I Am E.T. I Am Home. I Am Suing My Employer for Gross Negligence.

I am E.T. I am home, and I am suing my employer for gross negligence. The basis of my lawsuit is that my employer left me to die. Then I did die. But worse, I died in America. Do you know how expensive NASA doctors are? I now owe millions, and that’s after insurance. You would think that my employer would pay for these medical bills, but I apparently signed a waiver? I do not want to be saddled with that debt. And yes, I was later resurrected, like Jesus. But stop focusing on my resurrection; it will just distract you, the jury.

Like so many Americans, I have heart problems. That, coupled with extreme stress, is what led to my parting from this world. To clarify, when I use the phrase “parting from this world”, I mean my death, not me leaving Earth on an actual spaceship. My stress was due to being on the run from the United States government. They were after me because I was an alien. Which was shocking news. I had no idea that my employer illegally immigrated us into the country. 

My employer, of course, is already trying to discredit me so I drop the lawsuit. They claim that, while “representing the company,” I got a child drunk. Which is preposterous. Elliot was not drunk. He was just telepathically mimicking how I was drunk. Big difference. You can’t blame me for drinking either. I had a bad day at work, and when I have a bad day, I like to go home, kick back some Coors Banquets, and watch TV. Also, I had no idea Elliot was a child. After all, he was the one trying to lure me with candy. 

So I still have an air-tight case. Oh sorry, the air is what makes up the Earth's atmosphere, and a case is what Earthly lawyers store legal documents in. What I’m trying to say is that we are going to win this lawsuit. 

I woke up on a cold bathroom floor in San Fernando Valley. I did not look or feel good, and my skin was super ashy. Astronauts in hazmat suits then swarmed me. They were not required to wear those hazmat suits, by the way. They just did so because they were superficial Californians, repulsed by my dry skin. “No wonder your Halloween costume was a bedsheet ghost. Your skin is gross!” the astronauts said. Have you ever suffered this kind of emotional trauma? I must be compensated.

My brain struggles to comprehend how the spaceship departed without me. We recently watched that corny “before we flew, we counted the crew” safety video. So how did my boss mess up the counting? I get that it is confusing to count ten people on eight fingers. But my boss is paid the big bucks because he can count. Hear me out: could this have actually been employer retaliation? For when I tried to organize the union? 

As I flew Elliot’s bike into the night, worry consumed me. I thought about how I was breaking so many safety rules. I was not wearing a helmet. I was not cleared to fly a bike by the Federal Aviation Administration. And If a child fell off one of my flying bicycles, I would be responsible for manslaughter. But what was the alternative? The police were aiming guns at me, and the children. My employer, however, claims that I could have “done things differently.” So they ruined my reputation and tarnished my safety record, which has prevented me from obtaining a new job. May I please get justice for these wrongs?  

That is up to you, the jury. Anyways, I must get going. I have a follow-up appointment with my cardiologist. He is going to poke me with his glowing finger for a few hours until I feel better. 

Be good,

E.T.