Not of this World.

 

(Special thanks to Matt Privratsky for the original idea on Twitter.)

So I went on vacation for a week in August. 

No big deal, right?

When I got back 

someone had weeded my front lawn

and trimmed the edges along the sidewalk.

And planted mushrooms --

because I never had mushrooms before

on my front lawn.

Dandelions and creeping charlie,

sure,

but never mushrooms.

But there they were --

big as life.

I asked around the neighborhood,

to see if anyone knew anything about 

it.

Everyone was silent as the tomb --

but they all looked pretty worried

at the same time.

One of my neighbors,

old Mrs. Henderson,

actually began to sob

when I asked her if she knew

who had been monkeying with my lawn.

"I dasn't tell you" she moaned.

"They'll kill me."

Double-yew, Tee, Eff --

something screwy was going on.

Of that I was sure.

But I had to wait six weeks

to find out what it was.

A shake-down is what it was.

The mushrooms in my front lawn,

which I had sprayed with poison

and lashed with weed whackers,

and which would not go away,

suddenly got up on their hind legs

one fall morning and marched into 

my living room.

"We demand surrender or you will suffer"

said the lead mushroom, in a mushy kind of voice.

"Give us gold and silver if you want to survive" 

the damn thing continued.

"Get outta here!" I yelled at them. 

"We are mushrooms from far away in the galaxy"

intoned the head mushroom. "We will destroy you."

I snatched 'em all up, put 'em in a pot, and made

cream of space alien mushroom soup. 

I gave a bowl of it to Mrs. Henderson.

She said it was real good, but needed more

cream.

Huh. More cream. Does she think I'm made 

out of money?

That's the last time I save the Earth for some

picky old lady.