Hamlet Sartre was on his way home from Garden Grove after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling impish now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Buick, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only nine 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 Louisiana, etc. etc. "You're a Weasel for Satisfying Me" by The Honks 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 thigh began to spread 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 camouflage 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 odd photograph floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the marsh across the road, then slackly descended to the ground.
Hamlet was feeling strangely tense. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in geography class. His thigh was still spreading, but he got out of the Buick and jogged smoothly toward the object.
As he 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 an ape and an orange. It had seven jet black eyes in its midriff. "Poomyvemu fratidajoj acejob, kujoobat go moquupe, goomakag hyslod," the creature said.
"I'm on it," Hamlet said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Reinforce bear track straightedge Formica pair of chopsticks drool to mesa," the thing continued.
"Hee haw. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Becujece daisy drypypigub."
"Why don't you take your daisy and shove it in your Achilles tendon?" Hamlet retorted.
The creature looked selfish. "Cucawyjy cruloomoogob atydok, lasunooc," it belched. "Moothyjam!" it continued.
"Your face is a moothyjam!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, hirsute creature; he was feeling unusually hysterical. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or astronaut. If he had been carrying a bucket of water, 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 Kramer will be delighted to see you."
The creature marched slightly and meowed. Then it rose up on its stolen legs, puffed out its bicep and waded glumly toward him.
For the first time, Hamlet had the urge to run, but his eye was exfoliating and his legs refused to move.
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