Today, Miss Crankypants has a little eye twitch. It’s the one that crops up whenever the hairy guys she lives with (and she doesn’t mean the cats!) start spouting one of those dumb conspiracy theories they insist are really really true.
Where oh where do they get this stuff?
First off, cable TV has done more for splinter groups, fringe science and nut jobs than just about anything she can think of. Where else can you find a guy with a Greek name, wild hair and a permanent orange tan describing the ancient aliens that supposedly once visited earth? If that guy says, “Extraterrestrial” one more time Miss CP will scream. Of course the Hairy Guys eat this stuff up! They can’t get enough of this flying saucer baloney. One of Miss CP’s kids is actually thinking of naming his first-born son Puma-poon-koo. With a name like that, you can imagine the cruel teasing this poor boy will endure. And Miss CP refuses to have a grandchild whose name sounds like a bad word.
But the Hairy Guys don’t stop there. They are also concerned with recent aliens. Modern Aliens. Kind of like SNL’s Cone Heads only with hip, 21st century stuff–iPhones equipped with laser guns and snack vending machines. And do these Aliens care that no one believes in them? Of course not.
Miss Cranky has it on good authority that her Criminal Cats have been in contact with someone named Zartranz. Now, the Big Hairy Guy says he’s booked our next vacation: camping outside Area 51 in July. “It’ll be fun, honey,” BHG says. “Where else could we make s’mores and scout for Aliens while being strafed by Black Hawk helicopters?”

But the worst part for Miss Crankypants is that Conspiracy Theorists NEVER take a day off. The Little Hairy Guy has fitted the Criminal Cats with tin-foil antennae and taught them to say, “nanu nanu,” should they encounter an Alien during their nightly caterwauling jaunts. Big Hairy Guy wears a pyramid on his head 24/7 and is miffed because after 35 years of marriage, Miss CP STILL can’t quite do Mr. Spock’s “Live Long and Prosper” sign with her fingers. She does excel at the Spock death grip, but keep that info to yourself. Until the Aliens take over for real, it’s the only weapon she has. And she knows just which Greek-named, orange-tanned TV star she’d love to use it on–if only she could get this blamed eye twitch under control.  See you at Area 51.