Alright then, picture this if you will:

10-2am, x, yogi dmt and a box of "Krispy Kreme" in my, "need to know" pose just outside of area 51 contemplating the whole, "chosen people" thing, when a flaming stealth banana split the sky like one would hope but never really expect to see in a place like this. cutting right angle donuts and stopping right at my birkenstocks, and me yelping, "holy ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥".
Then the x-files being, looking like some kinda blue-green Jackie Chan with Isabella Rosallini lips, and breath that reeked of Vanilla Chig Champa did a slow-mo Matrix decent from the back-end of the banana vessal and hovered over my bug-eyes, my gaping jaw, and my sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip. All I could thing was, "I hope uncle Martin over here doesn't notice that I just pissed my ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ pants".

And thats the story of when I got super baked in Nevada.