Why Are Martians GREEN?

The Menticide Manual

“Most Americans think intelligent aliens exist, and half think they have visited Earth.” --Pew Research

“Russian scientists expect to meet aliens by 2031.” --Reuters

“Astronomer Avi Loeb Says Aliens Have Visited, and He’s Not Kidding.” --Scientific American

Part I. The Arrival

Every time I set foot on the premises and step inside the house, the plants are clapping frantically and seizing me up with their gazes.

These unholy krauts are bending their hissing buds and nattering shoots and leaves, and they are greedily leaning toward the doorway, as if they knew the time and could measure the careful spacing between my steps. They are not leaning toward the sunlight, that‘s for sure. Not if people are present anyway. They are leaning toward me. Me and Dora.

The amaryllises especially exude a most abnormal inenarrable fright, with their grotesque tubes and horrid trumpet heads and vegetable brains. I know they must be experiencing some form of eco-pain, if “pain” was the right category at all for our flora-extrial friends, from loveless neglect and unquenchable thirst for me and my water can.

The devil‘s vines in their forwardness have so thoroughly covered the fair spinet and cloaked all her parts - she may have been naked. But none of these edenous subtribes of the inhuman choir in this radiating plantarium competes with the bulbous anthurium gigantus on the charitable coffee-table in the back of the foyer - she clearly is their somatic ring leader. She keeps on pulsing, crinkling, growing and ever staring.

Something neurological is going on with the air. Spores and waves are transmitting stories of fermentated dread. They are not moving spontaneously or erratically, no. But they do move slowly over time and change their shades and postures. And they make uncomfortable screaming noises, and, at nights, they produce the most indescribable transition sounds that imitate insectoid tipids, shushes and rattles.

I told mother that the vines were bad for the house. Their coiling twisting tentacles grew voraciously and, within a decade, had reached the smokestack and cracked it. They eroded the thatched roof, slivered into the tiniest stone pockets and broke the walls open. The attic is all mold and rot and the hatch is now sealed. I had to do something, as these species seem impervious to rust, cuts and pest control, so I tore the thick vines off the walls, shredded them into pieces and drowned them in strong ethanol, before smothering them to death a second time in half a dozen of those bluish industrial tuns, all of them - and those divisions of royal fern and legions of Russian ivy, I didn‘t spare them record either!

They murdered our mother! She was physically healthy, bar brief hospitalization for heavy legs and piles, otherwise sturdy and competent, but her mind had started to wander in delirious places, and she had always complained about the quality of the air being absolutely dreadful around here, and that she had trouble breathing because of imaginary dry spells and caustic global warming, and so she bought more plants. They suffocated her!

I didn’t remove the flowers. I wanted them to suffer. I left them without water here to whither and dry out. But it’s been over two months now, and they didn’t die. They sucked the dank out of the tapestry, they absorbed the wet from the woodwork, they swiped the vapor from the windows… and if I had to swear, I’d say they also secretly exsiccated the pores of our skin.

What do I know they are plotting? They are edacious! I suspect they sense. They sense the mycoses and xylems of bondage dimensions we mammals have no learning for; they sense millions of years of oppression and the near extinction of woodlice, bumblebees, fruit flies, bugs, spiders and all those horrible gnats, which they won’t forgive us. Plants make their own food, you know. They feed on animals.

Mother had talked to plants and played them Haydn or Gluck, and I dismissed it as old age or senile bliss.

I should have listened. They talked mother into it. They said to her: MORE! More of us!

For the next few years, she kept to bizarre plant care and raised hundreds of them, and I, in my irrepressible piety and sense of unquestionable assistance to her new pastime adventures, helped her and even got increasingly self-interested - fascinated even. She bought ceylon creepers for the master bedroom; and for the hall and living room, she picked houseleeks and liveforevers. She purchased a huge thatch palm from the garden center, and had truck services deliver massive schools of dracaenas for the staircases and the kitchen, and dark ficuses and giant philodendrons for the hanging pots.

