So, you’re one of the gazillions of people that signed up on-line to storm Area 51 in September. You’ve packed some trail mix and flavored smart water into to the HyperLite knapsack and even bio-hacked your hairy chest with a compass chip to know what direction is north. You’re feeling good about finally getting to the truth about the dastardly Illuminati. You’re even hoping to set the captive greys of Zeta Reticuli free from their captivity by the goons of a secret government and will have plenty of selfies to prove it.

But, hold on a second – things have changed.

Instead of the September 20-22 assault on Dreamland, it’s now going to be… a party. Yep, according to the dude from Arkansas (a startup type, I’m sure), the safest option for the masses would be an alien-themed music festival. Since the 50th anniversary of Woodstock has been canceled, why not have an Alien-Stock? Sounds like a good plan. Better check to see if Santana will be available, but if he decides to jam, don’t offer him any synthetic cannabinoids in Nevada.

Question: Did anyone bother asking the 58 (57, now that the word is out) locals that live in the huddle of trailers that’s called Rachel if they wanted to be invaded by a massive fruity cloud from douche flute brandishing millennials?

If they’re anything like they were when I first visited the place in 1989, I’m not so sure they’ll appreciate pop-folk and designer dope in their little slice of paradise (I can hear the promoter announcing over the P.A. about people not taking the brown bath salts.) Back then the local watering hole was The Rachel Bar & Grill and a can of iced Budweiser cost a whopping 50 cents. (I actually helped owner Joe Travis put together the double-wide trailers that became the famous Little A’Le’Inn.) There was no television reception and the best you could do for entertainment was stare at the snowy screen pattern while attempting to hear the garbled voices (secret alien transmissions?) At least that’s what Joe did as he guzzled Milwaukee’s Best. All of the locals had firearms stuffed in their back pockets in case “Momma’s spicy chili” didn’t do the job.

Warning to patrons of the Little A’Le’Inn from then owner, Joe (©Blair MacKenzie Blake).

Most were friendly enough if you agreed with their politics, which was disdain for all branches of government (Something to keep in mind if you’re a liberal opinionated type.) Also, they like their karaoke one way and one way only – good old-fashioned Country-Western (preferably sung by a Japanese mortician). I’ll bet things haven’t changed much, other than the price of that Bud.

If you’re planning on going, don’t rely solely on GPS units. And make sure that the hybrid is gassed up or fully energized. There’s not much of a gas station on Old Mill Road and I doubt they’ve installed a charging station for all the residents with Teslas.

Keep in mind that stunts like this have been done in the past with not so stellar consequences. In July 1996 I witnessed first hand (and with a certain amount of amusement) the media circus for ID4. During the celebration (or debacle), caravans of Hollywood-types got lost with some limos even running out of gas not too far from where NASA faked the moon landing. Also bear in mind that shape-shifting reptilians tending bar at the Inn might be mystified at the concept of having to use a bottle opener for an imported beer. (Seriously, I’ve seen this).

Even if a fraction of the projected attendees actually make the trip, I’ve a warning for the fraction of those who have consumed enough energy drinks to attempt to storm the base. If the security personnel don’t intentionally wash out the access dirt roads (in particular, Groom Lake Road), be prepared to hike some 13 miles through the plutonium-laden dust of a harsh desert landscape. Flip-flops won’t cut it!

Also, keep in mind that if you do make it to the perimeter, the modified Pave-Hawk helicopter (probably an optically camouflaged drone these days) need not rely on any suppressing “Puff-The-Magic-Dragon” firepower. All they need to do is gas you (like what happened to me once – see my article “51 Trips To Area 51” from Darklore Volume VII) so that you go gently to sleep on a desert floor filled with scorpions, rattlesnakes, and colossal eight-legged creatures.

Blair MacKenzie Blake with Danny Carey the day after being detained and fined $600.00 each for entering the AREA 51 Restricted Zone. Unbeknown to us, the government land grab had just occurred and we were its first victims.

If you’re not planning on rushing the gate (good idea!), and just want to chill near the A’Le’Inn, here are a few more pitfalls for today’s youth:

Number 1: The “Alien Burgers” aren’t plant based, but contain real beef from real cows like those that you need to watch out for standing in the middle of the dark highway.

Number 2 (which brings up something I’d rather not comment on, but which you should be prepared for…): Mr. Ambassador Merlin II from Miracle City, Nevada via the Ancient North Star Alpha Draconis might show up with dire warnings about the (delayed) ET Landing on Highway 375 (Why do you think its called the ET Highway!)

Number 3: Lack of cell phone reception – as least that’s how it was the last time I was there.

Number 4: The freakin’ wind – gusts strong enough to collapse your Big 5 tent and wear down even the most proficient camper.

Number 5: The Alamo deputies don’t take to kind to strangers with “picture cameras” and might think you’re a spy with that smart phone thingy.

If all goes well, enjoy the space picnic – but please, for one or two nights only – don’t play your favorite new tunes like those piped into Chipotle. Instead, dial up some electric ambiance like Tomita or, at least, early Floyd. Trust me, that’s what the aliens like, and they just might reward you for it with the lights of a JANET flight coming into the base from Vegas, baby!