Stagehand

If you had asked me two years ago where I would be, living on a space ship on the dark side of the moon, learning how to run an alien circus was not in the top one hundred. It wasn't even in the top one million.
If you had told me that this was going to happen and that I was going to be living with a whole plethora of sexy aliens and getting to know my three paternal grandfathers, I would have asked what weed you were smoking, and where I could get some from.
If you had said that my stash of tentacle porn erotic novels may be a good precursor for my future sex life I would have asked you which loony bin you had escaped from.
Yet here I am and all of the above has occurred Now I think I'm either committed to a looney bin and suffering a psychotic break myself or my life really is out of this world