“Oh my god,” I yelled as a shell exploded meters from my bunker scattering bones across the area, “they’re back! The space invaders are back! And this time, they refuse to conform themselves to two dimensions.” My friend and partner in bad-assery, Butch Monroe, merely grunted. He was worried, too, but as a prototype humanoid robot, his gender role setting was pretty high. It would be difficult to get him to be more open and communicative. On the plus side, he drove a great truck and would eagerly take a bullet for anyone. What stereotypical machismo.
The space invaders were coming at us from Puppulon 9, a small planet many, many lightyears away run by a group of fiendish dogs. After eating all the leftovers, scraps, and fallen food on their planet, the dogs got mad and their human minions bore the brunt. Now, upon hearing about Earth’s amazing Bacon Repository and Peanut Butter Vault, they were here and they weren’t going to leave without some treats.
We’d been battling for two weeks and there was no end in sight. Bone shaped bombs rained upon us, and we fought back the only way we knew how: belly rubs and large orange traffic cones. The former briefly appeased the dogs and the latter kept them at bay. Well, at least for now. Lord knows what we’ll do when they realize those cones can’t hurt them.
Outside, I saw people chased by dogs off their leash, pooping with abandon, no one there to scoop. Men and women dressed in “I love my dog” tshirts walked in formation, toting and using stun guns. “AA,” Butch said turning to me, “is there any chance that the massive satellite Dog Whistle 9000 will be finished any time soon? We can’t afford to go on like this much longer. All of my leftovers have been destroyed. I cannot leave the house without stepping in poop. We are getting stunned and bombed left and right!”
“Oh Butch,” I said, “there’s such an easy way to keep your leftovers safe from dogs – load your food up with onions. There is no way a dog in his right mind would eat it then.”
“But what, AA, what can I possibly eat,” he moaned clutching his iron stomach. The programmers really went overboard in trying to get him to seem utterly human and the robot-man can really pack away the food.
I thought while pacing in our bunker. The world was dark outside and soon it will get darker with the night fall. We had limited supplies and who knows when we’ll have a chance to shop again. My eyes locked onto a can of pinto beans. “Butch!” I yelled, “I got it!”
Space Invader Pinto Bean Salad
1 can of pinto beans, rinsed
2 Roma tomatoes
½ bunch of cilantro
3 cloves of garlic, minced
½ white onion
1 teaspoon chili oil
Dash of lime juice
Salt, pepper, paprika, and cumin to taste
Chop up the avocado and cucumber into small, salad-sized pieces. Cut the onion just a hair smaller than that. Get it nice and diced. Cut up the tomatoes. Throw everything into a bowl, but quickly, before the dogs get to it. Eat it on its own, or with chips, or whatever. I am not your boss, or your dog-overlord, as the case may be.