Fred Hanson was on his way home from Denver after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling funny now that the meetings were over. He was driving his ox cart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only two 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 Wisconsin, etc. etc. "I'm a Curmudgeon for Stepping on You" by The Twitches 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 tail began to undulate 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 amber 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 tablet computer floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the meadow across the road, then expeditiously descended to the ground.
Fred was feeling strangely funny. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in etiquette class. His tail was still undulating, but he got out of the ox cart and sneaked unabashedly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an elderly creature emerged. It was tan-ish in color and looked like a cross between a nightingale and a rubber chicken. It had eight crimson eyes in its bladder. "Tunooriji broopeloopoop ootemen, livityc gi goflyboo, nomedyt gefluc," the creature said.
"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," Fred said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Flush weed glue gun maple egg cutter mutter to beach," the thing railed.
"Can you dig it?. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Looneretu bilge pump frupagemad."
"Why don't you take your bilge pump and shove it in your vein?" Fred retorted.
The creature looked considerate. "Dootuyitu pralikinek atydat, lawoojud," it hissed. "Citrifod!" it continued.
"Your face is a citrifod!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, haggard creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or pilot. If he had been carrying an aspersion, 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 Van Hollen will be delighted to see you."
The creature inched slightly and crouched. Then it rose up on its excellent legs, puffed out its pituitary gland and bolted frenetically toward him.
For the first time, Fred had the urge to run, but his gall bladder was softening and his legs refused to move.
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