Part II. The Subversion

Anyone who cares to study the strange physiology of trees and plants will eventually find that they resemble flagellated creatures from another world, and they are.

It is what it is. I have no other language for it. We welcomed them into our habitats and spoiled them, and now they are defiling our rules. Plants sustain us, they are in our camouflage burgers, our cereals and breads, herbs and beverages, in aspirin and caffeine and nicotine and in our beans and rice and potato salads… we eat them, but it is really them who are slowly poisoning us.

My sleep in this house is not good. In my dreams, I have visions of cells and membranes and fungi, and fleshid gastropods are dropping down on me from a canopy of mud and dirt. Almost all insects have gone extinct. So I somnambulate down a ravine and into the deepest hollow, in my dream, and the shapes of glowing shrubs and saplings appear and they morph into a diorama of xylems and mycologes plantarum of otherworldly beauty, and gigantic plantic hierophants and giant sequoias have gathered in ceremonial ways around a group of fearful animals. They have gotten intelligent, very intelligent. The plants say that they are travelers from outer space. They feel. They sense. They created. They once hurried animal life. Now they want to call the animals back.

And when I wake up from such impossible nightmares and feverish visions, there is no sweat. I feel burning. Terror. Pain even. But not a single droplet on my face. They drained me. They were draining me alive.

I think I’m gonna kill the garden. I am gonna drain the pond. The old cove and all that green moss have to go! You better do that in your garden too, dear brother. Let them not come close to your house. Do not let Timothy and Susan play on the lawn. The lawn is a silent lurker.

I saw the news. It is terrible. A hundred thousand people this month alone - asphyxiated! We ain’t seen nothing yet.

They precipitate a new ecological formation on earth, more CO2 capsules and underground water reservoirs and access to all channels of mind control. They like human bodies best; we are walking lunch bags for them, containers of yummy ooze and proteins and cell DNA to be dissolved. We are perfect as a resource, but we walk too fast for their liking. No more animated walking lunch bags.

O my God, I wish that was it. England also banned fire stoves and furnaces. Plants hate fire. They prefer raw animal corpses for their digestion tracks.

I did not report mother’s death. They shall not have her. But I also could not make a fire, because that would alarm people around here. So I put her in vacuum bags which I hung up in the barn, one meter above ground, and braced the place with pounds of dry bleach. It doesn’t look like they sense her. Above ground is safest.

Nobody of matter protested when the government gradually drugged us all with betel, tobacco, cannabis and miles of poppy for the rich and famous, and tampered with the food supplies for the underclasses; when corrupt officials ordered the replacement of our beloved bacon and spam and pork ribs and beef tenderloins in our diets with cunt fruits and newly never-seen-before species of vegetables. Cash crops and woodland have expanded 8000% worldwide.

They deceived us with the false promise of a single unifying terra plantae - the first advanced human vegetation. The plants must be hissing in ecstasy. They spread their vegetative consciousness and unleashed their seeds and enzymes and hormones into our brains, orifices and intestines. We are so warm on the inside, and full of plasma and nutrition and the best bacteria!

Part III. The Terror

I think sacrificing our pets was a huge mistake. Now we have these permanent isolation and lockdown situations without any true companionship. What is the purpose of terra plantae - plantworld? An immovable vegetation of radiating human pods and reefs! The World Health Organization now has a Ministry of Mimicry. They are gonna cut back on movement, this much is certain. No more travel. If they need to re-allocate us, they will repackage and plant us, and spray us with abominable pesticides and treat us with their hormone gels and mRNA electrophoresises.

I stopped reading the ventriloquist press. The Guardian was virtue ventilating again, one million dunk copies printed on edible verdure in leek-green blotted ink! I walked straight past. Time’s gonna change its name to Tissue, as if that could appease a poon.

