More insane outpourings from the warped mind of Glenn Lazar Roberts, written while recovering from a broken leg. Inspired by Monty Python with lunatic characters in crazy situations and a not-so-subtle anti-Wokism. Maggie, our lovely hero, is the ultimate Social Justice Warrior.

CROSS-DRESSERS FROM PLUTO by Glenn Lazar Roberts. Adventures of Maggie, the Radiated Lesbian Nun, Book Two.

Pop the Thunderbird wine and break open the nopalitos, because Maggie the Radiated Lesbian Nun is igniting fires and breaking hearts from Santa Monica to across the galaxy! Raised in a secret convent in Area 51, young Maggie is caught up in alien plans for global warming in this hilarious satire of political correctness featuring Amelia Earhart, J. Edgar Hoover, Elvis Presley, Jimmy Hoffa, Joseph Smith, Harry S. Truman, D.B. Cooper, Howard Hughes, and Stalin, with re-appearances of the infamous Jello Brothers, the incompetent German agents Heinz and Huntz, Seaboot Captain French, galactic toads, and more Evil Mimes than you can shake a stick at—which is highly recommended.

Political correctness may never recover from this no-holds-barred satirical science fiction novel about a galactic conspiracy to raise ocean levels on planet Earth to suit an alien species, which only Maggie can stop. Don’t miss the antics of the ultimate, man-hating Social Justice Warrior, Maggie P. Squatch, who is illiterate but self-righteous, and always just a second away from hair-trigger violence. Will Social Justice Warriors be offended even inside their safe spaces? Heyll YES! 


“Nuts!” —Sirius Reviews

“A fun short take which will have you laughing out loud as you read. You will never see area 51 the same again.” —Tanyawriter (5 stars).

“Bizarro humor cranked up, from whatever-happened-to Hoffa and Elvis, on to saving-the-world from aliens, Earth’s rescuer being a strong-willed hardheaded nun from yes, Area 51.” —Haunted Reader

“Confusing read but it all comes together by the end.” —William W.

– – –

EXCERPT from Chapter 11:

“Come here, Kwik.”

“Yessir, General Ramey.” Taking an inordinately long time to respond, Corporal Kwik finally strolled slowly to his superior’s side in the super-secret military warehouse at Papoose Lake.

General Ramey stood and stared at his subordinate. He unfolded his arms as if overlooking a minor case of naughtiness.

“Corporal, have you noticed anything strange about this ship that we recovered from central Texas?”

“Strange, sir? Other than the fact that it’s from outer space and smells like an old sofa, and has a fire hydrant in one corner and astroturf on the floor?”

“Yes, other than that.” Ramey passed a steady gaze over the saucer again, in storage at the new secret base in Nevada, next to everything they had recovered from Roswell spread out on the warehouse floor.

Kwik shrugged. Looked at Ramey for the answer.

“It has leather seats.”

“Why, yessir. You’re right. It has leather seats.”

“And. . .have you noticed?” Ramey looked over his shoulder in the direction of the elevators leading to the depths of Papoose Lake beneath the warehouse. “Those aliens down below. . .two of them also have leather seats.” Ramey’s eyebrows rose as if he had uncovered a fact of prime importance.

Corporal Kwik nodded knowingly. “That’s right. The aliens have leather seats too!”

“Kwik, we’ve tried for years to figure out how to turn this spacecraft on and make the damn thing fly. And we’ve made no progress at all. We’ve tried everything. Recharging the batteries; refilling the gas tank; changing the window-wipers; inserting every key we can find into every nook that exists on this damn thing—and nothing! It just won’t turn on. The only thing left is to have Marilyn Monroe give it a massage.”

“Works for me, sir!” grinned Corporal Kwik.

“Don’t get funny on me, Kwik. We’re working here.”

Kwik grew serious again. “Yes, sir.” He stood at attention, thrusting out his chest.

“Besides, our former President beat us to her. . .” Ramey laughed into his sleeve.

“You can say that again, sir.” Kwik grinned again.

“Too bad she died and this State is now overrun with hippies.”

“What’s the world coming to, sir.”

“I don’t know. It’s 1971 already. Damn country’s overrun with flotsam and jetsam what with all those damned cross-dressers out there. It seems I run into them everywhere I go. On the one hand it’s damned hippies; on the other it’s cross-dressers. What’s the world coming to?”

“Coming to, sir!”

“And this damned ship has been down here for over twenty years. But, Kwik, if we could figure out how to turn this damned thing on, and if we could make it fly. . .” Ramey breathed expansively and smiled at the ceiling. “We could show em then!”

“Yes, sir! We could show em then!”

“We’d show them what real men are made of!”

“Like us, sir!”

