HOW I DREAMT CORNED BEEF WOULD SAVE HUMANITY

**A real dream. Not kidding**

In this Guinness-clouded dreamscape, everyone was running amok, seeking shelter from an imminent disaster. No one knew what was about to happen, but everyone knew it was going to be bad. Many headed for underground shelters, fearing a huge meteor was headed toward us. Others believed an alien race was about to obliterate our planet. A final minority feared another Pirates of the Caribbean sequel.

Turns out, the alien race theorists had it right, sort of.

An armada of UFO’s soon appeared in our skies and quickly overcame our valiant defense forces. The extra-terrestrials used an advanced system that destroyed our weapons while thankfully leaving our brave soldiers unharmed.

Once victorious, the aliens rounded up all the earthlings in outdoor detention camps and began harsh interrogations. The space invaders stood guard over us in smaller versions of the Star Wars AT ST two-legged scout and patrol vehicle.

From our vantage in the holding pen, we could see those ahead being questioned. The little green, translucent aliens would wave a small device in front of my fellow earthlings as they interrogated. The device caused great discomfort. Those being questioned always yielded to the aliens’ demands. I was wondering what the creatures were seeking because I was up soon.

My turn came, and I was manhandled to the interrogation chair by two alien henchmen. They waved the device in front of me, and it certainly did sting. They obviously started out at partial power and would amp it up if you didn’t cooperate.

After showing their superior power and ruthless desire to use it, they made their demands. They wanted the PIN for my USAA checking account. One of the aliens had grabbed my checkbook from my kitchen counter apple basket and threw it in my face.

Really? You guys traveled millions of light years just to raid my checking account?  You’d think a race that mastered interstellar travel and how to conquer foreign planets would have had that down by now.

Not wanting to feel the next level of pain, I spilled my guts. Now I knew why they didn’t kill our soldiers; they needed their PINS.

“Okay, you win. I’ll give you my PIN.” They smugly grinned and entered the information into their alien laptops. Luckily, they didn’t ask about my retirement savings. I think they were still researching the penalties of early withdrawals.

They led me to another detention area where I was soon the one wearing the smug grin. The alien race obviously was not familiar with the excellent fraud protection features of my USAA account. The highly automated system was probably denying their transaction because it sensed an unauthorized user.

I wasn’t in the second detention area long when I noticed a few aliens stumbling by and acting erratically. They were obviously drunk. Talking with my fellow detainees, I learned the aliens had discovered some good old earthling corned beef and were in love with the stuff. It got them horribly stoned and addicted. Luckily, it wasn’t a violent stoned. They were more like the friendly, absent-minded potheads I remember from my youth.

This processed meat addiction turned out to be the extraterrestrials’ undoing. The small green men couldn’t find their keys, would drift off subject in mid conversations and were always going on munchie raids to 7-Elevens. Discipline broke down in their ranks and mankind broke free from the oppressive detention camps. It wasn’t that tough to get out. All you had to do was offer your stoned guard a beef jerky stick or Skittles and they’d let you go.

Some enterprising LA gangs learned of the alien addiction and quickly cornered the corned beef market. The gangs amped up the production and promptly got the entire alien armada hooked. Soon, the aliens had no desire to subjugate us and were playing video games in our parents’ basements. Humanity revolted and brought the invaders under our control.

Fearing my dream may be an omen, I contacted the Pentagon about developing a processed meat defense system. I can only imagine how much alien butt we could kick should we employ the full powers of a genuine New York Reuben sandwich.

Unfortunately, my pleas have gone unanswered, but I have noticed a surge in black helicopters flying over my house and there has been some unexplained interference on my cell phone and internet feed. I’ll continue pushing for a Brisket Alien Defense And Savory System (BADASS). I see it my duty to humanity. In the meantime, I’m stocking up on my corned beef reserves.