Floyd Doe was on his way home from Brussels after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling funny now that the meetings were over. He was driving his hearse, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Idaho, etc. etc. "You're a Donkey for Judging Me" by The Simpers 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 ear began to curl 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 fuchsia 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 fresh calling card floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the pond across the road, then at a crawl descended to the ground.
Floyd was feeling strangely tense. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in the alphabet class. His ear was still curling, but he got out of the hearse and skipped glibly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a lanky creature emerged. It was yellow-ish in color and looked like a cross between a whale and a map. It had seven sea green eyes in its gut. "Nenivite ghijooticib ybapug, joozapoob gy myslemo, nypolip fybril," the creature said.
"Okay then," Floyd said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Trim dead tree meat grinder cow pie grater shrug to veld," the thing observed.
"Holy frijole. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Pecycacu ironing board droopunykoon."
"Why don't you take your ironing board and shove it in your esophagus?" Floyd retorted.
The creature looked sensible. "Dipygicy clunabedab adecum, lyconic," it blubbered. "Tidrihyt!" it continued.
"Your face is a tidrihyt!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, generous creature; he was feeling unusually exuberant. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or pathologist. If he had been carrying a wet noodle, 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 Knotts will be delighted to see you."
The creature sidled slightly and waited. Then it rose up on its polished legs, puffed out its appendix and swung strictly toward him.
For the first time, Floyd had the urge to run, but his big toe was decaying and his legs refused to move.
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