The 1980s and early 1990s were

. . . . good years for me. I served several of the Grand Shovels assigned to the California region, faithfully carrying out my duties to observe the native customs. Occasionally this would involve assignments that took me into some mystifying locations, particularly a valley located beyond the city of Los Angeles. I was sent there in order to bring news of the Terran entertainment industry back to my then master, who as you may recall from previous entries had an insatiable desire to understand the concept of "celebrity". He was particularly fixated by Terrans with large jaws such as Jay Leno. I should mention that my people are not particularly gifted in terms of mandibles (indeed, we are occasionally referred to as the "chinless wonders of the Universe" by unkind bloggers on the planet Mosheinia, which has historically produced the meanest bloggers in the galaxy). I spent a lot of time getting photographs of Mr. Leno, Carol Burnett (after her chin-implant surgery), Tori Spelling (or as the Grand Shovel called her, "Jackpot!") and any others of note. I remember that the Grand Shovel has quite a crush on Ted Danson for awhile, but that faded after Becker came on the air.

At any rate, on this particular day I arrived at what I was told was a movie studio in the valley. It was called "Mystery Films", and I have to say that it was truly an enigma. For one thing, the Grand Shovel had told me that it was an actual studio with hundreds of employees. In fact, it turned out to be a mail drop in a strip mall. As far as I could tell, "Mystery Films" had no employees, and indeed no one there had heard of it when I asked about it. The best they could do was direct me to a small building next door. They said that it had always been empty, but within recent weeks there had been mysterious, not to say "enigmatic" sounds coming from it. More than that they would not say.

I hesitated outside the closed door, but when I finally turned the handle it wasn't locked, and opened silently. I stepped inside, temporarily blinded by the gloom after the glare from the sun outside. There was nothing in the front room except for a desk with a pile of magazines on it. I tiptoed across the floor and looked at them, rifling through the top two or three on the stack.

I could not tell what the magazines were about. I was, of course, familiar with the general run of Terran magazines such as Time, Newsweek, Popular Mechanics and Architectural Digest, but this seemed to have no purpose that I could determine. Page after page was filled with images of young Terran females --- very young Terran females --- dressed in revealing plaid jumpers, bending over to undo the clasps on what is called "hosiery", all the while smiling at the camera. I could not figure out the intent of the pictures, and yet after a very short time looking at the magazine I started to feel a tingling in the region of my mulktow. Before I could scratch the itch (so to speak), I suddenly heard voices from the back room.

"No, no, no, dipstick, you're doing it all wrong!" The voice was stridently male.

"How the hell can you do it wrong, you son-of-a-bitch?!" This time the voice was female, with a faint hint of an accent that sounded vaguely familiar to me. "I'm sucking as hard as I can, goddamnit! It's not mah damn fault if you can't get it up!"

"Sexual Intercourse you! I don't have to take shit like that!" Suddenly the door to the back room flew open and a Terran stormed past me. He was so angry that he didn't even notice me, probably because he was distracted by the difficulty of pulling his pants over an engorged mulktow. In a moment he had hitched his zipper up and darted through the front door, slamming it behind him.

Before I could move, a Terran female appeared in the doorway. She glared after the retreating male Terran, and shook her fist at his back. This caused the sheet she was clutching around her to drop to the floor, revealing that she was not a natural blond. Before I could move, she had spotted me.

"What the hell are you staring at, Shorty?"

I couldn't answer. It was obvious that she didn't remember me, but I could never forget that jaw! It was enormous! Leno-esque! Dwarfed only by her mammalian characteristics, which seemed to have mysteriously increased in size since the last time we had seen each other.

"Did Justin send you up here? What the hell was he thinking? This is a straight shoot, just blow and go. I mean, for Chrissake, look at you! It'd be like having it off with one of the friggin' Munchkins!"

"We ain't got time to get nobody else, Ms. H., " said a voice from behind the large-jawed naked woman. She looked speculatively at me, and I felt my mulktow shrivel. Finally she snorted.

"Okay, get your tiny ass in here," she said, and yanked me into the room.