I recently had a dream that I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and, lo and behold, an alien from Proxima Centauri — the nearest star to our solar system — was sitting in my living room, watching the late night news.

Through his otherworldly powers, he sensed that I was observing him from behind and asked, “What is this gibberish coming out of your electronic viewer?”  I nervously answered, “It’s what we call the news in the 21^st century United States of Diversity, Sir.”  He mumbled his displeasure, then focused again on the television screen.  Among the offerings on this particular night …

News Flash!  Larry Butthead … I mean Birdhead … no, no … I think it’s Birkhead … shaking hands with roped-off crowds in the Bahamas.  The alien commented, “Must be a great man.  A famous medical researcher?  Or perhaps a major contributor to earthly peace?”  “No, Sir, not exactly,” I responded.  “Let’s just say that he knows how to be in the right bed at the right time.  I really believe this kid could be bigger than Kato Kaelin someday.”

At this point, the alien told me to stop calling him Sir and address him by his nickname, Proxi.  I assured him that I would do so.

News Flash!  Those two intellectual giants, Tom and Katie, known affectionately to all as “TomKat,” declaring their undying love … again.  “What’s the deal with the little guy in shoe lifts jumping up and down on the couch?  Can’t his parents control him?”  Proxi asked.

To which I replied, “Proxi, the story out of Hollywood is that he had his pacifier taken away prematurely.  In all honesty, I don’t know much beyond that.”

News Flash!  British soldiers captured by those big, bad Iranians — then released in a matter of days.  Prime Minister Tony Blair expressing “profound relief” over the peaceful end to the thirteen-day “crisis.”  When Proxi asked why some of the captured sailors were holding a press conference — and why anyone would be interested in what they had to say — I was candid:  “No clue.”

News Flash!  Katie Couric — the modern day Queen of Mean — may be on her way out at CBS News.  Proxi said something about sensing an aura of evil, but I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so I just let it slide.

News Flash!  Richard Gere kissing India’s Bollywood star Shilpa Shetty, resulting in a warrant for his arrest.  Proxi’s passing comment:  “Okay.  When a guy who looks like this Gere fellow is kissing a woman instead of a man, I’d have to admit it’s newsworthy.”

News Flash!  In Dawson, Texas, a horse named Champ, mired up to its belly in a mudhole, is freed in an hours-long rescue effort.  Champ’s agent says he’s considering book offers from several major publishers.  Proxi:  “Fascinating.  This horse is going places.  Trust me, I know these things.”

News Flash!  Three more car chases in Los Angeles.  I explained that cokeheads in other cities continually try to crack the national news with car chases of their own, but somehow a car chase just isn’t as exciting without a backdrop of palm trees and L.A. smog.

News Flash!  Madonna roaming the planet once again in search of black babies to add to her stable.  As Proxi watched her strut back and forth, carefully inspecting the potential adoptees lined up before her, he asked, “Is she a slave master?”  At the risk of coming across as impertinent, I assured him that he wouldn’t want to know the details.

News Flash!  Anna Nicole … Britney … Paris … ad nauseum.    Proxi’s only comment:  “We call them intergalactic bimbos where I come from.”

News Flash!  The latest American Idol reject on a talk show, whining about the unfair treatment he received from the show’s producers.  Proxi just shook his head from side to side in wonderment on this one.  I didn’t comment.

News Flash!  The latest Apprentice firee on a talk show, whining about the unfair treatment she received from Donald Trump.  More head shaking in wonderment … and, again, no comment from me.

News Flash!  The travails of nutcase Angela Jolie, dead-set on perpetually shocking her fans.  I beat Proxi to the punch on this one by simply saying, “Don’t ask.”

News Flash!  Rosie versus Trump.  Try explaining this to a guy from a place 4.3 light-years away.  “She looks gay to me,” said Proxi.  “And proud of it,” I assured him.  “In our galaxy,” he said, “we call this mud wrestling.  Is that what it’s called here?”  “Well … sort of,” I answered.

News Flash!  Alec Baldwin yelling at his little girl.  “Why does anyone care about this?” asked Proxi.  “Good question,” I answered.  “Let me think about it for a year or two.”

News Flash!  Washington, D.C. madam Deborah Jeane Palfrey holding a press conference in preparation for blowing the whistle on dozens of high-profile clients.  A smile crossed Proxi’s face as he confessed, “I like this sitcom stuff.  Gets your mind off the serious business like Madonna and that Jolie gal.”  Not wanting to burst his bubble, I nodded in agreement.

News Flash!  Miss America sobbing uncontrollably and proclaiming that she’s going to be “the best Miss America ever.”  Proxi looked perplexed.  “Why doesn’t her makeup smear when she cries?  Very strange.  I never saw a female do that in my galaxy.”  Palms in the air, I shook my head from side to side as though I, too, were befuddled … which I was.

At this point, Proxi clicked off the TV, then turned to me and asked, “What did you say you call this stuff?”  I decided to be straightforward and not try to sugarcoat it:  “IT’S WHAT WE CALL THE NEWS!”

His response?  Be sure to find out tomorrow in Part II of this article, when I tell you how my incredible dream played out.