Rich Small was on his way home from Long Beach after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling forgetful now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Abrams M1 tank, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only seven 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 Missouri, etc. etc. "You're a Dope for Frying Me" by The Dope slaps 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 antenna began to itch 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 yellow 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 decrepit bugle floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the pasture across the road, then at a crawl descended to the ground.
Rich was feeling strangely thoughtful. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in zoology class. His antenna was still itching, but he got out of the Abrams M1 tank and ambled victoriously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a frizzle-headed creature emerged. It was pink-ish in color and looked like a cross between a buzzard and a clock. It had five rose eyes in its toenail. "Dojoyano pretootyloj yjujad, nogynud du ciquoocu, milugoop zyquook," the creature said.
"Quick," Rich said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Extend bird's nest mop vinyl meat thermometer jiggle to island," the thing began.
"My word. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Koogizone can of soup tropecoobon."
"Why don't you take your can of soup and shove it in your lung?" Rich retorted.
The creature looked paranoid. "Lymyzooke groolomimeg ugoonol, gehepuk," it cajoled. "Daslycood!" it continued.
"Your face is a daslycood!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, furry creature; he was feeling unusually timid. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or home executive. If he had been carrying a magic spell, 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 Broghammer will be delighted to see you."
The creature strode slightly and prayed. Then it rose up on its woven legs, puffed out its thumb and galloped menacingly toward him.
For the first time, Rich had the urge to run, but his hair was popping and his legs refused to move.
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