Invasion of The Booby Snatchers

As I stared at the moon last night, I prayed that the mothership would land and bring J-Fed back to whatever planet he came from. Instead of accepting the fact that he’s clueless and insensitive, I’ve decided it’s easier to believe that he’s not inhumane but inhuman. That’s right, he’s otherworldly. I had read that men were from mars so my new philosophy wasn’t that far-fetched. 

So instead of getting angry with the things that J-Fed says, I’ve brainwashed myself into believing that he is alien that needs to be reprogrammed.

“Kiki, the bookkeeper called me. She wants me to call the credit card and have them put the transactions into Quickbooks. What do I do?” he asks. The old Kiki would have asked J-Fed if that was a statement or a question. The new and improved Kiki already knew the answer to that and responded accordingly.

“J-Fed, call the credit card company and ask them to put the transactions into Quickbooks,” I tell him.

You see, the shortest distance from point A to point B is a straight line. It was elementary. By simply repeating back to J-Fed what he’d already repeated to me, he would be able to quickly get to his destination. Apparently, he didn’t like the directions.

“Ok, gotta go,” he said before hanging up. The old Kiki would have realized that J-Fed wanted me to expedite the process for him so that he didn’t have to be bothered with communicating with other beings. The new Kiki didn’t care what J-Fed wanted.

I’m still investigating my theory about J-Fed the alien. I’ve looked for evidence of a probe. I’ve searched his apartment for a pod. At some point, I have to find the proof. You see, I just can’t accept that the man I married has become so foreign to me. The man I married would ask me to help him and in return would offer to help me with something. This J-Fed prototype did nothing of the sorts.