Humor: Fueled by Petrol

(Alien Abduction notes, Continued from 19 Oct ‘09).

I tried to keep my mind from wandering to the Macabre as I made my stealthy way down the gentle, forested slope toward the unmistakable scent of BBQ. The noises began to sort themselves out into two groups; one the sounds of humans in general disorder and complaint, the other clear, light, mirth-some voices. Aliens! ‘Till now, I had not heard them speak. But it was easy to tell the Alien voices from the human’s. For one thing, they sounded like happy, contented voices….like the voices you hear at a really fine restaurant in between contended champing and lip smacking. The two groups seemed to be at odds, one so happy, the other so lame and discontent.

The winding trail I was following led gently down into the large depression. As I went deeper into the glen, it became more and more like an earth-side county park. Strewn about in little glades and clearings were what looked like picnic tables and benches, albeit the sort that you might get if you had a contest and all the artists with saws and plaster got busy out-designing each other to win a prize. Here was a bench shaped like a large “U”, there a table high in a tree, with convenient limbs padded and used for the benches. How you would get plates and food up there I could not guess. But it all was pretty interesting, not to mention that I was in a forest aboard a spacecraft. All this tended to rather occupy my attention and so it was a surprised Jimmy Petrol that suddenly burst out of the dense little forest and into a clearing filled with Aliens.

They all had their backs to me, so they didn’t see me right off. The clearing was actually a shore; just beyond there lay a little lake, full of water and out about fifty yards, an island with humans all lined up around the edge. The aliens were all standing around laughing at them. A few male Aliens (who looked very much like the female Aliens, but with a more stocky, shorter build) were standing right along the shore, holding ropes attached to what looked to be life preservers. The life preservers were floating in the water in the vicinity of the little group of humans, but none of them seemed inclined to be rescued.

I was taking it all in when a couple of Aliens closest to me turned and began taking me in. They were busy gnawing on BBQ ribs and didn’t stop. They said something Alien over their shoulders and some of the other nearby Aliens drifted over to take me in as well.

All in all, I was quite confused. Why were the humans so standoffish? It looked like they were trying to avoid capture; indeed, now that I had been spotted, a few on the island took to waving in my direction and yelling “Run, run!” The Aliens just kept chomping on ribs and, I am not kidding, corn on the cob.

Of course, the whole thing was too “Alice in Wonderlands” for me to understand. I couldn’t have been more confused if I had been reading the editorial pages of the Wall Street Journal; everything seemed to be twisted all out of shape and context until almost anything was believable!

Eventually, I spied the food-pile and cook- fire. Around it were a couple of Alien men, cooking ribs and corn. Next to them was a good old-fashioned picnic table. From where I stood I could make out the “US Forest Service” burnt into its wooden legs. The humans continued to yell, the fishers cast and re-cast life-preserver lines, catching nothing, and the rest of the Aliens kept gnawing and chatting.

Seemingly free to do as I pleased, I trickled over towards the foodstuffs. The Aliens let me by, some smiling down at me, others ignoring me. When I got over to the table, one of the cooks popped a plate in my hands and slapped a couple of beef-rib looking articles onto it. An ear of corn was quickly added. I ignored the strident yelling coming from my fellow ex-patriots on the little island,  sat down under a small Oak tree and dug in.

The party went on much the same, but eventually all the ribs were gone and the Aliens were laying around in little grassy areas just like JP. I could see the humans out on their little island; they were less agitated now that the Alien guys had given up on the life-preserver-fishing idea, but they were talking in little groups and pointing at me. It looked like any human committee meeting I had ever seen….it might take them days to reach any kind of consensus! I ignored them and picked my teeth with a handy stick.

The Aliens were having a similar talk, pointing at me from time to time, eyebrows raised, voices hushed. Eventually a delegation appeared at my doorstep; one of the cooks and a female somewhat older looking than the rest. She was still very Barbie-like, in that she was easily seven feet tall and willowy. They smiled down at me, so I thought I would play the humble guest instead of the frightened prey as my relatives on the island had chosen.

Rising, I smiled back up at them, and clasping my hands together in Oriental Fashion in front of me, I gave a little bow. I am happily at your service, I meant to say.

“We wonder why you are not with your kind over on the little island?” It was the woman Alien who spoke. Her eyes sparkled and the corners of her mouth were turned up in a quizzical smile. Her escort, a young male of only about six-and-a-half feet, cocked his head and raised one eyebrow.

Thinking quickly, I thought that it might be advantageous to distance myself from the stranded humans. They were, I noted, stranded and taunted with fishing lines. They were all lined up along the shore, silent now for the first time, staring with wild eyes at our little conference. They reminded me of the herds of Zebra and Gazelle you see on “Wild Kingdom”, all standing in a bunch watching a former relative being eaten by lions. Perhaps I would not be human today.

I shot my delegation a puzzled look, with one eyebrow raised as well and asked, “My Kind, your grace? Do you mean those Apes across the little water?” They widened their eyes in obvious surprise. I had them going, so I kept on.

“I am from the World of Shadows, your grace, far from this planet. I am only here to observe these primitive creatures. A spy, they would call it here. I come to be here to watch and see that they do not become a threat to the Galaxy.”

This seemed to set them back a bit. They exchanged quizzical looks, lowered one eyebrow and raised the other. The male was the rasher of the two; he bit.

“From what World do you come? And why are you not afraid as the other Apes? Why do you eat our food and mix with us without fear. Indeed, I am told you have already made a sexual suggestion to the Ship’s Queen. Are you dim-witted?”

The male was obviously miffed over my earlier attempts to engage in a scientific study of the Alien’s anatomy. Perhaps he was jealous.

