As I sleuthed around the cosmos, skipping from planet to planet, in my warm and cozy flying-saucer – as you creatures enjoy calling it (We call it a Luna-tics.) – that my parents gave to me for my birthday, Hunger began sticking his mighty spear into the lining of my stomach, reminding me of his scheduled feeding time. He was such an anal prick with his demands. Nonetheless, I had to succumb to the old stone-tip and placate his inculcations.
I stretched my eyes from corner to corner of the black curtain of space, embroidered with millions of white fiery stars, until, at last, my eyes pulled in the reflection of a blue ball hanging painfully alone in the sack of darkness in the far corner of the Milky Way. I believed this to be the isolated rock in space called America—no—wait—that was not it—Earth, that was it, Earth! Hunger, clever enmity that he was, had disposed of the stone-tip spear, and in its place, dynamite! Where he got it, I did not know. I did know that he had fused, lit, and detonated several sticks, awakening incredible pain within the bowels of my being. I had to act fast. No time to plot a course, or plan for consequences, I rocketed in the direction of Earth.
Upon arriving, I quickly massaged the blue ball with my planet-scanner, located a habitable spot and foosh; my Luna-tics fell through the thin and polluted atmospheric integument of earth. I parked my Luna-tics, now invisible, of course, on top of some earth-man-made structure.My Luna-tics is one of those new models, an Eyebrede, runs completely silent, uses little fuel, and, incredible as it may seem, pumps out only ten percent of its “nooclir” waste products into the atmosphere.
I stepped out, and, looking in all directions, walked to the edge of the roof and peered over. Calculating the distance down to be about fifteen feet, I flung myself over the edge and floated down – feeling like God as I sank through the thick polluted atmosphere to the black oil spattered tar of earth. I was relieved that earth’s gravitational pull was a fraction of my own planet’s, allowing an easy invasion of this foreign outpost. I felt – I felt like a great seraph descending from the heavens of space. I touched down lightly and pressed my hooves against the earth. Quickly, before being seen, I trotted into a dark recess where two of the building’s walls joined at an inside corner.
My red eyes scoped the surrounding area; even though, at this time, the sheet of darkness had been laid over the mattress of earth for sometime now, leaving it black and cold. My eyes, like the great leopard’s, refracted the tiniest amounts of reflected light, blessing me with perfect night vision. Before I arrived, many large vehicles had sallied and rested on the black tar parking lot that smothered the earth’s skin in a mammoth grip around this building. On the outer edges of this tar pit sprang forth a great number of reeds that hoisted up brown cattails beyond the stench and suffocation of the black putrid swamp water laced with chemicals even unknown to my advanced odor acuity. The long sharp blades of leaves hung from the cattail stocks, pointing stiffly at the muck that satiates their appetites yet poisons their cells.
My nose confiscated and tested all odors in the air. The miasma from the surrounding sludgy swamp sprung forth and laid siege to the entire area. This odor, strong and dreadful as it was, could not imprison the screams of yet another odor that my nasal sense perceived, the food’s aroma ejaculating from the vents of this building. This escaping odor rattled the chains of Hunger, and in response, he tenaciously kicked and growled within my bowels.The dulcet croaks of the many frogs played a most melodious song, as if orchestrated by nature’s greatest conductor; the crickets all stroked their violins while the ambient sound of man’s distant highway provided the threat of a foreboding storm. More importantly, though, behind the walls of this structure where I now resided, incognito, droned the mumblings of these human creatures.
All signs were go. I realized that I must change shape to match these mere earthlings’ inferior frames. Light from a window in a far wall broke through and spread its wings in all directions. I stole towards it, remaining as a shadow on the wall, flowing over every lump and lesion possessed by the building’ surface, until I found myself standing in front the window. I peered through it.Many earthlings sat and stood amongst themselves, all talking, or eating, or drinking, and many performing all these actions in a singular motion. (I realized how lucky I was to land on just the right building to stop Hunger’s tortures.) I could not see the earthlings clearly, only their dark silhouetted shapes, turbaned by a penumbra created from the several monitors hanging high on the walls of the room. I spotted a human in one of these monitors; actually, he was in all the monitors that hung on all the walls. He was lecturing, or speaking, to an unseen audience. He looked important: nice suit, nice tie, nice hair. I decided to scan him and borrow his shape until I could feed Hungry. I soaked in enough of this monitor image’s language to get by on, and just a smidget of his knowledge—too much of this vile gibberish would melt my brain. The transformation took seconds. Ten fingers, ten toes, and fabric stitched over every inch of my body, except for my new face, all being an adjustment quite difficult to master. My prevarication was now ready for perpetuation.