“You’re goddam right, Kwik. Like us! There’s gonna be no goddam cross-dressers in our little patch of the Universe, are there, Kwik?”

“Right, sir! Hell no, we won’t go!”

“That’s the wrong phrase, Kwik.”

“Sorry, sir. I meant:  you damn cross-dressers,” Kwik gave a defiant look. “Go. . .cross your dresses. . .somewhere else.”

Ramey didn’t look happy. “That’ll have to do.” He looked back at the elevator. “Come here, Kwik. I’ve got an idea.”

Walking to the elevator, Ramey turned and was surprised to see Kwik still standing by the saucer. “Kwik. Here, I said.”

Still Corporal Kwik stood unmoving. For a minute he stood with his arms folded, ignoring Ramey. Finally he turned and joined him in front of the elevator. Ramey stared but Kwik just stood and rocked casually on his heels.

Ramey exhaled in irritation, then punched the elevator button.

The elevator arrived. “Let’s go, Kwik!”

Again Corporal Kwik stood for a length of time without moving, ignoring Ramey, while the elevator doors jerked, Ramey holding them open with some effort. Ramey grew red. Just as he was about to say something, Kwik suddenly jumped in the elevator and the doors closed and they plunged into the depths of the desert of lower middle Nevada to a Muzak rendition of Engelbert Humperdink.

“This Area 51 is quite a zoo, Kwik.”

“Yes, sir! It certainly is.”

“All these modern planes and gadgets and weapons. We’ve even learned how to run an elevator without an operator to crank the door shut. Who could have guessed?”

“Yes, sir! That’s remarkable progress, sir!”

“Why, we’ve even broken the sound barrier.” The elevator doors opened and Ramey and Kwik flashed their ID cards to the pair of uniformed soldiers guarding the entrance to the holy of holies. “And it only cost Uncle Sam a few trillion big ones. But despite all our progress, we still can’t figure shit out about these goddam aliens!”

They stopped in front of the three plexiglass containers that held the grease-painted monsters.

“Kwik, no matter how many times I stand here and look at them, I still can’t understand the perversity of Mother Nature that She would permit such creatures to live—If they are indeed alive. At least we can be fairly sure they were alive when they crashed at Roswell.”

“You said it, sir.”

“We know they came in a ship. But it broke up on entry and all we recovered was pieces. Clever devils! They had it rigged so we couldn’t learn anything about their technology after they landed. They covered their tracks well.”

“Covered their tracks, yessir.”

Ramey glanced at a meter above the plexiglass containers. “But this much we know. See that meter?”


“That monitors the temperature inside these three containers. We aren’t sure if they’re alive or not, but we’re keeping them frozen until we can figure it out. Whatever you do, don’t let that temperature gauge go into the red zone.”

“Got it, sir.”

Ramey turned to the other two plexiglass containers. “And then there’s these two, which we keep at room temperature.”

“These two. Yessir!”

Together they shuddered as they contemplated the two aliens’ freakish appearance, their horrified gaze roaming over the frilly white short-sleeve shirts, the short leather pants held up by striped suspenders, and pointy felt caps each tipped by one white feather, with white socks and capacious rubber-soled shoes, beer stains on their chests, and bruised kneecaps where their hands had slapped their knees from too much dancing the polka. Both figures stood unmoving, as if frozen in some mysterious force field, each with one arm raised, their eyes shifting between each other and General Ramey.

“Well, at least they’re definitely alive.” Ramey shook his head. “But what the hell they are is beyond me. They still only say ‘bratwurst-unt-beer’ and ‘stop-it-heinz’, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.”

“Maybe one day we’ll figure it out.”

“God willing. But I can’t understand the perversity of Mother Nature that She would permit such creatures to live.”

“If evil has a face, sir, this is it.”

Ramey blinked. “For twenty long years they’ve just been standing there with one arm raised, their alien eyes open, staring at us! Challenging us to solve their mystery. Laughing at our slowness in figuring out what the hell they’re all about.”

“Laughing at us! Yessir!”

– – –

FROM THE AUTHOR: The 3 Radiated Lesbian Nun books happened in the following way. One day I went up on the roof of my home to do some repairs. Some problems came up, and, basically, I fell off and broke my leg. With nothing to do while I waited for my leg to heal, I started hobbling off to a local coffee house each day with my laptop. One idea led to another and two months later I found I had written an extended wild and crazy story that was easily divisible into 3 books of a single series, all while sitting in the same chair and stoked on caffeine laughing maniacally with headphones on and my leg stretched out while others stared at me as if I were insane. (Maybe they were right.) These books were totally unplanned but I’m proud of what I accomplished when I could have stayed home and instead watched reruns of Gilligan’s Island. (Maybe some wish I had.)

