Greetings from Planet Errrrth oh Great One! I know it has been around three hundred Aldeberanian years since last I sent you a report from this benighted Planet, for which I apologise. But as you know, my plan is to conquer the whole place so you don’t have to, thus saving Skillions of Rubixs, and ensuring that there will still be a few humans left on Errth for us to eat.

To be honest (I know how horrible that concept is to you but Errrthers use it frequently, especially when they’re lying) I was almost there from TY (Their Year) 2016 until 2020, when, long before I was ready, they slinkily brought their Secret Weapon, which they call ‘Demuckrasie’ to bear and threw me out on my Ear. (More of that anon) (Anon: a bit of stage blood – my real blood is purple as you know – and that was another million votes in the bag) (My ear is, as you know, made of cloth) Naturally I fought back, using the entire Aldeberanian arsenal – Lies, Bigly promises of impossibilities, Cheating, Threatening, Demeaning, Cajoling, Whining Mining and Complining, the lot.

I WON!

With the aid of Puttitin, the Tsar of Rusland and a variety of Chinkese and other of my dear Dick Tator friends, as well as a very FAT MARTIAN and the stupidity of millions of Maggots, (humans are SO naive! Gullible! Greedy! This is why they’re delicious, lightly grilled or fried) (and boy, are they going to be grilled and fried!!!) I won the very MOST of their ‘votes’! bigly! Bigger than bigly! Hugely! Monstrously! and all it took was Lies, Bigly Promises of Impossibilities, Cheating, Threatening, Demeaning, Cajoling, Whining Mining and Complining.

Oh the sheer deliciousness of my adorable brain.

And here’s the biggest joke: They think I’m only their leader for four of their years! Little do they know we Aldeberanians are immortal, and I am their LEADER FOR LIFE. My Life.

AND HERE’S EVEN GOODER NEWS

You remember I told you about the FAT MARTIAN? Well, name of Alien Muck (or something very similar), this absurdly mouthy Muckraker (that’s one of his professions, he cleverly bought a Bluebird, which he killed with a strategically placed X and used it to spread muckmuckmuck, all in praise of me! I had to offer him funds for his Rocket to Home. All he wants is to go home! Damn fool, little does he realise that all his Martian family were destroyed three billions of Earth years ago by climate change brought about by mining fuel for the rockets to take them to Earth. He has warehouses full of ‘money’, (which is why I call him ‘fat’. His actual body fat is not NEARLY as much as mine! I outfat the fattest fats in this fattest of fat countries. Even in the matter of fat I am the bigliest.) but in typical Martian style he’d rather the government pays, which is ME. For LIFE! What a nutwit! NFW!

You wait. As soon as he realises that unless he stops pretending to be bilgier, betterer, fatter, smarter than me, I AM GOING TO TAKE HIM OUT.

So THERE WE ARE

IN CHARGE! Official kickoff day is January. And believe me I will doing the kicking. Well, I will start with kicking anyone with any sense out of government.

I wrote a poem, just to show those British dead guys how to write proper poetry. This is by me! Honestly! Not a ghostwriter like that liar who says he wrote my best book ever, Art of the Steal, still available on Amazon and all remaining bookshops. Here it is:

THE UBU POEWEM by DONALD J. DUCK SKUNK TRUNK? (Big Brain Too Full to Remember Name)

Civil Servants will be civil from now on, to Meeee!

Any who complain, or show signs of a brain

Become HISTOREE

Immigrints cower! I will use the power

Of the MILITAREE

And if you believe there’s anything lovely in store

Hold on to your hat! Because with my Fat

Friend, I’ll ENSURE

That much as you laugh, Or drown in the bath

You’ll love me the more,

In the THIRD WORLD WAR!

BEWARE EARTH! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!