Dear Daryll,

Yesterday you emailed me and said (and I quote):

> Tribes 2, no big deal.
> So it didn't get here
> by xmas. Whatever.
> Play some Counter-Strike.
>
> It could be worse --
> An alien could pop
> out of your chest
> or something.

I'm going to suggest that that whole alien-out-of-the-chest thing? That's all good. It is not, in fact, worse than another Tribes 2 delay. Let's take a look at how it would go down.

I'd be sitting at my terminal, sipping my morning coffee, logging onto GameSpyDaily to get my news fix. There, I would discover that Tribes 2 was delayed. I would leap from my chair, shaking my fists at the cruel cruel heavens and the way they mock me so. My brain would become numb under the crushing weight of grief.

Suddenly, I'd feel an abdominal pain, and become aware of something stirring just under my flesh. Frantically I'd grab my stomach and double over, gurgling in pain and coughing on my own bile. To my horror I'd feel something moving, poking, clawing just under my fingertips. Then, FWOOM! Out of my chest would emerge another living creature, one of my body but not of this world. Blood would shoot from my gut as water would burst from a ruptured balloon. The green, scaled alien would fall to the floor with a sickening plop.

Now, granted, the initial moments would be terrible. But soon, the little alien, not aware of its species but seeking the protection of a loving parent, would turn to me and look into my eyes. Like a gosling imprinting itself upon its mother, this little alien, this creature from my flesh, would love me unconditionally.

Soon, I would need to feed it. Since we can safely assume that carbon-based life was not flesh-meltingly poisonous to this creature, he could easily be fed with bits of bread soaked in milk and placed in a dish near my desk. I would stroke and caress his scaly skin as he adorably lapped up the nourishment, then curled up in my widdle lap for nappy-time, snoring peacefully and oozing a green, viscous slime. Would you need to burp an alien? I don't know, but I'd be willing to learn, because I, too, would be hopelessly in love.

Soon my alien would grow big and strong. Then Regis or Nightline would want to talk to him, so I'd have to keep him hidden. Then the Men in Black from the government would attempt to investigate, but I would fool them, because when I saw them pull up in their window-tinted black SUVs I'd put several pounds of sausage in the microwave and turn it on. Then I'd answer the door and say, "How are you boys?" And they'd say, "Where's the Alien?" and I'd say, pretending to lie, "Ain't no Alien here, sir!" Then we'd hear an explosion in the kitchen and we'd all rush in to see the splattered remnants in the microwave and I'd fall to my knees and scream, "NOOOO! NOT BLINKY!" and they'd say, "AH HAH! You had an alien in the microwave!" and they'd take the sausage away to examine it, but my Alien would be safe and sound in my bedroom the whole time and by the time they figured out their mistake, he would be bulletproof and weigh 400 pounds and be able to climb walls and eviscerate a human in under two tenths of a second.

Then I would put my Alien through college. And it would never eviscerate me, even in those troubled teenager years when it would listen to Eminem. Why? Because it would love me as dearly as I loved it! That's right, Daryll, I LOVE MY ALIEN!

So what I'm saying is, an alien busting out of my chest, well, you know, in the long run it would assuage the pain of another Tribes 2 delay. As it is, I've got no Tribes 2, AND no Alien.

It's an empty, empty life.