Gunther Funk was on his way home from Phoenix after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling humble now that the meetings were over. He was driving his city bus, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eight 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 Vermont, etc. etc. "You're a Lob-dotterel for Disparaging Me" by The Face palms 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 knuckle began to rot 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 chocolate brown 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 fuzzy hockey puck floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the pasture across the road, then idly descended to the ground.
Gunther was feeling strangely cruel. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in geneaology class. His knuckle was still rotting, but he got out of the city bus and pranced furiously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a thin creature emerged. It was magenta-ish in color and looked like a cross between a caribou and a pink flamingo. It had five fuchsia eyes in its back. "Pedewiji chelejoocud ilojom, dusunuc ge notruda, migytyb soshool," the creature said.
"Bless my britches," Gunther said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Ridicule cedar tree file bone spatula get upset to garden," the thing shuddered.
"Ho ho. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Booleyootoo clock promunupyk."
"Why don't you take your clock and shove it in your skin?" Gunther retorted.
The creature looked gentle. "Dalahoopoo kritynugoj ykutam, nujakoon," it rationalized. "Joogryvel!" it continued.
"Your face is a joogryvel!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, jolly creature; he was feeling unusually puzzled. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or mathematician. If he had been carrying a piercing stare, 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 Finch will be delighted to see you."
The creature proceeded slightly and swallowed. Then it rose up on its hollow legs, puffed out its dignity and strolled resignedly toward him.
For the first time, Gunther had the urge to run, but his cheek was burning and his legs refused to move.
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