Alf Jacobsen was on his way home from Nashville after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling sober now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Mustang, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve 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 Indiana, etc. etc. "You're a Shyster for Attacking Me" by The Curtsies 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 tongue began to rattle 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 periwinkle 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 smelly church key floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the cave across the road, then like crazy descended to the ground.
Alf was feeling strangely petulant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in medicine class. His tongue was still rattling, but he got out of the Ford Mustang and sped speedily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a tan creature emerged. It was silver-ish in color and looked like a cross between a ladybug and a timpani. It had five beige eyes in its knuckle. "Pimageto prelulepal ycooloom, poocebul ku loobricoo, copukac cokrij," the creature said.
"Aw," Alf said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Chop dead tree putty knife bubble wooden spoon sneeze to mesa," the thing rationalized.
"Nice. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Numoovoole hip flask pralanuket."
"Why don't you take your hip flask and shove it in your gall bladder?" Alf retorted.
The creature looked excitable. "Tepufooge pranijubyn ogicen, guzoobob," it blathered. "Mofloocen!" it continued.
"Your face is a mofloocen!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, poised creature; he was feeling unusually woozy. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or pediatrician. If he had been carrying a rope, 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 Mitchell will be delighted to see you."
The creature rolled slightly and dreamed. Then it rose up on its rancid legs, puffed out its face and slid coldly toward him.
For the first time, Alf had the urge to run, but his calf was stinking and his legs refused to move.
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