St. Hemmingson on Buddy-Packing Denial
(or How Could One Forget a Sacred Packing?)
Tsk, tsk, you silly fish -- was it not explained to all of you that the Buddy-Packer
secretes (or comes inside your innards) a nifty Cnidarian chemical that makes you
forget the trauma (and/or delight) of the experience? I mean, we can't
have people running all over WILLY NILLY talking about the terrors and pleasures
of their packing, now can we? No, no, and no -- because we'd have HOMELAND SECURITY
all over our asses (no pun intended here) sending out undercover field agents and what not
(yeah right, but it happens) and taking us down fast to get their dirty little G-man hands
on what they know is superior alien technology: i.e., the Buddy-Packer.
The only way one could possibly regain these memories (without our help) is
hypnotherapy, and even THAT comes with a smokescreen memory: something about
little gray men and their probing devices.
The Thug Pontificates!
Operative M, The Thug of Cnidaria