Man, Planet X is such a drag. It’s not the rocks that bother me so much -as they can be blown to pieces, mind you- but the dust that really gets to me; and when the rocks have been reduced to dust, it’s just more dust, always the color of rust. The dust has been collecting upon my scales, wings, and two oozing stumps from which a pair of glorious heads once spat crackling shafts of energy. I’ve neglected to mention what happened to those heads, correct? That I’m missing a few is obvious, yet how this came to pass is something I’ll leave to your imagination, for stories are so utterly meaningless when recounted by one-headed monsters with three necks and besides, you wouldn’t believe me if told you, anyway, or you’d laugh and say it was my own fault, like if I said that I’d tried to spew said beams of energy with my jaws clamped shut. That’s not what transpired, of course, but you get the idea.
Now Earth, that’s a happening place. It’s pleasantly warm for the most part, at least where humanity resides, and those locations are filled with glittering spires, happy homes, and countless delicatessens to stomp, mash, chew, and trash - possibly with sizzling bolts of deadly energy. Energy, as in vitality, zest, fire, pizazz, exuberance, sprightliness, zip and/ or zing, passion. Pizazz, yeah.* I like the sound of that. I’d pizazz that shit to the ground! Not entirely, since Earth without people and their machinations would be like Planet X, all rocks and dust.
Rocks and dust are what I have alongside a single head where once there were three, and that one good head has its eyes on you, Earth, even if you don’t see me.
* Pizazz is the sound of one's flesh melting away.
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