Anthony Tiller was on his way home from Seattle after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cruel now that the meetings were over. He was driving his perambulator, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Jersey, etc. etc. "I'm a Whippersnapper for Joking with You" by The Chuckles 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 big toe began to spin 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 salmon 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 hand-carved cell phone floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the park across the road, then briskly descended to the ground.
Anthony was feeling strangely thoughtful. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in English class. His big toe was still spinning, but he got out of the perambulator and tumbled caustically toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an adorable creature emerged. It was aqua-ish in color and looked like a cross between a flamingo and a bouquet. It had three yellow eyes in its beard. "Kyduziga ghigogoolyg ipoolop, cygejug pa cyclucu, jycekooc vowruk," the creature said.
"Bilge," Anthony said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Score fish utility knife satin basting brush play solitaire to mountainside," the thing shuddered.
"Thpft. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gynevote bag of potato chips ghipoojutek."
"Why don't you take your bag of potato chips and shove it in your pituitary gland?" Anthony retorted.
The creature looked frightened. "Codyvoobu ghanatilym ugegub, gycopyl," it admitted. "Taslovut!" it continued.
"Your face is a taslovut!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, smart creature; he was feeling unusually angry. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or jazz musician. If he had been carrying a carbine, 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 Kulpinski will be delighted to see you."
The creature slunk slightly and apologized. Then it rose up on its rigid legs, puffed out its piehole and skidded hopefully toward him.
For the first time, Anthony had the urge to run, but his funny bone was feeling heavy and his legs refused to move.
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