George Steele was on his way home from Yonkers after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling distressed now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Corvette, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eleven 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 Iowa, etc. etc. "I'm a Chowderhead for Scaring You" by The Blushes 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 bicep began to dangle 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 indigo 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 valuable sledgehammer floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the park across the road, then ploddingly descended to the ground.
George was feeling strangely dapper. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in evolutionary biology class. His bicep was still dangling, but he got out of the Corvette and blundered grandly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a flabby creature emerged. It was black-ish in color and looked like a cross between an iguana and a padlock. It had seven camouflage eyes in its kneecap. "Dokyhega shebydajool unogyg, dowakyg pi beclycy, pyjalej haglyb," the creature said.
"Big whoop," George said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Punch cedar tree fingernail clipper slime spatula huff to glen," the thing joked.
"Sacre bleu. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Lydacela microphone phymatulook."
"Why don't you take your microphone and shove it in your front tooth?" George retorted.
The creature looked garrulous. "Mapyzoojy klulelolyp opoobik, nesimed," it insisted. "Goowhejyg!" it continued.
"Your face is a goowhejyg!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, beautiful creature; he was feeling unusually disagreeable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or law clerk. If he had been carrying a weed whacker, 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 Kollmorgen will be delighted to see you."
The creature slithered slightly and hid. Then it rose up on its hollow legs, puffed out its forehead and ambled menacingly toward him.
For the first time, George had the urge to run, but his nose was perspiring and his legs refused to move.
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