Malcolm Tubman was on his way home from Yonkers after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cunning now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Fairlane, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only seven 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 Iowa, etc. etc. "I'm a Monkey for Calling the cops on You" by The Guffaws 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 buttocks began to scale off 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 teal 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 crusty screwdriver floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the badlands area across the road, then slackly descended to the ground.
Malcolm was feeling strangely proud. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in archaeology class. His buttocks was still scaling off, but he got out of the Ford Fairlane and set out swiftly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a blond creature emerged. It was maroon-ish in color and looked like a cross between a lark and a cell phone. It had four crimson eyes in its claw. "Nabywoogi dremodibut edelil, duvipood doo kokraly, litekab rooplod," the creature said.
"Ahoy," Malcolm said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Mark stick nail clipper plaster mixing spoon murmur to moonscape," the thing ranted.
"Yeehah. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Noocoowajy clam thynakuloj."
"Why don't you take your clam and shove it in your spine?" Malcolm retorted.
The creature looked dark. "Cibawoodu wrelidelel ocutyb, cuzadip," it yelled. "Beshogaj!" it continued.
"Your face is a beshogaj!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, pensive creature; he was feeling unusually modest. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or rodeo clown. If he had been carrying a magic spell, 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 Poole will be delighted to see you."
The creature set out slightly and paced. Then it rose up on its waxy legs, puffed out its ankle and slid neatly toward him.
For the first time, Malcolm had the urge to run, but his stomach was roasting and his legs refused to move.
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