If you’ve been following me on Facebook or Twitter, you’ll know that I’ve been posting a video every week, to help with my recruitment drive. Obviously, before I could do this, I had to learn how this “Youtube” site worked, so I spent a good few days exploring it and learning its intricacies.

To be honest, I was horrified by what I found.

Back on my homeworld, we also had what we called “developmentally challenged” individuals, but we tried our best to help them make the most of their lives via education and treatment; we didn’t plop them in front of a keyboard and say “why don’t you write some comments on these videos? I’m sure everyone will be really interested in what you have to say”.

I can only assume that this is being done for the amusement of the rest of you. Do you scan the comments section as if it’s some kind of idiot zoo, laughing and pointing at the poor fools who think that “Coldplay sux cox rofl” or that “Hermoine souds somewhat manly dont ya think”? Shame on you.

Or have I got the wrong impression? Is this all part of a clever ruse to protect your planet from alien invasion? As I think about it, I’m more and more convinced that this must be the case. You know that all of your electronic media is accessible from afar by any sufficiently advanced race, so you clog up the channels with witless tripe that appears to have been written by a particularly slow amoeba, knowing that any malevolent aliens will read it, conclude that you’re all a bunch of dribbling imbeciles and therefore not worth invading. Yes, that must be the case. Well played, Earth. Well played.

Still, if you’d really thought it through, you’d broadcast the “stupid” version of Youtube out into space and keep a “clever” version for yourselves to use. Imagine it, every comment properly punctuated and actually using entire words; none of the allergy to vowels that seems to be in place at the moment. You could have proper discussions about the videos in question, without every third comment being an entreaty to copy and paste something to make sure that “u will gt kissd on the nearest frieday by the love of ur life”.

It would truly be a paradise.

I got a little side-tracked this week, I’m afraid; all in the name of recruiting more troops for the Morphid army though, I wasn’t lounging around on a beach or watching one of your television comedies, like ‘EastEnders’.

It all started when I was reading through some email applications that I’d had from prospective recruits. I’ve been impressed with the initial responses I’ve had; I’d barely set up an email account before I was being contacted by people who were keen to see that I quickly reached the climax of my task, that I had the stamina to continue through to the end and that I was able to satisfy all involved. Quite why they were so interested in my girth was more of a mystery but I took this to be an ancient Earth custom of goodwill.

Anyway, mixed in with these concerned missives was a mail from a gentleman called George Nwadu in a place known as Nigeria. He explained that his father had recently died and that he needed help in getting a large sum of money out of the country. I have no need for money myself but he also explained that he had a large entourage and that they may well be interested in becoming part of my army, if I would just help him with his task. This was enough for me and I offered to assist him in any way I could.

At Mr. Nwadu’s request, I took the first flight over to Nigeria. It was a long, slow trip; quite how you can stand to get around your planet without sub-orbital transit, I’ll never know. Mr. Nwadu was at the airport to meet me, just as he promised, and I was soon bundled into the back of his truck and heading to his country retreat. It was a shame that I couldn’t see more of the countryside as the windows in the rear of the truck had been blacked out – I can only assume that they were worried about the effects of the hot sun beating down on those from colder climes, which was very considerate.

Once we had arrived, all thought of the money was put to one side as Mr. Nwadu and his associates seemed very keen to demonstrate their prowess in combat, coming at me with a variety of clubs, guns and bladed weapons. They put up a spirited fight, and I was very impressed with their efforts, but they were really no match for my battle skills and Cerebral Hammer, and soon the compound was filled with the happy sight of splintered bones and oozing entrails.

That’s when it all started to go wrong unfortunately; I don’t know if there was a fault with their genetic replicators but they took far longer to resurrect than is usual in the Morphid Army. To be honest, I got a little bored waiting for them, so decided to make my way back to New York. Hopefully they’ll contact me in their own time and I can instruct them on the best way to improve their resurrection times – after all, there’s no point having an army where the soldiers stay dead for days at a time, is there?