LOVING ALIENS INSTEAD

Robbie Williams has been warned by an obsessive fan not to travel to Berlin in case he is abducted by aliens.

Robbie took off in a beam of light
as the encore of Angels began
and all Robbie’s fans got such a fright
that a thousand lighters burned a thousand hands

but Robbie didn’t blink or start,
Robbie didn’t struggle or sway.
“If this is the Rapture,” Robbie thought,
“It’ll prove that I’m not gay.”

As Robbie ascended more rapidly
Berlin’s lights blurred and faded
and he raised his arms delightedly,
like Superman, only more jaded.

“I could be worshipped like Lennon,”
grinned Robbie, as upwards and onwards he flew,
onwards and upwards in a halo of xenon
towards a vast alien zoo.

His reverie ended with a hard thump on metal,
and a ring of bright lights in his eyes.
“God’s testing my mettle,”
he thought to himself, “but I am used to surprise.”

Yet when Robbie’s eyes cleared,
in an unseemly rush, he saw no pearly gates.
Just a host of fat figures waddling past, in weird,
gelatinous states.

Like massive green bogies,
they loomed and they lumbered
all flapping their glutinous bellies.
It dawned on Robbie that his days may be numbered

when the main bogie started to speak.
In a sonorous voice it grimly intoned:
“One minor pop star, hardly unique,
and prone to becoming ‘big boned’.”

“Don’t feed him too much,”
the bogie continued, “and force him into the gym.
Make sure he’s got one en suite to his hutch.
We like our exhibits to be slim.

“Breeding begins in a week and a half.
Applaud, if you must, if he sings.
Having studied him carefully, it might be a laugh
if he mates with the girl with the wings.”

They dragged Robbie away to cosy quarters,
which suited him down to the ground,
as he was surrounded by aliens’ daughters
and there were no other pop stars around.

“It’s not such a leap from star to exhibit,”
thought Robbie as he lay in his bed.
“I hoped, back on Earth, I’d have lots to contribute
but at least I’m loving aliens instead.”