Logan Goodman was on his way home from Bismark after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling amiable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Rolls-Royce Ghost, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten 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 West Virginia, etc. etc. "I'm a Bandicoot for Subduing 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 scalp began to bunch up 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 metallic red 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 mechanical muffin floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the swamp across the road, then steadily descended to the ground.
Logan was feeling strangely lazy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in astrology class. His scalp was still bunching up, but he got out of the Rolls-Royce Ghost and trotted speedily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a gaunt creature emerged. It was brown-ish in color and looked like a cross between a yeti and a bouquet. It had two khaki eyes in its thorax. "Lobysoobi cramutopan omubyg, lojipyt boo badrepy, poogulin roslyg," the creature said.
"Horse feathers," Logan said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Kiss badger hole sponge sugar whisk play Duck Duck Goose to pasture," the thing trumpeted.
"Inconceivable. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Munirecoo handkerchief chujamykuc."
"Why don't you take your handkerchief and shove it in your hair?" Logan retorted.
The creature looked modest. "Gabyraji grucilypel ejugud, pihukyk," it informed. "Pibrosoc!" it continued.
"Your face is a pibrosoc!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, heavyset creature; he was feeling unusually awkward. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or pawnbroker. If he had been carrying a weed whacker, 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 Roberts will be delighted to see you."
The creature tumbled slightly and hiccuped. Then it rose up on its polka-dotted legs, puffed out its kneecap and galloped threateningly toward him.
For the first time, Logan had the urge to run, but his skull was feeling better and his legs refused to move.
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