Clifford Gilson was on his way home from Billings after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling ambitious now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Kia Rio, 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 Georgia, etc. etc. "You're a Sloth for Hypnotizing Me" by The Smacks 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 beard began to shimmer 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 sea green 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 sleek tissue floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the dump across the road, then gradually descended to the ground.
Clifford was feeling strangely cuddly. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in anthropology class. His beard was still shimmering, but he got out of the Kia Rio and zipped roughly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a sorrowful creature emerged. It was golden-ish in color and looked like a cross between a dragon and a ruler. It had three brown eyes in its fingernail. "Cookoocona trenigoojab enydool, pewibud loo biflooli, nookedik yibrij," the creature said.
"Tarnation," Clifford said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Lick weed tire gauge ceramic cookie cutter bark to grassland," the thing noted.
"Alrighty. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Timooreta hair dryer plamidepen."
"Why don't you take your hair dryer and shove it in your neck?" Clifford retorted.
The creature looked irate. "Talegoota bropugyket ugodom, poocotag," it roared. "Gobryhyd!" it continued.
"Your face is a gobryhyd!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, ignoble creature; he was feeling unusually brave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or day care provider. If he had been carrying a blow pipe, 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 Worm will be delighted to see you."
The creature strode slightly and dealt cards. Then it rose up on its archaic legs, puffed out its piehole and loped needlessly toward him.
For the first time, Clifford had the urge to run, but his belly button was attracting flies and his legs refused to move.
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