Look – Up in the Air – It’s a…

Drone. The word makes me laugh.

I don’t know why I laugh – drones are killing people around the world, but we’re assured they won’t be killing us Americans (unless we really bug the politician in power at the time.) Drones are also spying on us – not only the NSA, but Google, which is fast becoming the corporate version of Big Brother.

The internet porn industry loves drones. There’s no such thing as discrete sun-bathing anymore – Just ask Kate.

But still, I laugh when I think of drones – little flying mopeds giving off an occasional beep for no apparent reason, carrying cameras, packages from Amazon, Italian food.

If I had a drone, it would look like Marvin the Martian. It would threaten random people with its space modulator. It probably wouldn't last long - shot down by one of those Duck Dynasty guys. People just can’t take a joke any more.

I had breakfast with some fellow starving artists this week, and we discussed drones.

“I heard one crashed into this gorgeous lake in Yellowstone,” said the nature photographer.

“Maybe it’ll start a coral reef,” I offered helpfully.

“I don’t believe Amazon’s using them to deliver packages – just a publicity stunt,” said the only one among us with any promotional savvy.

The playwright and the poet were strangely quiet, but I think both were taking notes, as was I – the humble blogger, easily identified as a blogger because I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu.

“I envision a world full of flying shrapnel,” I told them, “gleefully careening just above our heads. A book from Amazon and a pizza from Luigi’s crash in mid-flight showering pepperoni and poetry on a geriatric hippie. The hippie sifts through the carnage for food, thought, and spare parts for his Vespa.”

That’s when they moved to another table marked, “blogger-free zone.” It’s pretty bad when even starving artists won’t associate with you. It was almost as bad as the time I was sniffed and snubbed by a yellow Labrador retriever, who then proceeded to roll around in deer poop.

“I’m also a novelist!” I cried to my ex-table mates. Sound, apparently didn't carry the seven feet to their table. The novelist bit didn't impress the Labrador either.

If only I could grow little mechanical wings, maybe I could hang out with Marvin and the other drones.

No, they probably shun bloggers too.

So here's the star of today's blog - my favorite hostile ET.