Quit gripin'. The Glax invasion was the best thing that ever happened to this ol' planet.
See, the Glax came in peace. 'Twarn't no Hollywood blockbuster invasion. No death rays. No flying' saucers. Jus' a few clunky ol' hulks that broke up on entry.
Everybody has a Glax or two these days. They're so handy. I mean, you can hold a pretty decent conversation with one. They keep the flies down. And they taste pretty good, of course. On their own - especially on their own - but if you can't do without a bit of meat, they do spice up a bowl of stewed rat.
I ain't sure, but I heard say the population must have been, oh, eleven-twelve billion when they arrived. That's a hell of a lot of mouths to feed.
"We can feed you!" they said, which got everyone's attention.
To be fair, they didn't say it, so much as thunk it. Like I said, their ships sort of broke up and we all got to see shooting stars for a few nights. Real pretty. Few months later, people started noticing these strange red plants springing up just about anywhere from the equator up to the arctic circle.
You could just look at one and you'd know it came in peace. It was that sort of plant. So we mostly left 'em alone. Some folks got the idea they might appreciate a little extra nutrition, so they got food scraps. The hogs weren't so pleased about that, but who cares what a hog thinks? Anyways, the Glaxies put out tendrils if they had to, but they had little orifices that'd take the scraps if they weren't too big.
Glaxies? Yeah, we called 'em that, 'cause we reckoned they come from somewhere else in the galaxy. Galaxy. Glaxies. A Glax. Maybe you call 'em something different.
I reckon mos' people got the idea you could eat a Glax when they reached kind of pumpkin size. They din't look much like a pumpkin, of course, more like a cactus, but red, and without the spines.
Oh, that first taste of Glax. You never forget it. The little bulb that drops off into your hand. An aroma like ice-cream, the taste of garlic and molasses and lemongrass...
Not like that for you? Didn't expect it would be. I ain't never heard no two people describe it the same way.
Any case, the taste changes. I never get bored with Glax. And, like most people, I did get bored with hogs. Did. We don't keep hogs no more. Chickens gone too. I hear the neighbours done the same with their dairy cows. Jus' grow Glaxies now. Same as everybody.
Not that a Glax takes much tending. Just land, some sunshine, some rain. Don't know how you city folks manage. You ain't got the land, even after all the fighting and rioting was done. I guess that's why you come visiting.
But the Glaxies look after us farm-folk, with their thunking ways. Nothing gets past a Glax. That said, y'ain't in the best of shape to start with, you city types. Not a lot of meat on you.
But you'll be fine. Glaxies can handle most things. Even calcium, else the place'd be messier.
I always tell folks not to wriggle or squirm when the tendrils start burrowing. It's just my way, talking like this, something to keep your mind off of what's happening to you.
Sorry about the screaming, though. It's the new kid. I'll tell Mary Jane to keep it quiet till you're done. Lovely bouncing baby boy. Or girl. Whatever. Glaxies know they'll still need a-tending when I'm gone.
Like I say, the coming of the Glax is the best thing to ever happen to this ol' planet.