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What Done Happened to Me

2004-05-20

Category: prose

[Note from LibertyBob: Please enjoy this small amount of fiction. I've been too busy to write anything properly blog-like but I think you'll enjoy this any way. There, think they bought it? What? Still on? What the?]

You know what done happened to me? I been abducted by aliens. No, really!

It was last summer. I took the boat out one night to do a little fishing while the Natural Resources guy was asleep. Just me, a cooler of beer and a pocket full of quarter stick dynamites. The stars were all out and there weren't no wind, a perfect night to be out on the water.

I had just made my first cast and was skimming fish out of the water with my net when I saw the light. A big, old bright light came out from behind the tree line, flying across the sky.

"The ranger's caught me now," I said to myself. I dropped the net in the water so they couldn't see what I was doing. Then I laid back in the boat with a fresh beer in my hand. If they thought I was just out floating they might leave me alone. The light moved over the lake and then over me. I couldn't see, it was so bright. Right overhead it hung in the air just like they do on those movies. That's when I realized that there weren't no helicopter noise. The light got warm and I started to raise up out of my boat. I blacked out then.

When I woke up they had me on this table with a bunch of gizmos all around. Flashing lights, weird probe-looking things hanging out of the ceiling. And that weren't the worst of it.

A group of these little gray skinned guys stood around the table. They had big heads and black eyes like you read about in the papers from the grocery store. It was a nightmare.

I tried to get up but couldn't move. It didn't feel like there were any straps or ropes or anything holding me down, I just couldn't move.

The aliens looked me over and one of them prodded my forehead with a screwdriver looking thing. They talked a weird little whistle talk. Then they all left.

I can tell you, I was worried. Sweat ran down my face. I breathed real hard. What I wouldn't have give for a beer right then. That's when I noticed I could feel my beer still in my hand.

What a glory it was; I still had my beer. I still couldn't move, but I had a goal. Not much can keep me from a cold one when I put my mind to it.

I strained against what ever it was that held me down. All my will and effort went into lifting that beer to my mouth and letting that cool liquid pass between my lips. My arm shook with the force. I took that as a good sign that I was overcoming the table.

With renewed strength I pushed harder yet. I wanted that beer. Looking downward, I could see the top of the can shining in the light. It shook and glimmered like a stream in springtime. I was going to do it; I was going to taste that beer. No! Something went wrong. The beer slipped out of my hand and left my sight. I couldn't believe it; all that effort and I wouldn't get to have even a sip. I don't cry about much, but any man would've cried right then.

I heard the can hit something solid. You don't mistake that sound for any other. Then the soft gurgle as the beer ran out. Glub, glub, glub, out it ran not knowing that it wouldn't find its destined drinker.

Tears blurred my vision and I thought I saw sparks. That poor beer, all wasted and everything. Those really looked like sparks.

The table let go and I jumped up.

That surprised me when I realized what happened. The spilled beer had shorted out their table doohickey and I was free to move as I wanted.

Quickly, I rescued the remainder of the beer. Slamming it down, I was refreshed and energized. It was time to do something and I was ignorant and belligerent enough to do it.

The quarter stick dynamites were still in my pocket. The cigarette lighter was still in the other pocket. Lighter in one hand and dynamite in the other, I went to the door.

It opened when I got there. On the other side stood five of them little gray bastards all dressed for surgery. One of them made a little "eek!" sound.

I kicked forward and knocked them all down. Then I lit the fuse of my stick and tossed it back into the table room. I knew to run as fast as I could. They didn't.

It was a confused time then. That ship was full of hallways and they all looked alike, smooth gray walls and such. Every so often I would find a door and toss another dynamite in.

The spacemen were figuring out to chase me with their ray guns or whatever so the run got even more confusing. Around corners and curves, all over the place, I ducked them boogers and lobbed explosives at them. It probably wasn't a good idea, since I was on their saucer with them.

The floor gave out, tilting underneath me. That's what it felt like. What happened was the whole ship tilted. I slid across that smooth floor strait down to who knows where.

There were a few more explosions, some of them bigger than any quarter stick ever did. One knocked a piece of wall out beneath me. I landed on it but then bumped my head.

I don't remember how I got to the shore of the lake. The sun was up and I had a doozy of a headache. There was little bits of metal and fire scattered all around. I couldn't see my boat nowhere.

I gathered a bit of wood around the nearest fire and used it to warm my old bones. That's when I saw the spaceman laying there, dead.

I didn't know what to do about it. I had never seen aliens before that night. I thought and thought real hard.

Not knowing where my boat was and figuring that the aliens had it and my catch of fish, there was only one thing I could do; I ate him.

I hope this story has told you all a little something about our relationship with the more advanced critters of the universe. If not, I wrapped it up in this little poem:

They're technologically advanced,
But they can't take a licking
And the best news yet
They taste like chicken
So if you're in the mood to eat
Yourself a real fine treat
You just can't beat
That old alien meat

That's the end of my tale. Keep looking up.


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