“Ah, you have heard, then, that I am a great Scientist. When I first saw that I was among a race of Gods, I was naturally eager to document the physiology of such a creature.” I eyed him up and down, smiling. He blanched and walked away, back to a little group of males at the shore edge who had gone back to fishing for humans with the life preservers. They were yucking it up to a great degree, which seemed to agitate my former fellows. They had gone back to standing in little groups and talking loudly.

The older female Alien remained. She was silent for a time, her eyes squinting a little, head cocked to one side, arms crossed over her chest. She seemed as if she was about to start tapping her foot and give me what for. But she didn’t.

“I see that you are impossible, Jimmy Petrol.” At first I thought that she must be psychic, but then I remembered that I still had my old Fedora on my head. In the band was the ever-present press card, with my name emblazoned across it in bold letters. But she could read English!

I said nothing, waiting. Usually when a woman starts talking about me being impossible, we are at the crux. Things could go one way, or they could go another. Sometimes, being impossible led to all sorts of nice things that were impossible a few moments before. Sometimes it meant that my interview was over. Clearly, the male Alien was of the latter opinion. I stood a little straighter, looked her back in the eyes, and tried to give a twinkle with mine. I batted my eyelashes, Geisha fashion. I licked my lips. I summoned up all my manly courage and looked her up and down, approvingly, and braced myself. Often, I had been slapped for this exact behavior.

My delegate laughed a light, Alien laugh. It spoke of relief and humor. I relaxed my frame; there would be no slapping.

“Your grace,” I began, quietly, “might we go away from all these gawking Apes?” I gestured across the water and made a wrinkly nose. “The Apes tend to chatter so. It will detract us from our mutual Scientific investigations.” She started, eyes doing the widening thing again for an instant. Then she laughed again and relaxed.

“Yes, Being from the World of Shadows, we will go. But not to engage in the “Scientific”. Rather the contrary. We need a publicist. A liar. You fit.”

And with a toss of her head she led off. I followed obediently, in the tracks of my Cougar.

Image via Wikipedia

Related articles by Zemanta

• Alien Abduction Lamp ready to serve man (dvice.com)
• POLL: The Fourth Kind – Are Alien Abductions Real? (space.com)

(Alien Abduction, Continued from 16Oct09)

It was a mother of a ship. My “escorts” kept tight hold of my arms, fairly carrying me as we went bumping along the corridors. After the first couple of blocks I gave up on the foot dragging method of passive resistance; it made no difference to my escorts whatsoever. One of them did give me a little look of approval when I started to ambulate instead of play “sack of potatoes”, but that was all.

From time to time I tried to make conversation with them, but they didn’t seem to be interested in talking about themselves, like Earth women are. I asked about their families, boyfriends, where they had their hair done, whether they had offspring; in short, all the old standards. But no dice. They weren’t biting. In fact, until I got onto the topic of sex, out of desperation more than actual hope, there was no reaction to my queries at all.

All I said was, “So tell me about your reproductive habits. Is there any way I could document them for my scientific colleagues on Earth?” I didn’t really think they understood English. Which meant, of course, that they were from some provincial part of the Galaxy; surely English was the Galactic Standard, after all. I mean, Manifest Destiny and all that, what?

But they had no problem with English after all. I had been having a hard time keeping up with them. They had legs that must have been four feet long…they had a stride that had me pumping my little hams at a rate that made me feel positively like a toddler. I had been busy examining these Barbie-like appendages when I made my innocent and scientific inquiry into the Alien reproductive life when we coincidentally reached the end of a long hall way.

We stopped, the doors buzzed open and I was booted through them; those legs could kick!

I stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding another face-plant. My escorts stood on the other side of the portal, smiling down at me with the same sardonic smile I had  suffered at the hands of their probable “Captain” or leader. They didn’t seem to be angry, but there was a definite air about them that there had better not be any funny business. The doors slid shut and I was left on my own in a part of the ship quite distant from my entry point at the staircase.

The surprise was that it wasn’t a cell. In fact, it looked just like the rest of the ship. I wandered along the corridor; there were passageways along it at odd intervals. Some went on, turning or terminating at lift doors. Most went only a few feet and met a blank wall that I suspected contained an unseen door. There were signs along the way, but I could make nothing out of them as they were in an alien tongue.

I went along quietly…why I had been let loose was a mystery, but it seemed obvious that I would not be able to get back into the other part of the ship. The doors I had been booted through were fast shut and would not open even to “open sez-a-mee”. The only course was to wander on until something happened.

And it didn’t take too long. I was to learn later that the doors I had been passing were crew quarters; the corridor I was in led eventually to what I can only describe as a City Park. The metallic floor of the ship gave way to actual dirt, the corridor terminating at a trail-head or path that meandered down into a deep depression filled with trees, bushes and all manner of flora. There were even birds. From down amongst the groves of trees I could hear the sounds of an odd, musical laughter, intermingled with more human sounding voices. The humans didn’t sound as musical. Point of fact, they sounded distressed. And in the air was the faint smell of Bar-b-que.

I felt faint. I was among Cannibals! Well, not cannibals actually, since they were Aliens, but close enough! Were these Barbie-like creatures merely Galactic Gourmands? Were the sounds of human distress I could here from this idyllic park-like place the last, protesting sounds of lunch? I shuddered. My mind thus far had been focused on my scientific duty to explore these oddly attractive Alien anatomies. I began to rethink my scientific duties. Perhaps a more furtive observation would be called for.

But I was hungry; it had been a long time since I ate all those ribs back at Petrol Central in the Think Tank. Maybe they were serving vegetarian too. I hoped so, fervently, as I begin to pick my way down the dirt path toward the sweet, smoky odor of the Alien picnic.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Google Crop Circles: Eric Schmidt Is an Alien (blippitt.com)