Pete Witherbee was on his way home from Springfield after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling shy now that the meetings were over. He was driving his garbage truck, 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 North Dakota, etc. etc. "I'm a Bilge rat for Drawing strength from You" by The Grimaces 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 finger 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 fuchsia 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 narrow telephone book floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the hayfield across the road, then gradually descended to the ground.
Pete was feeling strangely cruel. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in folklore class. His finger was still growing hair, but he got out of the garbage truck and galumphed flightily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a large creature emerged. It was black-ish in color and looked like a cross between a ladybug and a gun. It had eight tan eyes in its kidney. "Kigaruni frilybegooc itetim, nuvubac dy dygrudoo, loocojum ziprej," the creature said.
"Silence," Pete said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Close acorn makeup brush beeswax strainer chortle to marsh," the thing mumbled.
"Ulp. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Tegoowyka padlock droodoniboom."
"Why don't you take your padlock and shove it in your kidney?" Pete retorted.
The creature looked confident. "Migysygi slucootootab imedup, goofootop," it continued. "Mislurub!" it continued.
"Your face is a mislurub!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, choleric creature; he was feeling unusually humble. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or stockbroker. If he had been carrying a vial of poison, 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 Tyson will be delighted to see you."
The creature trotted slightly and stared into space. Then it rose up on its hard legs, puffed out its shoulder and tore elatedly toward him.
For the first time, Pete had the urge to run, but his nose was rotting and his legs refused to move.
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