from: flgrryynxxk1@bloink.gov

Dear Herr Doktor,

Please to be forgiving all mistakes in the speaking of your language . We learn it only from the watching of movies and television, and television we have found is not so very reliable. We are finding it necessary to complain about a legal transaction which we completed earlier this summer for the purchase of the women of planet Earth. Our planet Bloink, home of the Bloinkburger, needs women! Some time backwards, all our women turned into pillars of salt. I am thinking they made "He Who is Fairly Large" angry about something, and he toasted them all. Anyways, we came to Earth looking for women, or "hot babes," as I think you refer to them. We paid one Jim Bob Jackson of Hog Wallow, Alabama, three cases of "Old Milwaukee, It Doesn't Get Any Better Than This" beer, on sale and marked down from $11.95 each, for the women of Earth. Yet when we approached several of them last week, one of them slapped our bridegroom, and the other let out an irritating, high-pitched yell. (Is that a mating call of some sort?) But then they both run away! The bridegroom was so excited by this foreplay, he grmfffled all over the sidewalk. We are being so very hopping mad. We vituperate! We want our women now! Must we legalize and be bringing you suits to enforce our contract? Or should we be coming down there with our starfleets, and be aiming our new and improved stellar converters at your puny little third rock from the sun? We can blow your planet to Smithereens, which, by incidentals, is not too far from Bloink. But you all will be vaporize! So there! Ha! Ha! What you think now, pilgrim?

the doctor's reply:

Listen, Number 1. Can I call you Number 1? You guys use way too many consonants. Cut down by at least half, okay? Otherwise, we'll always sound like we're getting ready to throw up whenever we talk to you. Anyway, Number 1, baby, please try to keep the grmfffling down to a minimum. It just pisses off the local authorities. Secondly, you really should take this problem to the United Nations. Neither Jim Bob, nor I, are really authorized to speak for the people of planet Earth. But since the UN is such a bunch of wienies, and takes forever to make up their mind on anything because there is always some delegate from Lower Bumfuck who is unhappy about something (and in the meantime, you guys would be scaring the shit out of our women and grmfffling all over the place,) the doctor can perhaps offer a temporary solution. While we would definitely not want to "sell" you any women, if the price was right, and very high, and you guys were on your best behavior, we could perhaps find some women who would be willing to "rent" their services. Would that stop an interstellar war? Have your people call my people and we'll do lunch. No lawyers, please, or we'll both get screwed, without even getting kissed. And then our planet will be a goner.