There's a Parrot in that UFO

The thing about comparisons is that anyone can make them. They're a dime a dozen. Heck, they don't even have to be thought up ahead of time. Doubt me? Fine. Let me spin the wheel of fate for two subjects... any two.

... Pirates

... and Area 51

Fine. Fine. Just give me a second.

...

I said give me a second, Cindy had a burst of inspiration and managed to think out most of her comparisons while driving home from the Quicky-Lube, I need at least... oh, ok, now I got it.

Pirates and Area 51

First and foremost, there's the whole hidden treasure theme going on. I mean, knowledge or booty, it's out there, buried in the sand. There are mean, ugly looking men, with nasty looking weapons, who talk in cryptic military jargon (or backwater pirate drawl) that want to make sure you never ever get close to that hidden treasure. It's theirs, they got it, by hook or by crook, and you're not going to get it from them.

And what are they making at that Area 51, anyways? They're making U.S. versions of flying saucers... that, or their striking up a deal with those alien bastards so that the secret brain-boys can toodle around the galaxy at their leasure. Either way, it spells privateer to me. Those dastardly Area 51 bureaucrats are launching missions around the world to gather booty -- but unlike days of old, where booty was just plain loot -- we got the booty booty now. Yep, sick privateer eggheads who get rich probing the citizens of the world.

Another link? Look at those damn gray aliens. You think they were originally that scrawny? Nope. They start out huge strapping aliens, with thick cabled necks powerful enough to support their tremendous skulls and their tremendous eyes. Just picture it now -- huge hulking gray aliens, swinging from the riggings, belting out raw savage space chanteys -- packed with piratical vigour and ready for action. So why do they look like little plastic stick puppets by the time we see them? Space sickness? Gravity protein depletion? Nope. Scurvy There's no citrus in space. No oranges, no limes, no grapefruit... nothing. Just sickly wobbly boned aliens.

Sure... sure... Cindy's was more thought out and intuitive. So what. She's paid to write. Me? I'm paid to code. To make electrons do their little dance. Dance electron dance. Heck, at the moment, I'm not even getting paid to do that. Intuitive smooative.

i,jasona

p.s. The answer to last week's puzzle was North.

p.p.s. I gotta caution you, if you do a good search about pirates and area 51, you'll get some Greenpeace articles. Have no fear, it's not that area 51 they're talking about.