The Great Melmacian Reunion

Ryan, the ALF fan club leader, is selected to represent Earth.

Ryan Williams, a lanky 30-something with a mop of unruly hair and an unyielding devotion to the ALF TV show, was the president, treasurer, and sole active member of the Official ALF Fan Club. His apartment was a shrine to the furry, wise-cracking alien from Melmac: posters, action figures, and a well-worn VHS collection of every episode. Ryan’s life revolved around obscure Melmacian trivia, from the 12 uses of cat juice to the sacred art of burping in harmony. So, when the intergalactic trivia contest "Know Your Melmac" was announced on a shady corner of the internet, Ryan was ready.


The contest, hosted by an anonymous user named "FurryTrailblazer42," tested knowledge of Melmacian culture, history, and quirks. Ryan aced questions like "What’s the primary ingredient in Melmacian tooth polish?" (spoiler: it’s lint) and "How many stomachs does a Melmacian have?" (three, obviously). His score was unmatched, and the prize was beyond his wildest dreams: a trip to meet the surviving Melmacians, who had reportedly fled their exploded planet and resettled on a distant world called New Melmac.


The message came straight from Gordon Shumway himself—aka ALF, the last Melmacian ambassador. Gordon revealed he’d tracked down the survivors and needed a human to bridge the gap, proving Earthlings and Melmacians could coexist. Ryan, clutching his lucky ALF plushie, was chosen. Gordon’s only request? Bring a human who spoke Melmacian (or at least English with a penchant for sarcasm) and shared their oddball quirks. Ryan, naturally, was perfect. He packed a tablet loaded with every ALF episode, a few Earth classics, and—against Gordon’s advice—a scrappy tabby named Mr. Whiskers, hidden in a pet carrier. “Keep the cat under wraps,” Gordon warned via a glitchy holo-message. “Melmacians… have a history with felines.”


Ryan boarded a sleek, saucer-shaped ship piloted by Gordon, who hadn’t aged a day since the ’80s. His fur was still a chaotic brown, his snout still twitching with mischief. “Ready to meet my people, kid?” Gordon asked, slurping a can of something labeled “Carbonated Lint Juice.” Ryan nodded, clutching his tablet and trying not to stare at the ship’s control panel, which looked like a jukebox had a baby with a waffle iron.


They landed on New Melmac, a vibrant planet of neon-green hills and floating diners that smelled faintly of burnt toast. The Melmacians—furry, snouted, and fond of polka-dot robes—gathered in a grand hall shaped like a giant toaster. Ryan, the only human, felt like a kid at a furry convention. Gordon introduced him: “This is Ryan, Earth’s top Melmac scholar. He’s here to prove we’re not so different.” The crowd murmured, skeptical. One Melmacian, a gruff elder named Biff, snorted, “Humans? No way they get our vibes.”


Ryan, undeterred, launched into a speech about shared quirks. “You guys love burping contests? So do we! You eat lint soufflé? We’ve got cotton candy! And your language? It’s just English with extra sass.” To prove it, he quoted ALF episodes verbatim, mimicking Gordon’s iconic one-liners. The crowd chuckled, warming up. Then, Ryan pulled out his tablet. “Wanna see what Earth thinks of you?” He played the ALF pilot episode.


The Melmacians were transfixed. They roared at ALF’s antics, gasped at his crash-landing on Earth, and teared up when he bonded with the Tanners. “That’s you, Gordon!” a young Melmacian squealed. Gordon blushed under his fur. Ryan queued up more shows—The Muppet Show for its chaos, Seinfeld for its sarcasm, and The Great British Bake Off for its inexplicable charm. The Melmacians were hooked, especially on Paul Hollywood’s piercing stare. “This… this is culture,” Biff whispered, clutching a hanky.


Mr. Whiskers, however, chose that moment to escape. The cat bolted from the carrier, streaking across the hall. The Melmacians froze, eyes wide. Ryan panicked, but Gordon leapt in. “Relax, folks! Cats are cool now. No eating, just… petting.” He scooped up Mr. Whiskers, who purred loudly. The crowd hesitated, then one brave Melmacian, a teen named Zorp, petted the cat and grinned. “It’s like a tiny, non-edible friend!” The tension broke, and soon everyone was cooing over Mr. Whiskers, who basked in the attention.


Over the next few days, Ryan shared more Earth culture—pizza recipes, karaoke, and TikTok dances (which the Melmacians nailed, thanks to their natural swagger). He taught them about Wi-Fi, memes, and the joy of binge-watching. In return, they showed him Melmacian games like “Fling the Lint” and a dish called “Glow-in-the-Dark Stew” that tasted like regret. Ryan’s earnestness, his love for their culture, and his ability to keep up with their banter won them over. Biff, now a fan, declared, “This human gets us. Earth sounds… livable.”


At a final council meeting, the Melmacians voted unanimously to relocate to Earth. “Ryan Williams showed us we can fit in,” Zorp said. “Plus, your ‘streaming services’ are light-years ahead of our holo-tapes.” Gordon, beaming, promised to guide the migration. “We’ll blend in,” he said. “Well, except for the fur. And the burping. And maybe the lint obsession.”


As Ryan boarded the ship back to Earth, Mr. Whiskers safely stowed, the Melmacians waved, clutching bootleg DVDs of ALF Ryan had gifted them. Gordon clapped him on the shoulder. “You did good, kid. Earth’s about to get a lot furrier.” Ryan grinned, already planning the first Melmacian-Earth Fan Club meetup. Somewhere, Mr. Whiskers meowed, blissfully unaware he’d just brokered an interplanetary alliance.