“Eh, eh, eh, eh, eeehhhh,” I laughed my practiced evil laugh, for effect, of course.
I stood in front of the main door, looking quite sharp for a human, and what did I see, the name of the place was Ace Aliens, what luck! I wondered why, before this night, I had never visited this strange blue ball that houses such a building as this Ace Aliens, obviously an alien hangout. A feeling of pleasure stretched across my new face, sculpting my lips’ outer tips to acclivity. Confidence stiffened my frame, expanded my chest, and bullied a strut into my walk that only Cassius Clay could imitate.
I entered. I strutted gallantly to a table. Hunger, still igniting dynamite within my bowels, had now commenced to imprecating fowl words at me, before and after every ignition. I perched on the nearest chair, and, stretching my new blue eyes in all directions, looked around to make sure that no one was within earshot of his filthy mouth. I pressed my new ten fingers into him. This subdued him, temporarily. I talked to him.
“Shut up you idiot,” I said angrily. “Do you want to get us kicked out before getting what we came for?”
I looked up, and there, standing before me, was a lovely female earth creature. Her expression was one of joy – fear – amazement – and – anxiety as she stared at Hunger and me. She reminded of my pet snifnscrtch at home. She was quite pleasant. Cautiously, she handed me a newspaper.
I mumbled to myself, “I do not want a newspaper. I want to eat. I need to eat!”
Mr. Dynamite-Iginiter cursed loudly, calling her the most savage names I ever heard. She stared at him, eyebrows twisting in disbelief of his arrogance. She looked at me. I tried to ignore her, and him, by studying the newspaper. I realized that it was not a newspaper; it was the menu. I ordered the chicken wings or legs or whatever body part was included. The price was incredible – 25 cents per body part, in increments of five, and beer, this strange brew of liquid, only 2 bucks. Oh what luck to find such a magnificent spot on this lonely blue ball of space. My little snifnscrtch, I mean waitress—as she had been labeled by some unknown source of wisdom before my arrival—was wonderfully pleasant, especially after that prick, Hunger, unloaded his filthy mouth on her.
She left quickly. Hunger cursed her some more. She turned and looked. She grinned, though disgusted with his exhortations. I looked away, embarrassed. He ignited several sticks at once. The curse-ed bastard was relentless with his attacks.
She brought the beer to my table and left before the son-of-bitch had time to hurl more insults. He screamed loudly, now, like a baby bird waiting for the regurgitations of its mother. I hoisted the brew to my new head, and, with urgency, poured it all into the hole of teeth and tongue, drowning the loudmouth. This bitter, yet interesting, brew of barley and spit was quite tasty. I liked it. Once again, I thought of how lucky I was to have found such a marvelous place.
Hunger seemed satiated after this cataract of bubbles and barley. Suddenly, though, I felt him struggle with something. Could there have been some hidden weapon placed in this brew for my demise? Was the giddy little waitress, actually a hideous creature, in disguise, from the black planet Russiputin, trying to destroy me and my explorations? The brew weakened Hunger, but Hunger was a strong and skilled grappler. I felt this new creature and that bastard, Hunger, wrestle within my bowels. I knew my Hunger; he was a mean and relentless fighter; I felt him kick, and bite, and strangle the intruder. He cursed at the top of his—, whatever he curses with. The brew was gurgling insults as he dropped jabs, hooks, and crosses into Hunger. Finally, after a violent struggle for control, Hunger drove his mighty fist into the brew’s gastric jaw, and, screaming an insane victory cry, sent the brew’s remains out through the hole of teeth and tongue, where it exploding in the form of putrid air, loud and long. Hunger won and cried for more.
