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I thought long and hard about telling you this.

I am not of your earth. I come from the star system you call Sirius.

And while I appear to be 50 of your earth years, I am really much, much older.

I come in peace.

I am sent here to observe your race first hand… up-close and and in person… so we may better understand your human frailties and your so-often misguided motivation.

Why is this a dog-eat-dog world? Why do your dogs eat each other on this planet? That is the question I have come to ponder.

I volunteered. After a rigorous training period – where I learned to speak your language flawlessly, and became acquainted with your idiosyncrasies, I came. And when you look deep into my eyes, and see only a Southern redneck, know I have succeeded well in my disguise.

However, my time on your earth is coming to a close. But before I can go home, I must paint your earthly dwelling or place of business.

And as we exchange the fruits of my labor for the little green rectangles of paper you call ‘money’ – the ones with pictures of the dead people on them – know that our commerce transaction will enable me to buy the expensive gasoline I will need for my return flight. For our advanced space ships do not run on regular unleaded. Only the more highly refined petroleum products of your earth will propel me on my journey. The cheaper grades create an odd ‘knocking’ noise in our engines.

Also, I grow weary of drinking your earthly beer. Ours back home is vastly superior in flavor and in alcoholic content. Plus, our beer contains no calories, so we can drink all we wish without gaining weight. The ‘beer gut’ phenomenon is unknown on our planet.

Oh, and you must not speak a word to any of my workers that I am not of earthly origin. They all think I’m just some cool dude who never yells at them and can out-drink them all.

And if you do reveal any of this to your fellow earth-humans I will swear you’re lying.

If you keep our little secret, I will speak kindly of you to the elders upon my return home.