Greetings, fellow Martian scholar. I come bearing critical intelligence on the peculiar species known as Homo sapiens and their baffling methods of “entertainment.” Prepare yourself: this will be confusing, illogical, and, to some extent, disturbing.
In the early centuries of your standard Earth calendar (roughly the 1940s and 50s), humans gathered around a box called a radio. They listened to disembodied voices narrating stories, instructing them to laugh, cry, or gasp, all while their bodies remained motionless. Entire families would convene in silence, paying rapt attention to sounds they could neither see nor touch. Curiously, this brought them joy. Yes. Joy. From sound alone.
Later, humans invented the television, which displayed moving images on a flat surface. Initially in black and white, because color was apparently optional, they watched anthropomorphic animals chase each other, prehistoric humans live mundane lives, and birds outrun coyotes for eternity. Humans seemed fascinated by the repetitive violence and entirely fictional worlds. This behaviour is called “entertainment,” and they do it willingly.
Then they discovered video games. Humans would grasp strange controllers, press buttons, and scream at glowing rectangles for hours. They competed, collaborated, and occasionally threw the controllers at walls in ritualistic fits of frustration. Yet somehow, this was considered social interaction. The paradox: they were simultaneously alone and connected.
Fast forward to the present: humans now possess palm-sized portals to infinite content. One tap produces moving pictures, recorded sounds, educational lectures, comedic routines, and most perplexing of all, videos of other humans and animals doing things. For example: cats, normally independent predators, are now dressed in miniature human garments. They parade these creatures around, taking photographs for peer validation. This practice is widespread. Dressing carnivorous mammals in clothing is considered adorable, while also entirely illogical. Dogs are subjected to similar rituals: costumes, sunglasses, bowties, and even formal attire. Observing humans’ emotional investment in the fashion choices of quadrupeds is deeply confusing.
Meanwhile, humans also consume digital streams via platforms called Netflix, YouTube, and TikTok. They binge-watch entire fictional worlds, laugh at digital animals, and cry at recordings of other humans experiencing fictional or real drama. They classify their happiness in “likes,” “views,” or “followers,” numerical values that determine social standing. Simultaneously, they often remain physically isolated, sitting in small, dimly lit chambers, headphones on, thumbs in constant motion. Community? Present, in theory; absent, in practice.
Curiously, humans once built connection through shared activity: block parties, sports, dancing, communal meals, and simple conversation. Now, they substitute interaction with swipes, streams, and notifications, yet claim to be social. In conclusion, Martian colleagues, humans are endlessly amusing, entirely illogical, and occasionally horrifying. They have evolved from listening to sound-waves and gathering physically, to inhabiting infinite virtual landscapes, all while engaging in bizarre rituals like dressing their apex predators in doll clothes. Observing them raises existential questions: why do they need so much content, yet feel so alone? Why is a cat in a tutu more compelling than a neighbour? Why do they laugh at violence between animated rodents?
I recommend caution if you attempt to interact with these creatures directly. Approach gently, bring snacks (preferably catnip), and do not under any circumstances inquire about their concept of “viral content.” It may destabilise your Martian understanding of logic entirely.
End of report.
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