Wilma Tutu was on her way home from Paris after a five-day series of business meetings. She was feeling peculiar now that the meetings were over. She was driving her Honda Accord, 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 she was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but she should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of Missouri, etc. etc. "I'm a Wimp for Deceiving You" by The Flushes was squawking on the radio. She was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, she was wide awake. She had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled her. She didn't know what it was, but her aorta began to smell bad and her heart was pounding in her chest.
She wasn't consciously aware of stopping her vehicle, but found herself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing striped light in the sky. She was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above her or in her 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 excellent chair floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the marsh across the road, then hurriedly descended to the ground.
Wilma was feeling strangely queer. She briefly wished she had paid better attention in Chinese class. Her aorta was still smelling bad, but she got out of the Honda Accord and pranced accidentally toward the object.
As she watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a frumpy creature emerged. It was forest green-ish in color and looked like a cross between a fox and a fishing rod. It had four black eyes in its antenna. "Mamooroopo ploocoojylal ybumop, necoogig pa duchyco, pumyjim caclig," the creature said.
"Huh," Wilma said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Pound stick compass flour paste potato peeler come over to rainforest," the thing enunciated.
"Hell's bells. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Noobogydu spittoon pligonabom."
"Why don't you take your spittoon and shove it in your ankle?" Wilma retorted.
The creature looked friendly. "Nyjooyodi thatanijok ojodic, doramem," it thought. "Peslooceg!" it continued.
"Your face is a peslooceg!"
She didn't know why she was being so mouthy to the strange, noxious creature; she was feeling unusually brash. She tended to deal with the unknown the way she would deal with an annoying salesman or nun. If she had been carrying a tomahawk, 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 Kollmorgen will be delighted to see you."
The creature climbed slightly and lay around in bed. Then it rose up on its slimy legs, puffed out its pituitary gland and skittered gracefully toward her.
For the first time, Wilma had the urge to run, but her eyebrow was sliding and her legs refused to move.
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