I grinned, with great relief, at the capitulation of the beer and its swift exit of effluvium. I now realized that the waitress stood before me, swooning her hands in front of her face as if some fly were tickling her nose. It was no fly, for it was the putrid gases of the battle’s loser, beer, upon its retreat, that now attacked this poor innocent creature. Like so many battle-torn losers who burn villages and slaughter its inhabitants out of rage for their own weaknesses and failures, the beer, too, now wanted to slap its rage of failures upon all who stood in its path of exit. I reacted with great speed, and, with my new hands and ten fingers, I tried to muffle this smelly bag of air, this belch monster, by placing them over the hole of teeth and tongue.
The waitress, no longer gesticulating with her hands for the removal of the invisible fly, pinched thy nose upon thy face with thy fingers upon thy hands. She turned quickly and ran away, mumbling something about God and his creation of men, even important men. I did not understand. Had I not tried to contain and defeat this beast in her honor? Had the beast not vanished, releasing its grip upon thy nose molded upon thy lady’s head? This blasphemy of God, my brother, grieved me. No matter, Hunger was furiously hungry, now, and demanded sustenance.
Thankfully, before her retreat, the waitress had placed a dish stacked with ten cooked body parts of some once-living fowl, still steaming, snapping, and sizzling, upon my table. I used my new nose to inhale the effluvium of spices and cooked flesh.
“Thank you God,” I whispered contemptuously, drool wetting my chin, “for placing this stupid fallen creature upon my plate.”
Hunger shrieked his demands for food. His bellowing had a certain bellicose timbre, an intimidating quality, but after hearing it so often it just becomes an enervated rattle, like a rattle in your car: You hear it daily as you drive to work, and, after time, it becomes a song that plays in your head, but when the rhythmic rattle stops, suddenly there is cause for panic. There was no need for panic, for Hunger was rattling like coins in a dryer.
I rather enjoyed torturing the cranky marble-head. He kicked and screamed. He wined and griped. He pouted and pranced. His deviltry could become quite loud and obnoxious, so I decided, out of previous embarrassment of his fowl mouth, to feed him. I shoveled up a piece of the steamy flesh with two of my ten fingers and carted it up to the hole of teeth and tongue. I touched the sizzling meat to my tongue; sensations of incredible emotions riveted through my new body; a stinging pain imprisoned my tongue’s nerves and made them march, barefooted, over a thousand fields of thistles, punishing my flapping muscle of verbosity, and in response, my brain manufactured and delivered a disturbing report to my throat. And then, without warning, this rock upon my shoulders hurled an incredible and disturbing noise past teeth and tongue and into the room: aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! Shut it off, I could not, this blasphemous screech. Thy eyes within thy rock melted into showers of watery relief; thy tongue struck past thy teeth and lapped at thy cool air in an attempt assuage thy sizzling appendage. The screech from within my throat continued to spill into the room. In time, all tortures ended, leaving me to my pensive reverie in contemplation of where I sat. This blue ball, Earth, was laced with demons trying to kill me!The waitress, obviously happy with this attempted murder, rushed to my table, and, smiling gallantly, asked if I would like another beer. I stared at her with half open suspicious eyes, still red and watery from her initial attempt on my life. The cunning bitch, I thought to myself, with her platitudinous expression of non-contrition, appalls me. I glanced quickly about the room. As I suspected, all eyes still watched my every move, quite ostensively at that, an obvious collective murder attempt! Tongue hanging, eyes watering, screech subsiding, I decided that I will not allow these mere simple-brained creatures get the better of me. I ordered more of the beer liquid.
Hunger was pleased with this new food. I ate all the chicken pieces, all the while drinking the miscreant, beer (beers). Hunger, satisfied, slept contently.
Finally, not having to listen to the grumblings of Hunger, I inspected the room where I sat. It was a large room: tables and chairs scattered about in no particular arrangement; tables and booths aligned against the walls; a long solid-looking table lumbered parallel along one wall, chairs posted uniformly in front of it the entire length. Between this long solid table and the wall, many bottles stood on step-like shelves, erect like soldiers waiting for their orders – all of different colors, shapes, and sizes. I was certain this was where the waitress had unleashed that beast, beer, into a glass before bringing it to me. Monitors hung from all the walls, each screaming the same didactic euphemisms in different directions. The man speaking from the monitors, as you will recall, was my choice of emulation. Nevertheless, it was of no interest to me: I was there to feed Hunger.
