From the Desk of the Department of Extraterrestrial Relations

The camera flickers to life, showing a bright room with white plaster walls, an obviously faked "window" with splattered blue paint behind it to represent the sky. The camera swings in to center on a cherry wood desk and two gangly silhouettes. One is relaxing in an office chair, with the chair obviously bent too far back for it to be reasonably comfortable. The second is perched on top of the desk like a gargoyle.
"Hold on, hold on. Joe, get that light fixed or you're fired. Threatening is the last thing we're trying to be here," the one in chair barks, his voice high and whiny like a sports broadcaster who just finished sabotaging a balloon store by stealing all of the helium.
Joe evidently does as he's asked, and light floods the other side of the room. Not only does he illuminate the seal of an American eagle clutching arrows in one talon and an olive branch in another, but also, the two alien figures. Bathed in light, their twin-like bodies are revealed to the camera. Both of them have alien physique, yet not strange enough that a human couldn't wrap their head around what does what. They're bipedal, with long, stick-like bodies and limbs that resemble iron pipes in diameter. Their bodies are patterned like suits. The one in the chair wears a pattern of red and blue, splotched on like a painting or the patches of fur in a calico cat, with occasional rifts of white. The perched figure, the one with the posture of a black bird on a ledge or a cat ready to pounce, has a pattern like a pinstriped suit, with alternating black and white stripes running up and down his skin. Peculiarly, a clunky metallic ornament emblazoned with a grey hourglass is fashioned upon his wrist. Atop both of the figures' necks, rests a massive eye-like orb. Both have a grey iris, albeit the chaired one is a lighter, more silver color than the other.
"That goes for you, too, Bentomalus. Stop looking like you're going to kill something," the chaired figure commands his twin. His 'iris' flexes and contorts as he 'speaks'. The pinstriped figure kicks back his legs and relaxes a bit more, looking a bit more goofy than menacing now. "That's a lot better, let me tell you. ANYWAYS," the massive mounted eyeball pauses, pointing a long, claw-like finger at the camera, and presumably, the audience.
"This is Provedonis speaking to you right now, or, as you might want to call me... AMBASSADOR SUPREME!" As he speaks his name, large bold-face letters appear on the bottom of the screen, albeit they say 'EMBASSADOR SURPREME' instead. They remain a few seconds until he resumes his speech. "And, humans, I would like to remind you, that under my guidance, as..."
He looks off to the side of the screen. His pupil furrows like one's eyebrow would, as he clearly reads something off of a teleprompter.
"As the Ambassador of American and Extraterrestrial Relations, under my guidance, you have nothing to fear!" He turns back to face the camera. "Your president has appointed me to this position, and I vest in him as much faith as you all do. But, the dictations of sycophants are not the reason I speak to you today. Today, I speak to you about a more pressing matter... A threat to our national security! Yes, that's right. Your planet of America may be in danger, Earthlings!
"Bentomalus, show them the Omnitrix," he commands, gesturing towards his companion. The alien in the pinstriped suit raises his wrist and gestures towards it as well. "This, my human, savage friends and underlings, is an Omnitrix. One of you, somewhere out there, has one just like this. We regret to tell you that it, unfortunately, not a gift from one of your malevolent Earthly gods. Instead, it is..."
His pupil once again furrows, as he turns his head to read off of the teleprompter once again. He turns back, and his pupil grotesquely 'pops' back to its normal geometric, two-dimensional shape. "An improved explosive device. It is likely a terrorist creation designed to spread fear and even death among your populace. So, that is why, if something similar in appearance should fall under your jurisdiction, whether by happenstance or by state-endorsed vigilantism, you should gleefully surrender all of your private property to the United States government. Better yet, just give it to me," he requests, his voice hissing quite venomously towards the end of his statement. "For safekeepping and inspection purposes. But, still, we would like to remind you, it is not the one you see here. This is simply a look alike.
"Should one of these terrorist devices fall into your possession, you might wonder to yourself, why hand it over to the government? Well, one: You will most likely die trying to operate this alien technology, and while it would certainly be hilarious to witness, we would one hundred percent advise against trying to do so. The other reason is that upon return of such a device, we will grant you humans a series of rewards. Consider it to be one of your lotteries, but instead of buying tickets, you are bargaining with a bomb and harboring illegal extraterrestrial technology."
If their eyes could smile, they most likely would be. Instead, they remain staring as if vigilant guard dogs. They do not blink.
"Some of the rewards you will may be eligible for include the following:"
"Seventy-three of the finest Korinathan slave girls, capable giving you far greater pleasure than you think your human body can even handle, but I assure you, it can."
"A hyper-drive engine manufactured from planet Krieslon, with its own adaptive AI that allows it to be installed into any of your human vehicles. Imagine speeding down the highway in your lawnmower so fast that no one will even think of trying to track you with the intent of car jacking."
"A recreation of the sword Excalibur."
"The ability to see into the future to predict winning PowerBall numbers, ensuring wealth for your offspring for 
generations."
"A seed that, when sprouted, grows into a tree capable of growing its own planets."
With that last line, it sounds like the two aliens are ready to burst out with laughter based on their tone alone.
The red-white-and-blue suited alien raises a hand to his massive iris, as if to wipe away a tear of laughter. "Oh, heavens, Bentomalus - can you think up any other good zingers?"
"No, no, I think that'll do it. We don't want to overdo it."
"Oh, you never let me have any fun. How about..." he pauses, unable to stop chuckling. "How about you get a high-powered vacuum sniper rifle that sucks the will to live out of your corporate rivals?"
Category:Shorts