Roscoe Haverson is a shambles of a man. He is a degenerate gambler. He is a sleeper on lawns, and a leerer at schoolgirls. His provenance is suspect as is his hygiene. The ground at his feet is populated by American Spirit butts and shards from forty ounce bottles and urine. His former wife describes him as, and I quote, “That no account bastard.”
Speaking as the Science Advisor to the President of the United States, it is my opinion that he was not the best choice for the aliens to speak to first immediately upon landing on our planet.