“This is Mr. Gore. With whom am I speaking?”

“Let’s just say my name is Mr. Jones. I have a very important message for you.”

“Bush has conceded? I knew he’d see the light.”

“No, Mr. Gore. My message is more important than your petty political arguments.”

“Petty? Now see here, Mr. Jones. The race for President of the United States is hardly petty.”

“Please let me explain. I am the ruler of Zbbeeezzzz.”

“Zbeezzz??”

“No, Zbbeeezzzz. We’re located about 431 light years from your planet.”

“Say again?”

“We’ve been watching your planet for quite some time, and we feel your people are ready to join the Intergalactic Council. We want you, as humanity’s smartest human, to be your planet’s space ambassador.”

“Really? I always knew something like this would happen.”

“We’d like to set up a cultural exchange. Perhaps you could send us recordings of your planet’s major artists, like Green Day and Kid Rock.”

“No problem. I’ll just send Tipper down to the record store.”

“We’d also like Eric Clapton, Backstreet Boys and R.E.M. Plus all the CDs by Bon Jovi and Gabrielle.”

“I’ll just add it to the list. But, how will I send the CDs to you?”

“I’ve already routed a starship to your planet. Its captain will contact you once the ship achieves orbit.”

“Gee, this is swell. But how will I communicate with your ship? Cell phone? Internet?”

“Nothing so primitive. Instead, you must stand in front of your Washington Monument.”

“The big pointed thing? Check.”

“Oh, and be sure to bring plenty of CDs by Britney Spears. She’s a big star on Zbbeeezzzz.”

“I hear she’s really popular here on Earth, but I wouldn’t know. Tipper never lets me watch MTV.”

“Now listen carefully. Once you bring all the CDs, including Weezer and ‘N Sync, to the Washington Monument, you need to arrange them in the shape of a gigantic ‘W.'”

“A big ‘W.’ Check. Then what?”

“Listen carefully, because this is the most important part. After you’ve arranged the CDs, you need to drop your pants.”

“CDs, pants, drop. Okay.”

“And then you need to repeat the following message, as loud as you can.”

“I’m listening. What’s the message?”

“After you’ve dropped your pants, you need to shout, ‘I’ll never refuse my President’s campaign help again.’ Ya’ll got that?”

“I think so. ‘I’ll never refuse my President’s… ‘ Hey, wait a minute. ‘Ya’ll?’ Space aliens never talk with Arkansas accents! At least, not on Star Trek.”

“Ha, ha, ha.”

“Bill Clinton? Is that you?”

“Gotcha, Al! Well, I gotta pack for New York. Enjoy your li’l four-year ‘vacation.’ Live long and prosper, ya’ll!” Click

“Oooh, that’s one thing from the past eight years I’m not going to miss.”