You don the heavy UFO handling gloves, so
thick that you can barely close your fingers tight enough
to hold a UFO handling knife, as long as your forearm, in
each hand. You stomp down the road like this, breathing
heavily. Breathing like
"HFFFFFF...FFFFFSSSSSSHHHHH...HFFFFFFFFFFFFFF...FFFFFFFFFSSSSSHHHHHHHH."
Finally, you arrive at the UFO. With your UFO handling
gloves, you easily detach the door from its hinges, and
your UFO handling knives slice the twitching, faceless
alien mass inside into bite-sized cubes. You sit your self
down in the shade of an ash tree and chew each cube with a
cherubic grin. The locals, so endeared by the sight,
design new coats of arms for their families that
incorporate your face and the phrase "ALIEN MEAT."
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