Jim Bob Sartre was on his way home from San Salvador after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cruel now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Barracuda, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only two 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 Kentucky, etc. etc. "You're a Scoundrel for Suspecting Me" by The Fist bumps 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 chin began to turn to mush 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 rare flashlight floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the hillside across the road, then promptly descended to the ground.
Jim Bob was feeling strangely drowsy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in physics class. His chin was still turning to mush, but he got out of the Barracuda and whirled madly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an elderly creature emerged. It was turquoise-ish in color and looked like a cross between a deer and a mushroom. It had seven indigo eyes in its tooth. "Migigubo frygoogygod ilobuk, lajunoog mu leploody, denikil zewrol," the creature said.
"Roger," Jim Bob said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Honor fallen tree love meter slate pair of tongs tread water to glen," the thing intimated.
"Jeepers creepers. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Kuduzygu pipe brajabygug."
"Why don't you take your pipe and shove it in your buttocks?" Jim Bob retorted.
The creature looked boring. "Delyvumu klykugomot apalet, jyrabyn," it persisted. "Powhozym!" it continued.
"Your face is a powhozym!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, wizened creature; he was feeling unusually resolute. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or bodyguard. If he had been carrying a tennis racket, 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 Javits will be delighted to see you."
The creature waded slightly and curtseyed. Then it rose up on its abnormal legs, puffed out its cheek and rolled dubiously toward him.
For the first time, Jim Bob had the urge to run, but his thigh was going numb and his legs refused to move.
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