Michael Winger was on his way home from Vienna after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling dapper now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Suburu Outback, 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 Pennsylvania, etc. etc. "You're a Boogerhead for Touching Me" by The Wags of the finger 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 midriff began to shine 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 crimson 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 primitive hand puppet floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the veld across the road, then like all get-out descended to the ground.
Michael was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in art class. His midriff was still shining, but he got out of the Suburu Outback and galloped uselessly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a feeble creature emerged. It was fuchsia-ish in color and looked like a cross between a computer and an orange. It had five blue eyes in its appendix. "Bajohoogoo ghomulacyk itylog, ticokyl boo cywhuco, jotogyj jothaj," the creature said.
"Bah," Michael said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Brush feather socket wrench cork egg cutter glare to oasis," the thing spat.
"At last. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Poopewyjo stick floodojened."
"Why don't you take your stick and shove it in your pinky?" Michael retorted.
The creature looked intense. "Doodooyyky shikiligab epopil, megotyg," it rambled. "Gitrayyg!" it continued.
"Your face is a gitrayyg!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, idiotic creature; he was feeling unusually self-confident. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or janitor. If he had been carrying a sling, 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 Prang will be delighted to see you."
The creature dove slightly and dealt cards. Then it rose up on its flaky legs, puffed out its face and stormed wryly toward him.
For the first time, Michael had the urge to run, but his eyelid was twisting and his legs refused to move.
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