UFOs in the daily Press:

CHRONICLE

MARTIAN WOMEN!

The malicious tongues will tell you that I am repeating myself: not at all.

Today, the subject will only be pilots and not mysterious machines.

Remark: I cannot understand how the most serious and experienced newspapers continue to print in headlines: "The Martians... here – the Martians... there," since we still know that the current state of this planet only allows life for plants or insects.

The hypothesis of emissaries from Venus would be more logical, and much more plausible – if only because of the layer of clouds constantly suspended above it.

Be that as it may, an honorable schoolteacher from the island of Oléron, undoubtedly a Don Juan in his spare time, met Martian women. They even wrote cabalistic signs in his notebook. – Lucky man!

This becomes quite interesting.

Unfortunately, we read that the said Mr. Martin, for that is his name, is on leave on the island and, moreover, is a colonial. He is therefore a man who needs rest and who, certainly, has never seen near the riverbed or the desert, those motorcyclists whom we, deaf, have the ineffable joy of watching every day... Those motorcyclists who, departing from Bayonne to face the formidable and wild Hardoy marshes, don helmets, plastic visors, gaiters, and gloves with cuffs.

It is obvious that, emerging from a thicket, these people have enough, by their appearance, to turn heads and, Mars or Venus helping, leave the field open to the most astonishing conclusions.

I see here a consoling aspect of social evolution. If one is equipped in a ridiculous or grotesque way, one will henceforth have the resource of passing oneself off as a Martian.

I have a small garden very suitable, on moonlit evenings, for interplanetary landings (so to speak), and I watch for the opportunity. A little elevator ride would not displease me.

You can imagine, in return, the fame that would come to me.

This is what I was telling a friend of mine, who is content merely to be a son of Israel. At this mention, he began clapping his hands and replied:

"But, my dear, that would be fortune"...

... Obviously!

ALCESTE.