Essay #110 for Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar

As many of you are likely aware, the national news machines were in a tizzy earlier this week about a recently issued governmental document entitled "quot;The Roswell Report: Case Closed."quot; In it, the US Air Force maintained that debris recovered in the New Mexico desert in July 1947 was from spying devices borne aloft and then jettisoned by balloons as part of a top secret research project code-named Mogul, and not from spacecraft remains of little green extraterrestrial explorers who were en route to a cook-out in a parallel universe. But consider the facts. Seven years earlier -- in fact, 57 years ago this very day -- Congress enacted the Alien Registration Act, which required the fingerprinting (or inking of whatever digital extremity was appropriate) of all aliens residing in the US. The big draw in 1947 for Ripley's Believe It Or Not show was a freakish chap named Ollie O'Glum Smith. Ollie had two heads, a scaly green skin that drifted in and out of focus, could instantly teleport himself up to six meters, and spoke what television aficionados 40 odd years later would recognize as a lyrical form of Klingon. Ollie claimed there were many others just like him back in his western Pennsylvania hometown of Mars. It is interesting to note that his middle name, O'Glum, is an anagram for "quot;Mogul,"quot; and that the Alien Registration Act was originally called the Smith Act. The Air Force further rewrote history by claiming that the chitinous bodies it had recovered near the impact site were actually crash test dummies from seven years in the future, a time travel problem glibly explained away as "quot;time compression."quot; The only possible explanation, given the facts plus a couple of tokes from a consciousness-expanding organic product, is that an Algonquin Hole had materialized over Roswell in 1947 and again in 1954, temporarily corrupting the normal space-time continuum and allowing the two time periods to swap particulate matter. This would also finally explain why so many cherry condition 1947 Plymouths suddenly appeared on used car lots during the summer of 1954.

There's more. When asked about the mysterious Area 51, a secret air base in Nevada that allegedly houses numerous unidentified flying objects and their barbecue gear, the Air Force official pleaded nolo contendere. "quot;I have no knowledge or expertise in the matter,"quot; he muttered. Balderdash! Reputable American subcultures know well that Area 51 is the hub for what used to be called the Alien Integration into Society Program, and which has evolved into the FBI's witness protection program, code-named Le Flambeau Oriange.

If all of this seems a bit incredulous, you need not take my word for it. Ask anyone affiliated with this 110th episode of Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar and you'll find agreement that many humans in positions of authority are conspiring against us in our search for the truth, this portion of which is still free to broadcast its rightful opinions and interpretations of fact without fear of reprisal. (dead air except for X-Files theme)

The proprietors of Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar wish to distance themselves from the previous commentary, even though the bit about today being the anniversary of the Alien Registration Act is indubitable, and hope that the powers that be will look more kindly upon the remaining hour fifty, the age, by the way, to which Ollie Smith reportedly lived before finally drifting into a permanent substasis of 45 rpm, a turntable speed often approximated on back roads by today's modern CD players, such as Kalvos.