At Orlando, I got off the plane and was walking along the concourse to the luggage area and then to a bus to take me to my car. Everything seemed norm...l until I suddenly fell on the ground, which wasn't concrete or institutional carpet but old leaves and dirt. I didn't know why I fell or when the transition occurred other than, in that instant. There was nothing to help explain my situation. I didn't think it was a memory failure.Though I now thought it a waste of time, I turned on my laptop. On top of all of that, I was sure that none of us wanted to cut back on the amount of effort we put in to annoying the aliens. We had come to the conclusion that the destruction of enough distilleries and our ability to keep destroying them would drive the aliens to a more lucrative play ground. Dammit, I wished that there were some galactic cops that we could appeal to for help. Ha! Even if there were such an organization, how the hell would we contact them soon enough to do us any good?As far. More

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