, was away from the spaceship.

“Flip!” Eric repeated.  “Do you reckon that’s a spaceship?”

“That big shiny silver thing?” Monty replied, seeking clarification as to what Eric was referring to.  Or perhaps he was just being sarcastic.