Knuckles Palensky was on his way home from Houston after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling modest now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Explorer, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only five 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 Indiana, etc. etc. "I'm a Dimwit for Talking to You" by The Cringes 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 thigh began to get wonky 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 scarlet 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 iPad floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the lakeside across the road, then like crazy descended to the ground.
Knuckles was feeling strangely queer. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in economics class. His thigh was still getting wonky, but he got out of the Ford Explorer and slumped dubiously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a roly-poly creature emerged. It was magenta-ish in color and looked like a cross between a louse and a candle. It had seven grey eyes in its dignity. "Galehuty clucenacop ynupob, nifunood go legliboo, bigupuj jaglyl," the creature said.
"Not on your life," Knuckles said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Moisten egg shell nail gun peanut butter fork faint to gully," the thing opined.
"Barf. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Loobyryka knitting needle ghoocibujij."
"Why don't you take your knitting needle and shove it in your mouth?" Knuckles retorted.
The creature looked brash. "Caboogubi quootebojod ydoodom, koofecic," it mused. "Pakroocot!" it continued.
"Your face is a pakroocot!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, athletic creature; he was feeling unusually decisive. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or veterinarian. If he had been carrying a lightsaber, 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 Carroll will be delighted to see you."
The creature slipped slightly and ruminated. Then it rose up on its clean legs, puffed out its abdomen and hopped patiently toward him.
For the first time, Knuckles had the urge to run, but his thumb was curving and his legs refused to move.
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