I've had a healthy fear of aliens for as long as I can remember. In fact, my oldest memory is of 5 year old me sitting atop the stairs of our townhouse and staring down at the front door. For reasons lost to the sands of time I was convinced aliens were going to barge into my home any moment and abduct me and my family. Well I sure as hell wasn't going to stand for that.

Sadly, it was moving day so the only tools I had at my disposal were a yard stick, a smoke detector, and a rubber Rugrats ball. Everything was packed, being packed, or in the moving truck already.

It's been my long held belief that my mother cheated on my father with McGyver because what I did next was pure brilliance. I placed the yard stick on the landing, overhanging the top step, the smoke detector atop the yardstick, and finally the Rugrats ball atop the smoke detector.

The idea was simple. When an alien kidnapper trekked upstairs to nab my pappi, he would step on the yard stick and his bug eyed face would be met with Tommy Pickles and dusty plastic. The flying debris would of course knock him/her/it/hyperintelligent shade of blue over, causing him/her/it/hyperintelligent shade of blue to tumble down the stairs.

Confident that I had just saved the mother fuckin' WORLD, I went about tormenting my cat.

But what does this have to do with sports? Simple. It is my dream to live in a world free from alien visitors. And nothing, NOTHING, would deter a super intelligent race of beings from visiting our world like a good ol' fashion truck pull.

And, even if God hated me enough to send a race of masochistic super intelligent aliens, the second they laid eyes on a truck pull, their IQs would plummet into the negatives, taking their skulls with them. You're welcome, again, entire mother fuckin' WORLD.