In reply to some reviewers, yes there is a plot to the three Radiated Lesbian Nun novels. Read carefully and you will see it tho perhaps one must have an IQ above room temperature–or at least a marginally careful reader should see it. If you didn’t see a coherent plot, then you must not be paying attention. These books were carefully researched (entirely online) and have significant depth, tho they can be read just for fun. Like much about Political Correctness, female reviewers tend not to like my books in general, and especially the RLN books, while male reviewers tend to like them, though of course there are many exceptions. Who knows why? Here are a few tidbits:

The Radiated Lesbian Nun was real. The character was patterned after an actual Catholic nun, whom I knew personally, who was radiated in a mysterious accident that removed her eyebrows and eyelashes, and I suspect, though of course cannot prove, was also lesbian. She is now long deceased. To respect her memory, she shall remain unnamed. She was not an alien, tho at times she did seem like one.

There is no such thing as “Opus Dea”. I made that up as a plausible nun version of Opus Deus.

The first book, Judge Crater Takes a Powder, took place in the 1930s; the second book, Cross-Dressers From Pluto, in the 1940s-1950s; the third book, The Warriors, is present day. The books did not all take place “in the 1950s.” Each book was carefully researched for period authenticity.

Yours truly did the cover artwork. The idea of the alien ribbets came from the green frog common to some political websites.

Yes, there is an underlying message to all three books, it’s not just fun and games. Maybe it’s necessary to read all three to get this. Hint: look at the titles of the books that some characters cite in the novels. It’s a satire of Political Correctness!

So here’s what the poorer reviewers seem to have missed in this book, assuming they weren’t just panning the book for political reasons, which is possible:


Cross-Dressers From Pluto is patterned after the movie, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but the transition is into cross-dressers instead of pod-produced aliens.

Elvis did drive a pink Cadillac. His comments are all titles of famous records he produced in the 1950s. He was known to overeat hamburgers. Are Elvis and his record-breaking songs now forgotten?

Hoffa did cuss like a sailor. He was allegedly buried somewhere in concrete.

Stalin did study in a seminary in Tiflis. He did make Krushchev dance like a bear.

Mimes are indeed annoying. Their whiteness in the book reflects the PC view of “the evil of Whiteness.” Do I really have to explain this to reviewers?

“They never knew if they would live to see the morrow.” That’s from the theme song Secret Agent Man by Johnny Rivers of the old TV show, “Secret Agent” circa 1962. Okay, I know that’s obscure.

Mercury Road is an actual road in Nevada. It leads to Interstate 95.

Young Maggie meets a friend named Richard Pierson. Richard Pierson was the astronomer whom Orson Welles cited in his War of the World radio broadcast in 1938 and who supposedly tracked incoming Martian spacecraft. The name is real, the person was not. In the book, Richard Pierson tracks the incoming spacecraft that will spawn more cross-dressers.

As in the previous book in the series, the Mormon Bible quotes are accurate.

Harry S. Truman was a Mason. ‘Dean’ was Dean Acheson, Truman’s Secretary of State.

The first atomic test in the wake of the Korean War was at Frenchman’s Flat in 1951 as portrayed in the book. Young Maggie gets caught in the blast.

The wealthy tycoon Howard Hughes did drive on Interstate 95 in the 1950s. He was known as Sonny. He was obsessed with the injuries done to Japanese by the American atom bombs.

Dan Cooper was real. That was the name the hijacker of a jet in Washington state in 1972 gave the stewardess when he slipped her a note saying he was hijacking the plane. The media mistakenly put out the name D.B. Cooper instead and the name stuck. He parachuted out of the plane over Oregon and was never seen again. The cash notes he stole all did begin with the letter L. The cash was never spent and many years later someone stumbled across some of the money in a creek bed indicating he did not survive his landing. Actually, he probably did resurface and hijack another plane a few months later only to die in the attempt.

Roswell does have a UFO Museum which enthusiasts visit.

Muslims are not supposed to drink alcohol or eat ham. This includes the beer and pizza that the three Muslim Cross Dressers Union Local 36 consume.

“Jedgar” was Clyde’s pet name for J. Edgar Hoover, his lover.

All of the Josephs presented in the book on Bogland were actual people. All were famous, but maybe no longer.

“Watch it wiggle like a bowl of jello on a cold and frosty morning.” This phrase comes from an old scifi movie, “The Man With X-Ray Eyes.”

Cirque de Lumiere is an allusion to Cirque du Soleil.

Believers in Sasquatch do think that a population of them exist and are concentrated around Mount St. Helens.

Regarding the Sasquatch family: I actually knew someone names Nils. He was huge and strong and not quite a genius to put it mildly. His mother used to shout at him and he would answer “Yess, Mu-a.”

I hope this helps.

See the pages for Judge Crater Takes a Powder, and The Warriors for more tidbits.