Bobby watches D'Argo on the deck at Chez Alien, looking out over the water: "What are you doing?" D'Argo breathes. "I am absorbing beauty." Bobby asks if that means he likes Earth, and D'Argo smiles to himself. "I didn't think I did at first, but I'm...beginning to realize it's one of the better places I've visited. It reminds me of my own planet, about ten thousand cycles ago. It was meant to be undisciplined and adventurous." Just like John. Fletcher is agog: "Imagine! Think of how we view ourselves: a sophisticated culture, growing, evolving...then look at how he views us: 'undisciplined and adventurous.' As time goes on, I predict we'll be forced to realign every concept by which we judge ourselves." You could draw a line in the pundits and some of them would see God in every detail and some would see fear everywhere. What's most scary, and most true, is how most of them fall somewhere in the middle. "They say you're a great warrior," Bobby prods. "That's an accident of birth. There are better things to do with your life." Bobby asks if he's ever killed anyone with his tongue, and D'Argo gets a little intense, coming closer and closer, trying to make the point and ending up being more menacing than he might think. "Bobby, my tongue contains adaptive venom. The victim takes in only enough to lose consciousness. No one dies." Bobby asks to see. D'Argo says no chance. Dr. Adrian Walker, Xenobiologist: "Look, you see only differences: tentacles, a tongue with venom. Everything about him screams ALIEN. Now, close your eyes. Listen." I didn't know xenobiology included the hurling of anvils like cabers, but it's a developing science after all. Bobby tells D'Argo he was "good on Letterman," and D'Argo fidgets adorably. "Yeah, thanks. Um, yeah...I thought everyone was laughing with me, so..." One of my favorite short stories of all time: "My Appearance," by David Foster Wallace. Find it, read it. (The other one is "Good Old Neon," ibid and ditto.) Things begin to spiral south.