The Perils of Galactic Over-Promising

Arthur Pinterby considered himself a man of routine, a quality he found increasingly rare and therefore, valuable. His Tuesdays were sacred: a brisk walk, a cup of lukewarm tea, and the meticulous polishing of his garden gnomes. So, when a shimmering, saucer-shaped vessel descended with an alarming whoosh and flattened precisely three of his prize-winning hydrangeas, Arthur felt a pang of genuine irritation.

A hatch hissed open, revealing a being of luminous green skin and four ocular stalks. It extended a spindly, five-fingered hand. "Greetings, Earth-dweller! We are the Glorgonians, come to offer the secrets of universal harmony and superior lawn care." It paused, presumably for Arthur's gasping awe.

Arthur, however, merely adjusted his spectacles. "Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered, eyeing the crushed hydrangeas. "Again? The last lot, the Xylarbians, promised eternal youth and a self-weeding flowerbed. I'm still paying off the interdimensional energy bill for the flowerbed, and frankly, the youth only lasted until I tried to lift Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning marrow." He sighed. "Is the 'universal harmony' going to require me to participate in any group singalongs? Because I'm strictly a baritone, and I've had enough of being shunted to the back row."

The Glorgonian retracted a stalk, blinking. "But... our harmony transcends vocal limitations! And our lawn care system ensures unparalleled verdancy without manual effort! It's powered by concentrated starlight!"

"Starlight," Arthur repeated, deadpan. "So, when it's cloudy, my lawn just… wilts creatively? Because that's what happened with the Xylarbians' 'eternal sunshine' roof panels. My begonias haven't forgiven me."

The Glorgonian shifted its weight, a faint hum of confusion emanating from its core. "Our starlight concentrators are calibrated for all atmospheric conditions! And we have brought a complimentary set of anti-gravitational pruning shears!"

Arthur squinted at the shears. "Do they come with a warning about accidentally pruning one's own earlobe? Because I'm still sensitive about that incident with the Xylarbians' 'no-fail' hedge trimmers. Look," he finally said, pointing a finger at the crushed hydrangeas. "Before we discuss universal harmony or even basic shrubbery, perhaps you could just... un-flatten those? And if you could manage to not leave any residual cosmic radiation that turns my gnomes an alarming shade of puce, that would be grand. Honestly, you can't get a reliable alien invasion these days."

The Glorgonian, clearly overwhelmed by Arthur's profound lack of impression, mumbled something about 're-evaluating primary contact protocols' before its ship whirred, lifted, and gently nudged a slightly less valuable rhododendron on its way out. Arthur just shook his head. "Typical," he muttered, reaching for his own, entirely terrestrial, secateurs.