Alien Butt Sensors

/ Diane Henders

They’re invisible, but I know they’re there.

I’m not sure how or when they were installed, but there are hidden pressure sensors under every toilet seat in the house, as well as on my office chair.  It’s the only possible explanation.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve just nicely settled myself on the throne when the phone rings.  In fact, it happens so frequently that it’s a standing (sorry, couldn’t resist) joke with one of my friends.  She calls; I’m in the bathroom.

Every.  Single.  Time.

This makes it sound as though a) I have continence problems and therefore spend a considerable amount of time ensconced in the holy of holies; or b) she phones me far too often.

Neither is true.  I won’t lower myself (sorry again) to discussing my bathroom habits here, other than to say:  normal.  And it’s rare for her to phone me more than once a week.

So I’m convinced that she somehow knows when I’m in the john.

It’s far too creepy to consider that she might actually be the culprit responsible for the butt sensors, so I prefer to believe they were installed by some advanced alien race that is capable of invisibility and possesses both the technology to broadcast telepathic signals of unlimited range, and the malevolence to torture me by broadcasting “Phone Diane” every time I shit… er, sit.

And the bastards didn’t stop with the toilet seats, either.

The sensor on my office chair is an extremely specialized model; probably some advanced prototype they’re developing exclusively for sales to telemarketers, politicians, and meddling relatives.

It doesn’t just register pressure and react the way the toilet-seat model does.  No, this one is far more diabolical.

It also taps into my brainwaves.

It doesn’t react when I’m doing something boring and tedious and I’d love to be interrupted.  Oh, hell no.  I can spend all bloody day writing computer training workbooks with nary a peep, but within ten seconds of achieving the zen-like bliss of uninterrupted writing … I’ll be interrupted.

It’s obviously programmed with a complicated algorithm that constantly sifts through the detritus of my mind, measuring my exact degree of concentration and commitment to the task at hand.  When I achieve some critical pre-determined level, the butt sensor psychically broadcasts “Interrupt Diane using any method necessary, immediately”.

Phone calls are easiest, but in a pinch they’ll induce Hubby to choose that exact moment to ask a not-very-important but time-consuming question.  Or the courier will show up with delivery that needs a signature.  A sudden loud noise and/or cry of distress from somewhere in the house is always a winner.  Or there’s the tried-and-true method of having somebody crash into my parked
half-ton and ring the doorbell to report the accident.

That may sound far-fetched, but don’t laugh – it’s happened five times.  I don’t know how anyone can fail to see a big red truck in their rear-view mirror, so the aliens must make my truck momentarily invisible, too.

I guess it could be worse.  In the big picture, interruptions are only an annoyance.  At least the aliens don’t seem interested in my body cavities.

Unless there’s something about those butt sensors that I really don’t want to know about…

40 thoughts on “Alien Butt Sensors”

  1. Pingback: They’re Watching Me | Diane Henders

  2. I have the solution for butt sensors. We turned our landline into a dedicated fax line and just use our cell phones for everything else. Now instead of another phone survey or telemarketer or politician or other demented wacko being prodded into action by the impossible-to-get-rid-of butt sensors, when we finally get to sit down for a quiet dinner, a good book, or the rare bit of watchable TV, we hear–and thoroughly ignore–the quiet, pleasant warble of the fax machine and just smile to ourselves. Whoever is on the other end of the line is getting an ear full of the demented howling and screeching of our fax machine.

    Oh, the humanity…

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    • That is truly ingenious and wonderfully evil! I have a fax machine on my incoming line, but it’s set to only pick up if there’s an incoming fax. I’ll have to read the manual to see if there’s a button I can push to blast a fax tone through the line on demand… 😉

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  3. Pingback: Happiness Is A Warm Gun | Diane Henders

  4. I didn’t realize Butt Sensors were so widespread. I thought it was just me. I’m glad it isn’t just me, but I’m sorry you have them too. I want to meet the sick twisted freak who installed them. My butt sensors mainly go off the minute one cheek touches the couch cushion. It’s usually either the doorbell (thanks a lot, UPS), or the kitchen timer. Your butt sensor really does seem to be inordinately complex, though. Why can’t butt sensor manufacturers use their powers for good instead of evil?

