For the past two-and-a-half years I have been conducting a social experiment.
You see, I come from a different planet. And on that planet I am a prince. Being an alien prince might sound cool to you, but that is my planet’s equivalent of your “cashier.”
To recap, this whole saga began when my parents noticed I was a lonely and withdrawn kid. Again, I am told this is completely, one hundred percent normal for my planet. But after twelve long seconds of puberty (I was a late bloomer), I was still shy and awkward. If my planet had girls, I would be afraid to talk to them.
But I also had no friends. This was partially because it is so incredibly, arduously difficult to survive off of the chapped and bleak landscape of my home planet that we don’t have time for frivolous social interactions, but also because I was a loser.
My parents put me in a spaceship and told me to go out into the universe, make some friends, and report back to them. I rolled my eyes. We love each other, deep down.
To make a long story short, my spaceship crashes into the Harvard Lampoon.
I find them as alien as they find me. At first our relationship was stiff and formal, but eventually I began to infiltrate their ways, drink their beers, watch their television. This is the “social experiment” I referred to in my opening line.
But, sadly, the time to return to my home planet has come, and I have not come any closer to discovering what a friend is. Not wanting to return empty-handed, I asked my newfound acquaintances–through a pained series of taps on the glass they have enclosed me in–if they would be so kind as to fill out the friendship report I was assigned to bring back to my people.
You will find their report on what it means to truly be a friend enclosed in the following pages. All I can say is, thank god no one on my home planet understands English.