no-fi "magazine" presents



Greetings and welcome. I'm your guest speaker, Creekbird. You may be wondering where I got the name "Creekbird." Well, the fact is that I have a little Indian in me. I'm named after my great, great, great, great, great Grandson. I'm not quite sure how I know that, but what I do know is that I had Lamb Korma for dinner.

Anyway, tonight's essay's topic is especially troubled, extremely talentless, and easily tanked. He's an easy target. He's E.T., and he's one dumb alien.

Without question, I may be asking for trouble by belittling a popular, cuddly movie icon loved by millions. But it's an undeniable fact that E.T. was barely sensible. By barely I mean that he was nude and by sensible I mean that he was easily detected by dogs. When the chased off E.T. saw his plant collecting buddies fly up and away, you'd think he'd realize the gravity of his situation. But no, he considered it a moving experience. He proceeded to con three neighborhood kids into giving him their toys and candy and helping him find a nice, exclusive apartment in the woods. What these silly kids didn't realize was that in E.T.'s broken English when he repeated the phrase, "Phone home," he really meant he wanted them to hook him up with a home phone.

Once E.T. settled into his new domain he found it to be pleasantly rustic, especially after it rained. For you see, he'd forgotten to put up any walls and thus immediately found himself to be under the weather. Sickly and chilled to the bone, E.T. decided he'd better go and get some clothes, but when he went to see a tailor he was considered an unsuitable customer. The tailor tried to interest him in a myriad of sweaters, but to every one E.T. shouted, "That sweater stinks!"

Needless to say (although I will), E.T.'s stupidity eventually got him discovered by the authorities. The President had ordered him to be delivered immediately upon capture so he was taken to the hospital to have the organ surgically removed. Just as he was about to go under the knife, his green fingered alien buddies returned to rescue him. Yes, he had survived the incident without a scratch and therefore could make nothing out of it. He did however decide against sticking his neck out in the future and realized that, as a farmer, he excelled in his field.

You might say that E.T. was simply lacking a good plot.


The Creekbird Lecture Series took place each Monday in November of 2006 at the late IL CORRAL in Los Angeles. In the next two issues we will print the trascription of the rest of the lectures.

Creekbird is a member of the L.A. band THE CENTIMETERS and a noteworthy solo musician whose work is better heard than written about. Hear it yourself by going to his webpage at http://www.myspace.com/kingcreekbird.

E.T. eventually returned to Earth and was killed in Iraq in 2005.



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