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T.U.F.F. Puppy

Close Encounters of the Doomed Kind: President of F.A.I.L.

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T.U.F.F. Puppy

Close Encounters of the Doomed Kind: President of F.A.I.L.

- I CALL TO ORDER THE WEEKLY MEETING OF FINDERS OF ALIEN INTELLIGENT LIFE. - ALSO KNOWN AS F.A.I.L. WHICH IS AN APPROPRIATE NAME, CONSIDERING WE'RE MEETING IN A BROOM CLOSET ON A SAH-SAH-SATURDAY NIGHT. - HAVE FAITH, KESWICK. I KNOW WE'RE GONNA MEET SOME ALIENS. - ALIENS? I JOINED THIS CLUB TO MEET GIRLS. CALL ME MISGUIDED, BUT I THOUGHT GIRLS LIKED TALKING ABOUT UFOs IN A DARK ROOM THAT SMELLS LIKE DIRTY MOPS. - I'M TELLING YOU, IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE WE MAKE CONTACT. - WITH GIRLS? - NO! WITH ALIENS! WILL YOU FOCUS?! - FINE. SO WHAT METHOD OF COMMUNICATION DID YOU GO WITH? RADIO TELESCOPES OR HIGH FRA-FRA-FREQUENCY MICROWAVES? - NEITHER. I STUFFED A NOTE IN A BOTTLE AND THREW IT REALLY HIGH IN THE AIR. - OH, COME ON! WE'RE NEVER GONNA MEET ALIENS LIKE THAT! - GUYS! THE T.U.F.F. RADAR HAS PICKED UP AN ALIEN SHIP HEADED FOR PETROPOLIS! APPARENTLY, THEY'RE RESPONDING TO A MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE THAT SOMEONE THREW REALLY HIGH UP IN THE AIR.