coralsea

Help me Rhonda, help, help me Rhonda
Alf was perhaps a cuddly metaphor for alienation (no shitty pun intended). It'd suck being the only one of your species around on the planet and not have anyone to have sex with. He could've shaved his hair off and passed himself off as a small person (he spoke perfect English after all)... a successful liason would still require dim lighting and the other party to be short-sighted and on hard drugs...in other words beat sex in a nursing home. Or he could go on all fours and seduce female wombats. The latter would be less troublesome. I'm actually not sure he had an opposing thumb which would've made shaving possible anyways.
Yeah, I really do want to be a beautician. Now anyway. The concept of self-transformation provides endless mental fodder. Don't like it, get bored...become something new.
I used to move house, throw away my belongings, shed people etc. Old habits just transform into less destructive and more socially acceptable forms.
Alf just didn't realise what he had...minger.