Mac Zwiebel was on his way home from Shreveport after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling angry now that the meetings were over. He was driving his UPS truck, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of Washington, etc. etc. "You're a Wimp for Quieting Me" by The Chortles was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his skull began to close down and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing olive drab light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge rigid hair dryer floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the veld across the road, then hurriedly descended to the ground.
Mac was feeling strangely cantankerous. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in recreation class. His skull was still closing down, but he got out of the UPS truck and inched solemnly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a pimply creature emerged. It was salmon-ish in color and looked like a cross between a German Shepherd and a cage. It had two pea green eyes in its collarbone. "Buloosejo ghadanamom utakad, noogicook ge moocrepy, jymeped vyghen," the creature said.
"Golly whiz," Mac said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Forget feather bit of Elmer's glue plaster of Paris fork roll to dump," the thing argued.
"Ssss. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Boojezaje sack glumatomod."
"Why don't you take your sack and shove it in your skin?" Mac retorted.
The creature looked friendly. "Bogavipo brujoocukil ynoopop, mowylyt," it shuddered. "Deklyzug!" it continued.
"Your face is a deklyzug!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, brave creature; he was feeling unusually carefree. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or jeweler. If he had been carrying a shoulder fired rocket, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President Tiller will be delighted to see you."
The creature jumped slightly and jerked. Then it rose up on its unusual legs, puffed out its funny bone and tore diligently toward him.
For the first time, Mac had the urge to run, but his knee was getting tangled and his legs refused to move.
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