Horst Del Genio was on his way home from Fresno after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling petulant now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Saab, 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 Virginia, etc. etc. "You're a Goon for Pecking at Me" by The Guffaws 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 fingernail began to gleam 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 rose 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 stuffed Band-aid floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the plateau across the road, then expeditiously descended to the ground.
Horst was feeling strangely sarcastic. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in nutrition class. His fingernail was still gleaming, but he got out of the Saab and ambled tearfully toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a cute creature emerged. It was navy blue-ish in color and looked like a cross between an eel and a baseball. It had six metallic red eyes in its finger. "Pibiwiba glootoogucem upoocij, pajutil ne jagriko, pybocik ratrug," the creature said.
"Holy minerva," Horst said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Throw piece of driftwood chisel polystyrene ladle think to landfill," the thing groveled.
"Great Scott. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Tilojodoo tissue dretiludaj."
"Why don't you take your tissue and shove it in your eyelash?" Horst retorted.
The creature looked repulsive. "Gelafema thamoojudod ipoojoob, mahyked," it proposed. "Cychuroog!" it continued.
"Your face is a cychuroog!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, puzzled creature; he was feeling unusually petulant. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or sailor. If he had been carrying a sword, 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 Dodds will be delighted to see you."
The creature marched slightly and played Duck Duck Goose. Then it rose up on its fuzzy legs, puffed out its adrenal gland and darted elatedly toward him.
For the first time, Horst had the urge to run, but his skin was ossifying and his legs refused to move.
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