All the humans, standing and sitting, poured copious amounts of the beer-monster into their holes of teeth and tongues. Many consumed more than one. Do they not know the battles their hungers must endure: the violence, the punching, the pouncing, and pile driving that their hungers must perform in order to defeat this liquid demon? Oh the suffering I foresaw! (Forgetting about all the beer that flowed through my hole of teeth and tongue.) I twisted the rock upon my shoulders, left then right, and let my new eyes mingle about the crowd. These creatures looked similar from one to the next: all neatly wrapped in light complexion skins; most draped in camouflage coats and orange hats; many with whiskers on their faces, and many not; some female, but more male. I did not see any of the green hideous bubble-headed-bean-brains from planet Limbawdork anywhere, such as the likeness of the one on the sign above the entrance door. This, I thought to myself, was good; these ignorant word-sepulchers are so arrogant and self-absorbed that no one can get a word in when they are flapping their dung holes. I was in no mood for their clucking. As my eyes pranced around the room, they revealed a reality that made me uneasy.
All other eyes in the room were still drinking in my body. I panicked, thinking that maybe the shape-shifting did not complete the transformation. I twisted my rock and eyes back to my table. I viewed the mirror hanging behind the many bottles behind the long solid table. The reflection in the mirror revealed the correct shape: neatly combed hair mapped across my dome, pressed persistently against the white skin; cleanly shaven flesh stretched across my face, routed intricately with small wrinkles; structurally sturdy shoulders scaled evenly atop my spine, wrapped in expensive linen; hips straight, legs solid and long; height, at least 6 feet; suit pressed; tie color, coordinated and bold. I was, without a doubt, a handsome man in earth terms, a splitting image of the earthling on the monitors. Obviously, that idiot, Hunger, with all his obnoxious rantings, earlier, attracted the attention of the humans. He could be such an excrescent of poor manners. Which reminded me, I had to expedite this small layover and thread my way out of this building before he awoke from his slumber.
I pushed my body, rock and eyes upward and steadied myself to the floor. Without warning, the blue ball began to spin, dragging along with it – the building where I resided, dragging along with it – the floor on which I stood, leaving me lightheaded and vertiginous. Gravity reached up with its powerful hand, gripped the top of my rock and pulled violently forward. My legs stepped in a gyrating motion, like a baby deer born out of season on an icy pond. Forward, without stealth, I moved across the allusion of ice. More now than ever, all other patron pairs of eyes captured and held hostage my body of emulation, now dancing in a dizzying interpretation of the human walk. I was drunk.
All the dancing about on this icy pond stirred Hunger from his sleep. The monster, beer, and its ally, chicken, took up arms and begin their assault on my companion. Had the liquid monster, beer, not learned that Hunger was not one to be trifled with? Apparently not. A battle ensued, and, Hunger, being the miscreant of innate deviltry, kicks the hell out of both of them, forcing them to leave his regal territory within this human form. This retreat by beer and his chicken-terrorist-ally was being arbitrated whilst I negotiated a deal with gravity. Gravity would allow me some composure if I allowed beer and chicken to escape from the brutal hand of Hunger. I accepted the terms.
Waste time, the two invaders did not. As a fulcrum assists a lever to pry open a stuck trap door, Hunger assisted these terrorist dogs in opening my hole of teeth and tongue. With the great force of a tempestuous volcano, the mountaintop was cracked open and belched forth all forms of rejected digestion. My body and rock, still mimicking the skating skills of a one-hour-old fawn, pretended no control over the direction of distribution of these undesirable contents. Everywhere, with no bias, the contents of this human poison scattered through the air.
Gravity does not relinquish on the deal. The blue ball teetered to a slow waltz and released its grip on the building, allowing it, again, to remain undisturbed and stationary, allowing me to replace my ice skates with shoes and stand steady once again.
To my delighted surprise, all the other creatures in this Ace Aliens building had now stood up to help me. I think not! By the looks in all eyes and the tensely erect bodies covered in my vomit, I felt there was a serious need to construct a plan of urgent departure.
