Take Me To Your Girlboss

By Commander Byxxurian

Greetings, earthlings. I am Commander Byxxurian from Nebula Vriphlaxor-9. I come bearing a message of utmost importance from the galactic consortium. Its intended recipient is one who lives among you, and if it is not delivered quickly, then I fear all hope will be lost. Please, we do not have much time. You must take me to your girlboss at once.

My fellow Vriphlaxons and I have observed your peculiar species for many Earth years, often hearing tell of an all-powerful life-form you call the she-EO. This is the one who slays in both her professional and her per-
sonal life—the one who is not afraid to fight dirty to manifest her career goals. We seek counsel with her right away. According to our hypercomputer’s calculations, the fate of the universe hinges upon this she-creature and her ability to hold her own in a man’s world.

People of Earth, we beg of you: Provide the coordinates of this human you call boss babe without delay!

For eons, Vriphlaxons have sought to connect with the most powerful female beings in the universe. We synergize with them and, at times, work with them to establish lucrative co-branding partnerships. But this is our crew’s most urgent expedition yet. We have traveled countless lightyears in our coworking starship to reach this girlboss living among your kind. We now wish to transport her aboard for a power brunch. While your world of networking happy hours remains bleak and unfamiliar to us, we extend this offering of rosé formulated for all-day consumption as a gesture of good will.

Please, lay down your armaments! There is no need to fear. Our mission is not one of malice, but of self-care. You must understand, we come from a faraway world where our reserves of lifestyle-brand startups and multi-level marketing opportunities have long run dry. Lands once lush with women-owned boutique public relations firms now sit barren, as millions of female Vriphlaxons have fled, navigating remote dimensions in search of new corporate ladders to climb. The situation has grown urgent.

We realize our boss bitches—with their seven limbs, gelatinous exoskeletons, and lamprey-like mouths—may not look like the ones on your planet, but please know they are just as committed to working hard and playing harder.

Enough customary pleasantries. We must speak to your girlboss now. Given the dire conditions of our home world, we have no choice but to install her as femme-peror of the galaxy, a position from which she can girlboss hundreds of millions of inhabited planets. Then she can impart the girl code by which we all shall abide. Our great hope is that the skills she possesses—from basic gatekeeping to a knack for increasing her personal brand visibility—will be enough to end 13 billion years of galactic patriarchy.

While we do not desire to harm you, be cautioned: We Vriphlaxons are capable of female empowerment beyond your puny human comprehension, and if you fail to obey, we will not hesitate to defend ourselves against your toxic masculinity. It is in the best interests of your species to reveal the location of your girlboss immediately. If you do not, we will have no choice but to launch a full-scale invasion of your prized Equinox gymnasiums.

We grow impatient. Deliver us to the head of your she-EO, or face total she-limination!

Aha! Our sensors indicate the nearby presence of a total diva who is unapologetically taking up space. It is her! Step aside, non-aspirational earthlings, or suffer complete financial ruin with a single blast from our career-plateauing ray. We know our worth, and we aren’t afraid to lean in and take what’s ours—through violence, if necessary.

Consider yourselves warned. Comply with us now, or prepare to be gaslit.

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