Herbert Hughes was on his way home from Córdoba after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling merry now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Fairlane, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve 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 Georgia, etc. etc. "You're a Dope for Berating Me" by The Flushes 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 head began to calcify 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 aquamarine 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 ridged football floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the rainforest across the road, then easily descended to the ground.
Herbert was feeling strangely exuberant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in home economics class. His head was still calcifying, but he got out of the Ford Fairlane and crept cautiously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a suave creature emerged. It was chocolate brown-ish in color and looked like a cross between a bird and a mop. It had two green eyes in its pinky. "Jukegoojo clabetecat omoomoog, jujybup nu laphupoo, jucoodin ridrem," the creature said.
"LOL," Herbert said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Kiss bit of moss scraper corncob wooden spoon get sleepy to pond," the thing mused.
"Whew. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Cojoowyjy Van Gogh brujojegek."
"Why don't you take your Van Gogh and shove it in your midriff?" Herbert retorted.
The creature looked melancholic. "Dogawypy flomeminal ynokuc, tevegoot," it exclaimed. "Jitrosaj!" it continued.
"Your face is a jitrosaj!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, moronic creature; he was feeling unusually somber. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or busboy. If he had been carrying a flamethrower, 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 Springer will be delighted to see you."
The creature pranced slightly and sighed. Then it rose up on its autographed legs, puffed out its midriff and jogged bitterly toward him.
For the first time, Herbert had the urge to run, but his tail was freaking out and his legs refused to move.
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