I stood perfectly still, like a soldier who just stepped on a land mine. My eyes penetrated each and every eyeball of each and every human there, and, without any turbidity what so ever, read the scripts of their souls. I had to decide whether to stand there and pray to the almighty God and hope to Christ that he would lend a helping hand that he is so infamous for—you know, the footsteps in the sand and him carrying your sorry ass so your little feetsies don’t get sore—or run like the devil that I am. With a quick inference of this crowd, covered in my ejaculations, realizing that 95 percent were wearing bright orange hats and camouflage jackets, the human part of my brain ascertained that I—RUN LIKE HELL!
Hunger, on the other hand, the General Patton wanna-be, screamed for more. Does he ever shut up? I thought to myself. I did not have time for his wise mouth. Ignominiously, I listened as he swore and belittled me as a coward. Idiot. All he had to do was digest or belch out food. I, on the other hand, had to clean up the messes he created. Oh, if I hadn’t needed him so, I would have dropped him off at planet Russaputin long ago.
I dodged, dipped, and dogged my way through the crowd of orange-hat-sporting camouflage-jacket-wearing, baby-deer-hunting, beer-monster-drinking, ignoramus rednecks and exploded through the main entrance door without a glance back. Surprisingly, to me, the rednecks feet were quicker than their minds. They discarded the main door from its hinges like the hairs from their noses. No time was there to reason; I turned to face the mob. I started with a laugh in an attempt to assuage their anger:
“Eh, eh, eh, eh,” and a joke, “ever hear, a, um, the one about, um, a, the redneck and, uhm, the ‘nooclir’ weapon?” I stuttered off my tongue. “Eh, eh, eh, eh,” sweating profusely, “well, a – um, there ain’t one, um, eh,eh, eh, um, because the rednecks is to dumb to use em, Eh eh eh eh.”
The dam of anger had broken along with the entrance door during their earlier exit, and now rage covered all faces like flood waters over New Orleans. I had to bide for time with some of my own infamous cajolery so I could escape this predicament with as little damage as possible. Undeterred by their sneers and growls I pushed on. This time, however, I tried a more spiritual approach, appealing to their religious hypotheses.
“Eh, eh, eh, eh,” believing the laugh appropriate, “all a ya, all a ya, um, please listen, a, a, I impler you, God has spoken to me, um – a – eh, eh eh, and he, um, wanted me to enter your establishment, um, and, a, spew my guts all over, eh eh eh.” I continued, “ Leesin to me, pleece,” not realizing where this accent came from, “I heeve luked into your sules, and I see gude meen, eh, eh, eh, eh.”
I realized, now, that maybe the upper-class redneck speaking on the monitors in the restaurant may not have been the best choice for my shape-shifting emulation. The smidget of knowledge and intellect that I absorbed must have come from the farthest region of his rock, for the language trotting from my hole of teeth and tongue was ridiculous. This was not working. The crowd edged closer. I could smell the foul breath of the few closest to me. Worse yet, I could smell the putrid odor of my own ejaculated regurgitations that now stained all their clothes and faces.
“Oky doky,” I drawled aloud. “This isn’t work’n,” I said with the tone of a man who has just been caught in lie. “If you won’t listen to my reasoning, my true nature must be exposed.”
I just realized, at that moment, how alone I felt. Hunger had been exceptionally quiet since my exit of the building. I assumed he was applauding, incognito, my deliberate obstinacy of the periling situation that I had trampled my way into, with his help of course. I spread my arms wide, and, in their stunned pupils, slowly and silently levitated above the ground. An effulgent of red, green, and blue light ruptured in every direction from my human shape and whirled together, exploding into unimaginable colors, cracking and snapping with the audible force of a hundred thunderstorms. This god-like exhibition stunned the rednecks into worshipers. Each person removed his and her hat, and with hats held in front of each of their breasts, vomit quickly drying under the umbrella of light, they began to chant some incantations about Christ.
All the amazing colors mixed together created a penumbra of glowing white light around my human shape—now levitating ten feet above the rednecks—and broadened into a mirage of angel wings deceptively connected to my back. The thundering tumbled down into a humming musical note that sounded out in all directions of the black night and reverberated back in an ominous echo. A glance down at these infantile rednecks discharged a thought of reverence in my mind, for they were, now, all upon their knees praying to me. This ennobling surprised me. The transformation back to my real self continued.
