Three nuns are walking home late one night when suddenly they are attacked by three men.
The men pull them into the bushes and begin to assault them.
The first nun, clutching her rosary beads says, "Forgive him Lord, he knows not what he does."
The second one closes her eyes and says, "Forgive him Lord, he knows not what he does."
The third nun says, "This one does."
———
The Supreme Man blasted a planetary group‑chat notification: "Yo, Racis just deleted another Alien!" Then, because subtlety is for vegans, he added, "BTW he's also gonna… uh… consensually inconvenience your Alien King's purity."
'Why, in the name of half‑priced sushi, would you say that, supreme man?'
[ Because I don't want peace. I want these extra‑terrestrial TikTokers off my lawn. Plus, my reputation's on the line now. ]
The Supreme Man's voice slid into my skull like a shady pop‑up ad.
"How did this become an ego match? And why me for this inter‑species sexual assault?"
[ Just like this planet has me—their God. The Aliens also have their God and he gave some special Aliens some superpowers too. Now we are competing to see whose powers are the best. Will the Aliens win or will my Heroes kill them first? Who will win between me and their God? That's all. ]
Old fart's turned Armageddon into a Fortnite tournament.
"What's the prize if your side wins? Eternal glory?"
[ One litre of milk. ]
"One litre of milk?" My disbelief was visible from space. "You'd sabotage world peace for the calcium content of a toddler's breakfast?"
[ Racis, I need my planet's slice‑of‑life vibes back. Stop complaining and keep farming Aliens. ]
'And the… sexually assaulting part?'
[ You can decide that after meeting their King. Who knows, you might get down to do it in desperation. ]
I want to retort here saying I will never do the Alien King but seeing how I haven't met any girls here yet, I might really become like my grandpa of this world.
"Hold on. If Alien‑God's cooking up powers, does that mean he's brewing an overpowered final boss like you brewed me?"
[ Work‑in‑progress. Alien King will get new DLC skills soon, but nobody's beating you— best they can do is match you. ]
"Whatever. Go bother someone else. I've got an Alien mid‑rant here."
[ Aight, I'm out. ]
Supreme Man rage‑quit my headspace and I focused on the scythe‑armed ET hovering in front of me.
"You never answered," it hissed. "Do you find Aliens… hot?"
"Nope."
"Then why threaten to defile our King?"
"Fake news. Supreme Man talks more trash than a raccoon at a buffet."
The Alien narrowed his eyes. "So… you haven't massacred dozens of us?"
Deep sigh. Honesty speed‑run time.
"I've only iced two Awakened Aliens—one by shoving, one by accidental sneeze crit. The Supreme Man invented the King‑assault headline."
"You murdered two of our own?!" The Alien's rage meter hit red. He lunged, scythes flailing like helicopter moms at a Black Friday sale.
Metal shrieked against my skin. I felt nada.
"Name?" I asked, bored.
"Bob."
"Bob? That's… shockingly normal."
"It's my nickname." Scythes still swinging, but hey, multitasking king.
"So what's the full name?" I poked and surprisingly, Bob paused, inhaled like a vacuum cleaner on steroids, and unleashed:
"Zzzxxxjjjjgayjjjxxxzzz."
Silence. Awkward, crunchy silence.
We stared. The universe cringed.
"You, uh… gonna tell me your name or just beatbox at me?" I asked.
"I did tell you!" he screeched.
"Oh. I thought you were hocking up a hairball."
"That is my name!"
"Who named you—an epileptic typewriter?"
"INSULT MY NAME AGAIN AND DIE!"
"And how does that glitch‑code turn into 'Bob'? Shouldn't your nickname be the word which is in the middle of your name."
Bob's patience evaporated. Scythes whipped again.
Use. Your. Skills. Dude. Skin contact is so last season.
"Let me guess—you're a gangbang kid, right?" I asked mid‑parry.
"Proudly. I'm stronger because Awakened parents performed a 47‑player co‑op to conceive me."
Their culture is messed up. I have to see them doing th-Er, I mean, I have to prevent them from doing that. And the first step towards the prevention is to know what is being prevented and to know what is being prevented, I have to see that..
"Can you show me the por-"
"I AM ANOTHER NEW ALIEN!"
THAAM!
A second scythe‑punk landed, interrupting my definitely academic request.
It's like some cosmic censor keeps blue‑balling me whenever I try to say por— See? Still blocked. Por—p—por—! Ugh. But apparently fuck is fine. Explain that, censorship gods.
"I SAID I'M A NEW ALIEN!" the newcomer repeated.
"I heard, buddy. And Bob, stop surface‑scratching me and pop your abilities already."
"Oh, right. My bad." Bob re‑read the tutorial, scythes glowing red. New Alien mirrored him.
"I'm cranky. Might delete both of you before dinner," I warned.
"Heh, keep dreaming, Human," Newbie smirked.
Both of their scythes glowed red and I yawned.
I spread my arms and used one of my skills. Time to remind the galaxy why my KD ratio is cosmic.
"Almighty…"
I lifted myself off. Energy siphoned from Mother Nature's minibar. Every Alien in K Cup country pinged on my spiritual radar.
"…Pussy."
BOOM!
BAAM!
POOF!
Instant confetti. Every Alien in K Cup detonated like a terrorist with esteemed work ethics. One second of work matched one year of the planet's worth of pest control.
But then—plot twist harder than my love life.
I mean, I faced a problem.
A huge one.
Not "I forgot to zip my pants before a TED Talk" huge,
But "the entire nation's eyes on me like I said the N word while doing R with a girl" huge.
The common people—those magnificent bystanders, those young-master praising extras in the anime of my life—They were glaring at me.
Not just regular glaring.
Bullet eyes. Judgmental eyes. Your‑mom‑when‑you‑fail‑math eyes.
I floated down like a majestic war god descending upon his worshippers, expecting applause, fan art, maybe a free milkshake.
But what did I get?
They opened their mouths.
And what did they say?
Well, my friend…
Keep.
Scrolling.
(Or don't. I'm not your dad. But if you stop now, you'll never know why the entire K Cup almost rioted.)