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    • I’m trying to think of a “good” use for butt sensors. Maybe if they could be combined with a small flame-generating device so we could light a fire under some of the butts that need it…?

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  5. I’m a little late to this conversation (aliens probably had me in amnesiac abduction or in some sort of a coma) but my conspiracy theorist mind agrees with Mr. Snowden; it’s that damned NSA et.al. spying err … monitoring our lives and messing with our heads. Could it be that the NSA are aliens in humanoid form?

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  7. Haha. As always, I love how your mind works!

    My interruptions always occur just when I sit down to have lunch. That’s my special 45 minutes where I read fiction and enjoy some food, and I don’t like having it disrupted. I guess I should be grateful. Your aliens chose a much more inopportune time to interrupt you!

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  8. Oo..hehehe. I had this terribly bad habit of calling my ex hubby every time he was either having a shower or on the “throne” hahahahha. And I promise I didn’t put any sensors anywhere! I was just psychicly gifted that way 😛

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  9. I am so glad to see females are getting back some of their own. Any husband will tell you about butt sensors that engage a wife’s brain the instant he sits down and remind her of one more thing she needs him to do

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  10. I must admit I was a little nervous when I read that title. I mean, how much do I really want to know about your butt? Even if it’s from an alien’s POV? As it turns out I was quite interested in your, suitably sensored, story 😉

    Cheers!

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  15. Another theory, Diane, are the Ley Lines, the mystical connections that run between two places on the Earth. Or, in your case, your loo and your friend’s telephone line. I’ve seen this situation happen many times before.

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  16. LOL! Do you think it may be that way because we are females? I love to write poetry and when I can achieve that all too illusive minute of time to actually start, when my mind has reached that “quiet spot”, hubby will start talking about his next meal! Just isn’t fair.

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  18. Coincidentally, I’ve been doing some research on the alien abduction phenomenon (my best friend is an alien abductee). My guess is perhaps you snapped out of the alien telepathy-induced stupor early, and the aliens were unable to retrieve the sensor with which they . . “gifted” you. Their continuing failed attempts (alien technology isn’t perfect) to remotely dematerialize the sensor, coupled with the tensing and relaxing of the area in question (via bathroom function or via synergistic literary zen) are resulting in trans-abductee psychic connections. In other words, your friends are abductees too. Aliens often abduct people in family or social groups out of convenience.

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  19. You know, I think you’re onto something here. Those same aliens used to whisper into my kids’ ears when they were little. “Mommy needs you NOW!” they’d hiss to them every time I sat on the throne. Never failed.

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  20. It does seem that way. Good for my daily laugh. Thanks, I needed that! It’s been up to 110 here and cooling way down to 101 today. In the meantime, my refrigerator didn’t have the guts to last one more month before I move out, so had to buy a new one that stays. Great…………
    I think I sometimes sabotage my creative time by doing ‘just one more thing’ before I give myself permission to “play”. It’s time for a serious discussion on just why I need to do that. Could it be my Lutheran upbringing? I have finally, however, gotten over the feeling that I must finish a class project. If I like it I do and if not, it goes in the UFO file.
    Now if we could just clone ourselves…………..check with Aydan to see if she might be so kind as to help us out here.
    Am almost through with book 5 and about to get onto #6 so will be waiting with eager eyes for your next adventure, so much fun!

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    • 110 – holy sweat! We hit 90 here yesterday (just a couple of degrees off our high-temperature record) and from all the complaining, you’d think we were about to melt. I actually don’t mind the heat, but I’m pretty sure I’d wilt at 110.

      Glad you’re enjoying the books!

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