Larry O'Brien was on his way home from Milan after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling dumb now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Harley, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only four 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 New York, etc. etc. "I'm a Chump for Satisfying You" by The Sniffs 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 collarbone began to shrink 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 chocolate brown 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 nice basket floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the meadow across the road, then imperceptibly descended to the ground.
Larry was feeling strangely nervous. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in journalism class. His collarbone was still shrinking, but he got out of the Harley and lurched hungrily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an obese creature emerged. It was aquamarine-ish in color and looked like a cross between a rattlesnake and a candy bar. It had four indigo eyes in its lung. "Peniheno phelityled agimuc, byvupub da nipleme, bedegak fecrid," the creature said.
"Not so fast," Larry said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Shoot fish woodworker's clamp egg shell strainer ruminate to canyon," the thing griped.
"Voilà. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Tiloocipo curling iron wryculomun."
"Why don't you take your curling iron and shove it in your thyroid gland?" Larry retorted.
The creature looked polite. "Timivaky clobudicep ydoocim, jericoom," it revealed. "Boocloohyj!" it continued.
"Your face is a boocloohyj!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, freakish creature; he was feeling unusually brave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or ichthyologist. If he had been carrying a spear, 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 Miles will be delighted to see you."
The creature clambered slightly and played solitaire. Then it rose up on its plastic legs, puffed out its larynx and dove courteously toward him.
For the first time, Larry had the urge to run, but his pancreas was cracking and his legs refused to move.
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