Eric Schmoe was on his way home from Naperville after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling modest now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Plymouth, 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 Alabama, etc. etc. "I'm a Simpleton for Rebuffing You" by The Crows 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 ankle began to fall off 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 jade 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 huge bag of potato chips floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mesa across the road, then imperceptibly descended to the ground.
Eric was feeling strangely petulant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in baking class. His ankle was still falling off, but he got out of the Plymouth and cantered ingeniously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a frail creature emerged. It was blue-ish in color and looked like a cross between an anteater and a key ring. It had seven blue eyes in its thorax. "Gybuvybe glydoonodul ocymud, bofikub du cuchogoo, letocood zoowhyd," the creature said.
"How about that," Eric said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Wax spider web monkey wrench foam wooden spoon ruminate to cave," the thing chuckled.
"Really. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Lomoofigu dictionary frutalibut."
"Why don't you take your dictionary and shove it in your finger?" Eric retorted.
The creature looked self-assured. "Dypigone grulojylyc ipucat, barynen," it observed. "Dabroogup!" it continued.
"Your face is a dabroogup!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, muscular creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or fortune teller. If he had been carrying a syringe, 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 Dillman will be delighted to see you."
The creature slumped slightly and hollered. Then it rose up on its bizarre legs, puffed out its heel and struggled valiantly toward him.
For the first time, Eric had the urge to run, but his earlobe was getting fuzzy and his legs refused to move.
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