Intern’s Log: In My Defense, We Have an Existential Horror That the Galactic Council Doesn’t Think Exists—So We Should Probably Both Have a Beer
Date: [Too Late for Regrets]
Intern ID: Reynolds, J. (If we’re all going to die, we might as well have a drink first.)
So.
Here’s the problem.
? We have an existential horror creeping toward Earth.
? The Galactic Council refuses to acknowledge it.
? Apparently, the wrong kind of species uplift is a crisis, but reality-breaking nightmare creatures are fine.
? Meanwhile, Bandit is creating an empire, the bears are securing their future, and I am actively helping them.
? And now, I have been abducted by an alien intern who wants me to stop making things worse.
But you know what?
I am tired.
I am so, so tired.
So I looked my alien captor in his giant, judgmental eyes and said:
"In my defense, we have an existential horror that the Galactic Council doesn’t think exists."
Zil-Vatek just stared at me.
"And?" he asked, exasperated.
I crossed my arms.
"And we should probably both have a beer."
Phase One: The Alien’s Expression of Utter Disbelief
There was a very long pause.
Zil-Vatek looked at me like I had just suggested we fight a black hole with a slingshot.
"You want me," he said slowly, "to consume Earth’s primitive ethanol-based intoxicant."
"No, no, no," I corrected, holding up a hand. "I want you to experience the only coping mechanism humanity has consistently relied on throughout history."
He stared harder.
"For survival."
More staring.
"For science."
I watched his eye twitch.
I could tell he was processing, struggling to make sense of the absolute human nonsense that had just been thrown at him.
And then?
Then he exhaled, sat down, and muttered:
"I hate this planet."
Phase Two: The Time I Had to Justify My Beer Logic to an Alien
"Alright, Reynolds," Zil-Vatek said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Explain. Why do I—an advanced observer from a superior civilization—need an Earth beverage for survival?"
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"Because, my dear Zil-Vatek, the things that are coming? They don’t play by your rules."
He narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," I said leaning forward, "that your precious Galactic Council refuses to acknowledge a threat that is already tearing through the edges of known space. They don’t think it exists. And if you try to fight it using your rules, you will lose."
"And you think beer is the answer?"
"I think," I said matter-of-factly, "that if you want to survive on Earth, you need to start thinking like Earth."
"Which means?"
"It means you need a beer."
Phase Three: The Alien Starts Considering It
There was another long pause.
Zil-Vatek stared at the floor.
Then at me.
Then back at the floor.
And I knew—I KNEW—the moment the thought entered his head.
Because he tilted his head slightly.
Like he was actually considering it.
Like some tiny part of his superior, logical brain was whispering:
"You know, maybe numbing the existential horror creeping toward the galaxy isn’t the worst idea."
I grinned.
"See? You’re already thinking like a human."
He sighed heavily.
Phase Four: The Moment I Won
"Fine," he muttered.
"Fine?"
"Fine. If I have to endure this, then I might as well try your beer."
"That’s the spirit!"
"But I am not getting drunk."
"Oh, no, buddy. You have to get drunk. That’s half the fun."
"Reynolds, I swear to the stars—"
"Ooooh, what about whiskey?"
He stood up immediately.
"I am leaving."
"Come on! You know you love it!"
He stormed out.
But I could hear him muttering under his breath.
Victory.
Final Thoughts (The Universe is Not Ready for This Alliance)
? Earth is screwed.
? The existential enemy is coming.
? The Galactic Council is ignoring the problem.
? Zil-Vatek is reluctantly considering human alcohol consumption.
? This is the greatest moment of my life.
I don’t know what happens next.
But I do know this—
When the war comes, I’ll be standing side by side with an alien and his first-ever hangover.
And honestly?
That’s kind of awesome.
End Log.
