Visitors 101 Our most distant cousins have been visiting us for millennia. It is only in relatively recent history since the invention of the camera that their surprisingly friendly visitations have been documented on film. Previously humans relied on written accounts or artistic depictions, some of which we hope to show you should they be released to us soon. However this evidence, when it occasionally surfaces is quickly confiscated or ridiculed and labelled as a hoax, so amazingly these visits remain merely a myth until this day. In dusty boxes hidden in shady museums and secure facilities these pictures are mostly hidden away indefinitely until someone discovers them and is brave enough to leak them onto the internet and into public consciousness. Here is our first batch of pictorial documentation of these visitors throughout the ages. Visitor 067 - c1960s Fabulous Don -The Garibaldi Transformation of Biscuit Frank- Miriam was a woman of tepid Thursdays, where time trickled like honey into her tea. She lived alone in a house made of sighs and spoke only to Biscuit Frank, a Garibaldi once, but now a man- or the impression of one, with hair like electrified spaghetti standing to attention, quivering as if each strand had its own nervous agenda. Frank was no ordinary biscuit-turned-man. His raisin eyes gleamed with secrets too absurd for mortal comprehension, and when Miriam pressed him for details, he responded in crumbs, which she dutifully swept into envelopes to send to her enemies. But pen pals alone do not a life make, and Miriam, weary of Frank's existential crunchiness, decided to walk. She left the house, armed with a raincoat of pure speculation and boots stitched from forgotten plans. She walked for days, through valleys that whispered limericks and forests where the trees swayed to music only they could hear. It was in the woods she met Fabulous Don— a creature so unthinkable it practically negated thought altogether. His head was a bulbous lantern of pale green light, antennae wobbling like drunken dowsing rods, and his mouth was a Möbius strip of confusion, constantly flipping inside-out in an effort to smile. “Greetings, Miriam of Solitude,” he said, his voice like a Theremin being played underwater. “Call me Fabulous Don. My real name requires three tongues to pronounce, and I see you’ve only brought one.” Miriam blinked. “Why are you… here?” “To teach you how to dance,” he declared, producing a gramophone made entirely of dandelions from thin air. “But I don’t want to dance,” Miriam muttered. “You misunderstand,” Fabulous Don replied, shuffling on his eight toes, “Dancing isn’t for joy - it’s for forgetting.” As the gramophone began to play, Biscuit Frank emerged from her pocket, having stowed himself there to avoid the dampness of the woods. His hair wiggled indignantly, each strand furious at the intrusion of the alien’s music. “I’m her only distraction,” he growled, shedding crumbs like a scandal. “No longer,” said Fabulous Don, and with one flick of an antenna, Frank began to spin like a top. Round and round he went until his raisin eyes flew off, landing somewhere in the underbrush, and his wiggly hair twisted into a perfect spiral. “Oh,” said Miriam. And in that moment, she realized she had been free all along. “Would you like to keep walking?” Fabulous Don asked. And she did. But not before taking the gramophone and playing it backwards, because Miriam was a woman of tepid Thursdays, but sometimes -just sometimes - she liked a little chaos.