Hamlet Schibbel was on his way home from Oklahoma City after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling exuberant now that the meetings were over. He was driving his gondola, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only five 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 Texas, etc. etc. "I'm a Pook for Rebuffing You" by The Winks 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 foot began to grow hair 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 orange 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 striped brush floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the hayfield across the road, then listlessly descended to the ground.
Hamlet was feeling strangely cuddly. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in geography class. His foot was still growing hair, but he got out of the gondola and sneaked briskly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a little creature emerged. It was magenta-ish in color and looked like a cross between a burro and a deck of cards. It had two red eyes in its skull. "Cooloowuta glepoopupel ugajim, kovoocik ta diwhyba, kyginok hugrak," the creature said.
"Ahem," Hamlet said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Scrape spring broom Sheetrock grater collapse to cornfield," the thing babbled.
"Oh my. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Denycuku stuffed owl whepatumom."
"Why don't you take your stuffed owl and shove it in your eyebrow?" Hamlet retorted.
The creature looked creepy. "Tygiroma plilybebood apugol, jyyaged," it purred. "Kooklesec!" it continued.
"Your face is a kooklesec!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, melancholic creature; he was feeling unusually generous. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or teacher. 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 Weber will be delighted to see you."
The creature sailed slightly and snuffled. Then it rose up on its crisp legs, puffed out its shoulder and traipsed narrowly toward him.
For the first time, Hamlet had the urge to run, but his spine was oscillating and his legs refused to move.
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