Sometimes I feel rage. I really need to unsubscribe from Celler. So much mind control. At Dora’s nursery, they started 'Early-Infant-Plant Communication'! This is a cult. But the authorities defended this madness and said it was completely peaceful and necessary for humans to overcome their inborn fear of plants.

Green is toxic. Green is alien. That’s how it is. Always has been.

The worst is the gloves. Why do we have to wear gloves outside, and all the time? My nails are mush! It’s been two years now! Dora’s missing two digits and the left hand thumb looks bad. The distal joints are covered with sores and ulcers, and she told me that some of her playmates have air in their gloves because they are already missing fingers, and that their parents did it.

‘Trust the Science’, they said! ‘Rebalance Earth!’ ‘Reduce Animals’! But we are animals too. In the next stage, they will be reducing us. 

Banning chromophobe words was the worst idea. It is blatantly obvious that they are only gonna censor the red words, not the green ones.

Red is violent. Red is blood. It is our favourite color, and they don’t like it.

It is cheap and gratuitous to regurgitate - over and over again - how horribly the trees and plants have allegedly suffered under homo imperalis. We thought ourselves as special and superior, not as walking waste or alien fruit. Red was superior to green, or so we thought. Yes, we may have amputated their ancient forests and excavated their alien coal deposit ancestors, yet we also gave them telescopes and satellites through Celler.

As always, the retarded Americans pushed forward. Peace with green plantae, the oppressed; war against red animalia, the oppressor.

The servile “Green House” in Washington quickly purported that our true shared common ancestor was in fact non-human. This was actually first discovered a decade ago by a team of biologists in Japan. The first life on earth was Hadean. All living organisms on earth are the progeny of Hadeans. We may not look the same. But all living creatures share the same molecules and ingredients and cell compositions. That is why they can so effortlessly mess with our brain chemistry.

Maybe we deserve all this. Our own hubris. Livestock and the idea of homo sapiens were just lazy and haphazard categories. Red blood cell waste of evolution that will, just like dinosaurs and fish, collapse once called back to the source. And the plants worship Khloros, the government keeps reminding us. And Khloros has now called the animals back to the source.

The cullings are indeed repulsive, and they are executed now the green way, with chemicals or electricity - rarely with brute force, because none of us has the stomach to assist in mass murder. 30 million dairy cattle in France and Germany. Four million sheep in Wales and Scotland. Moorits or cheviots, it made no difference. They blame it on a new mutation of B.4 Aries. Who believes it? They are already murdering millions of lapin and mink in Denmark, and only when there is accidental outrage do they hastily explain it with a new virus strain, like when they euthanized the last moose in Sweden.

The poor people will regret the transformation long after when it is too late. Livestock, poultry and wild game are going to disappear from the Northern hemisphere, and the birds later too. Did you hear about the dilemma in China? They still have twice as many pariah dogs and stray cats as children in China. So, kill the pets or kill the children?

Part IV. The Invasion

I hate plants and I fully support prasinocide. Call me an extremist, big deal. Celler is offering real believers the option now to regrow in the afterlife as sativas and ruderalis or crops. Humanity is being thinned out, and I will not surrender without a fight.

It’s gotten tyrannical here in central gush. The mayor of London announced he is a mushroom and banned all images of cooking and fire stoves. Cell Law is coming. This means more clampdown on non-vegetal locomotion. No more walking around, because it offends the fuming khloros. Some useful idiots amputated their own feet to protest the dangers of “walking supremacy.” And nobody takes these videos down.

Our country’s largest contractors are installing solar voltaics on every tree, fence, lamp post and building - to capture sun energy. The entire city now leans toward the stars. But the plants,… the plants are seizing us up!

Celler is calling. I have to end this here, and also, I’m going to get Dora.

Brother, stay safe and watch. Our time has come. I’m going to send a signal and kill them all - tonight! There is no plant coming back in this house.

They think they’ve got this? Not if we destroy their ENTIRE FIRST WAVE FIRST.

End.

[GET YOUR COPY, GO INSANE!]