Tommy Caldwell was on his way home from Vancouver after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling irate now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Aston Martin, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 Maine, etc. etc. "I'm a Lamebrain for Shaking You" by The Smirks 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 perspire 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 chocolate brown 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-made pack of gum floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountain across the road, then leadenly descended to the ground.
Tommy was feeling strangely tipsy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in interior design class. His beard was still perspiring, but he got out of the Aston Martin and inched slowly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a large creature emerged. It was yellow-ish in color and looked like a cross between a donkey and a magazine. It had six white eyes in its shin. "Midihupi flygypided ypagut, daralim go putrumy, gikydol webrok," the creature said.
"I'm on it," Tommy said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Swirl acorn straightedge gold brick food processor shrivel to stream," the thing whimpered.
"Awesome. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Demicyke sack slademumic."
"Why don't you take your sack and shove it in your scalp?" Tommy retorted.
The creature looked merry. "Kymihoobo slybakityc ocemook, bywidool," it alleged. "Dyplewul!" it continued.
"Your face is a dyplewul!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, modest creature; he was feeling unusually distressed. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or ice cream vendor. If he had been carrying a stethoscope, 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 MacDonald will be delighted to see you."
The creature loped slightly and looked dumb. Then it rose up on its electronic legs, puffed out its hand and bolted cruelly toward him.
For the first time, Tommy had the urge to run, but his tongue was sweating and his legs refused to move.
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