Transmission to High Command Glatharon: Urgent Report from Operative Zoglbop, Earth Sector India
Subject: Human Birthday Armageddon
High Command, if you thought our annual Glatharion Pulsar Festival was excessive—with those floating quark cakes and mandatory telepathic hymns—brace your antennae for this: the natives here just celebrated the "birthday" of their overlord, one Narendra Modi, and it's turned the entire planet into a glittering, hashtag-fueled circus. Picture this: skyscrapers in a distant desert oasis (they call it Dubai, but it looks like a chrome-plated stalagmite) are beaming his face across the night sky like a holographic distress signal. Billions of their "rupees" (shiny metal discs they hoard like expired spores) flushed down the void for posters from Mumbai to Manhattan, all screaming "Happy 75th, Supreme Tea-Seller-Turned-God-Emperor!" I scanned their "newspapers"—flat, ink-smeared data-sheets—and they're ablaze with tales of street parties rivaling our meteor showers, where humans in orange robes (BJP, they call it; sounds like a fungal infection) sweep streets and plant trees in his honor. One rag even claimed he received a soccer jersey from a "Messi" entity—apparently a bipedal goal-scoring demigod. Why? Because on Earth, turning 75 means upgrading from chai vendor to intergalactic icon. Zog, these primates worship longevity like it's a warp drive patent!
But oh, the social media vortex— their version of our neural net, but clogged with memes and outrage pheromones—it's a black hole of hilarity sucking in everyone from cricket-gladiators to rogue algorithms. Tweets (short bursts of digital flatulence) flood the feeds: athletes "forced" to genuflect with birthday odes, lest they flee to "London" (a rainy exile zone); critics howling about tax squanderage while potholes swallow hover-cars. Hashtags like #ModiBirthday and #BurjKhalifaGlowUp trend harder than a supernova, with videos of fireworks that make our plasma bursts look like faulty ion thrusters—even drones swarming the Mumbai skies to paint his portrait in lights! Even world potentates—Trump, Putin, that Meloni with the laser stare—are piping in wishes, scripted tighter than a quasar script, plus blessings from their "Pope" overlord and a nod from the European hive-mind. Is it adoration or orbital coercion? Who knows, but the frenzy's so thick, I mistook a Delhi rally for a mass abduction event. High Command, if Modi's aura is this potent at 75, imagine the chaos at 100— they'll probably terraform Mars in his name!
In summary, esteemed blob-brains, this birthday blitz confirms: humans amplify trivial orbits into cosmic epics, turning cake into conquest. Recommend we beam down some anti-hype nanites before they deify my next McDonald's run. Zoglbop out—staying low, munching samosas, and dodging the confetti apocalypse. Send extraction pod? Over.