Still floating in effulgence high above their heads, I continued with my re-birth for this crowd of, now, believers. The white penumbra of wings glowed with an incredible intensity; the creatures of the surrounding swamp lifted their tired eyelids to an early dawn; the frogs and crickets muted their musical notes; the sweat sprung forth from all human shapes and varnished them with a shield of dampness. Furiously and loudly, they prayed, screaming for forgiveness, crying in repentance, fainting in fear. Starting on the outer edge of my glorious shining, the white winged penumbra began to bake slowly into a red ashy glow, like a campfire log burning to its hottest point and nearest to its extinguishment. The humming musical note shattered into a furnace-fire drone.
The red glow started its slow burn down through my deceptive wings, crackling like a fire of wet logs. Anon, the cool night air squeezed the red heat out of my dissolving winged penumbra; subsequently, buckets of ash remained, and before the wind could evanesce the ash away, gravity, once again, reached up and yanked it down toward earth, and, with the assistance of the wind, created an eddy of swirling black ash that could match any desert sandstorm, which, in turn, tarnished the glossy sweat-drenched crowd of believers into a dark-skinned mob of dissenters.
The redness seeped into my white human body, feeding every cell with its crimson spoon. And, with this slow dissolve from brilliant bright light to red tainted darkness, the rednecks, with their skin quickly cooling and pupils sagaciously enlarging, composed themselves and looked up with their ash stained faces to witness my final metamorphosis back to my true self.
The redness crept down my spine. My emulated clothes peeled away and floated into the wind like a kite cut from its string, leaving me to levitate naked. The white skin of my stolen human shape absorbed the red burn; a long tail sprouted from my rear; my feet of ten toes now walked on the air as hooves in a pair; my body of skin glowed of red cinder, then cooled to a red rose. Hunger growled ferociously as the rose-red tinge chewed through him. The smell of a thousand dead soldiers smoldered and sizzled effusively from my red crusty skin and festinated over the entire area. My white human face, now tainted to my red body, absorbed the stares of all the contemplating human eyes, glittering from their ash-swollen faces. The hair on my head burned away like fuses on dynamite. Horns sprouted forth from my skull like fingers from the grave. My blue eyes faded and died, reincarnating back as fiery red balls. Finally, my white face stretched with my protruding jaw and peeled away like snakeskin in the fall. With whetted teeth, I grinned down at my, now dissenting followers.
To my great surprise, each (in my opinion, thus far, not to bright, and uneducated) redneck’s fear graduated into anger. They screamed, cursing my trickery and deviltry. I surveyed the ash-laden mob. I thought of how silly the mob looked, tarred black with white popping eyes—like frogs squeezed together in a mud hole, all looking at the same bug. Uncontrollably, I began to giggle like Boris Yeltsin. I could not stop this cackling caw. Louder and louder, and longer and longer, it bellowed from my lungs.
Some small hot object blazed by my pointed ear. My eyes, still watery from laughter, strained to look at the crowd. Every one those orange-cap-wearing, camouflage-coat-toting, boot-stomping, chew-chomping, Jack Daniels-drinking, clinic-dynamiting rednecks had pulled a hand gun from beneath his and her clothes and had taken aim at my red body during my fit of laughter. Luckily, the beer-monster had complete control of each eye, and the humans were firing in all directions.
My hooves gripped the thick night air in a running motion and pulled me toward my ship. Bullets whizzed by me as I seemingly disappeared into thin air—my invisible Luna-tics. I could hear the maniacal bullets pinging and panging off the ship’s shell. A push of the red in-case-of –emergency button and Hunger and I were in space. Our speed was so great that the blue ball became a blue dot and vanished within a millisecond. Hunger, once again, started with his curse-ed exhortations for food. I pulled out a bottle of the barley-and-spit beer that I had confiscated before leaving the restaurant and silenced the loudmouth.
A fictional, farcical and allusive tale of the Bush presidency. Look for different allusions and metaphors (beyond the obvious).