I would take it through a rationally argued exposition of enlightened philosophy through the ages, underscored with man’s artistic and scientific achievements. I would show it the contrast of well-meant human decency as it manages to bring about constant development despite the aberrations of violence and savagery that the race is capable of. I would underscore this with a picture of my girlfriend sleeping.
If that didn’t sway it, the flayed bloody carapace of their intransingent ambassador nailed to the front of his hijacked spaceship, flaunted with spotlights as the Ride of the Valkyries blares from all comms channels while my crew of swarthy space pirates and I wrathfully tear through the massed invasion fleets like a scythe cutting down ripe wheat should do the trick, and send the panicked survivors scuttling back to their homeworld with their eyestalks quivering between their Qnyerflugs.
The multicolored skies of the intransigent would-be invaders’ core worlds would be filled with unnumbered titanic Terran dreadnoughts, built by mankind’s best scientific minds from ruthlessly expropriated alien technologies, whose orbital bombardment would turn fertile breeding palaces into rubble so fine you’d have to sift for the dead with a spoon. Our chainsaw-armed shock troopers would decorate their battle armor with their victims’ liberated entrails, while the expanding clouds of ichor from annihilated extraterrestrial deep-space rookeries would create visibility hazards in the space-lanes for millennia to come
I would stand at the converted alien bridge with a sly grin on my face as their Praetors implore me for clemency. But no quarter should be forthcoming for the cosmic huns that only shortly before had made as to lay waste to a species they did not see worthy of survival in the vast, merciless scope of the Universe. The nuclear holocaust that would engulf their very existence will be like a stroboscopic warning beacon of our vengeance to any other ill-intentioned aberrations with the arrogance to question man’s right to existence.
We would fix their little red wagons. We would mertilize them. We would kick their slimy, 5-legged orifices into next Tuesday, and from thence back to the Florg age in a hellish conflagration of pure, white hatred.
Justify that, you greasy motherfuckers.
Or, if they’d come in peace, we could have just gone out together for a drink.
