Quigley and his UFOs
I once knew a man named Quigley who collected DNA samples from the aliens he had captured in UFO crashes. He lived in a trailer in the Mojave desert and had recently completed a science course under the tutelage of Dr Samuel Ehertweiler in an underground laboratory in Kuala Lumpur.
Quigley had a souped up ham radio he built in the basement of his parent's house. He was able to receive and transmit signals from other galaxies light years away. Quigs as his Dad would call him would put tin foil on his teeth and bite on nails while holding a fork inside a plugged in toaster. He was able to absorb the electrical shocks and would duct tape the ham radio to his chest. Perfection would happen and all sorts of alien signals were intercepted by young Quigley.
He became a master at speaking the seven dialects of Tentra-Lopsis which is the main language the planetary panel had agreed upon after the war of the universe was settled years ago, 100 trillion miles away. He knew where to wait when other beings were conducting tests on planet Earth. Every once in awhile he would be able to shoot a laser at a wayward flying saucer and it would spiral out of control to the ground and Quigley would tie up the crew of 4 (they always traveled in fours) and shuttle them to his trailer where he had an escape hatch leading down a tunnel to an underground Cajun restaurant that doubled as a DNA testing and holding facility.
Talk about dossiers and files and test results. Quigley had acquired so much information and had over 16 alien prisoners working in a kitchen making po boys and gumbo and crawfish étouffée.
Beaf ah la ente ops treach klept. Which in Tentra-Lopsis means "keep working and one day I'll send you back to your various families but that can't happen yet dudes". Note* this is a rough translation. Please don't accept it as the gospel truth. You may insult someone who uses a different dialect. For instance: Beaf ah la ente ops treach klept could be pronounced "biff ah la eeny" which means: your feet stink and I hate your mother.
It's important to remember that these aliens became great chefs and had recently received a Michelin 3 star rating for their help in the underground restaurant in The Mojave. Please don't tell anyone about this establishment because they haven't had their kitchen inspected and the help haven't had their TB shots.
But Mr Quigley isn't a bad man. He's trying to help us. The government doesn't want you to know about the UFOs nor do they want you to participate in the data and what it all means to us and our futures. I'm only telling you about this so you fully understand what this work means and why this bodes well for your children.
The reason I am writing this is to inform you that Quigley has decided to send the aliens back to space. Yes! They get to go home. I helped to negotiate this deal and what I need from you are your PIN numbers and credit cards. Please include your zip codes and the 3 digit code on the back. We will only take what we need to build a better ship. Think of it as Kickstarter for a UFO. Shipstarter if you will. It's very important that you act now. You will receive a shrimp Po Boy and 2 beignets AND a bowl of mock turtleneck soup.
As they say in a galaxy far away: Plat enj trat gallee fansk. In Tentra-Lopsis this means: I always enjoyed your company especially when you scratched my itchy back on Sundays after watching reruns of Monk.