It even opens with the prerequisite cheesy dark-and-stormy-night lead:
They came in the dead of the New Hampshire night in 1961, or so the story goes, about a dozen, short, hairless humanoids who snatched a terrified Portsmouth couple into a hovering spacecraft for a very close encounter of the medical examination kind.
This is embarrassing, folks. I have loved the Globe. I have spent countless spring mornings lingering over coffee enjoying conversations spurred by its once-refreshing mix of small-town politics and world-wise cosmopolitan wisdom.
This is genuinely painful.