It’s both fun and difficult being the personal guide for the first known extraterrestrial. We’ve become friends, so I try to look after the guy, and he trusts my advice. Usually.
I was out and about, meeting with a few entertainment executives to see how I could capitalize on my situation. Don’t judge me—I’ve been poor a long time, and mama’s house needs a new roof. Afterwards I dropped into my old haunt, Jimmy’s Happy Hut, for a beer. I shot the shit with Jimmy for awhile until I heard someone on TV mention the Wibbles.
Jenna Gibbetti, host on the television news show, ‘Gibbetti Knows Best,’ conducted her report with usual flair.
“It’s been two months now since the arrival of the Wibbles—space aliens from a galaxy outside our solar system,” said Jenna. “With a gigantic ship following the earth around the sun, they sent us an emissary of one, Ambassador Slippy.”
A picture of the alien appeared in the frame behind her. Four bristled, snaky appendages that were difficult to see clearly, each attached to a blob at their midpoint.
Jenna continued. “Since his arrival, he has made a grand introduction to our nation and to the world, then went on a quest for earth’s leadership, dabbling in reality TV along the way, and he has taken the fashion world by storm with his colorful ensembles at public appearances.
“We caught up with Slippy as he was sneaking out of Ryan Seacrest’s guest house and into town.”
The TV switched to Jenna walking with a microphone to catch up to Slippy in a strip mall’s walkway. The blobby mess of circuits, wires, bladders and orifices that made up the translator walked behind him on mechanical legs.
“Good morning, ambassador. Jenna Gibbetti with the WFH Network. Can you take a moment to comment on your intentions today.” She stuffed the microphone into his blob.
“Dennys,” the translator said.
“Is that the name of your latest abductee,” Jenna said.
“Food,” said Slippy.
Jenna looked into the camera. “As you see, folks, we have recorded proof that the Wibble intends to eat human beings.” She turned back to him. “Are you going to conquer us?”
“Make appointment,” bleated the translator.
I chuckled and sipped my beer. I taught him to say that if he didn’t want to talk with someone. He would then give his ‘secretary’s’ phone number—which came to me. If there’s anything I’m an expert at, it’s blowing people off.
But Slippy hadn’t run into the persistence of a news reporter before, and Jenna kept after him.
“I see,” said Jenna. “So the date is cast. Ambassador Wibble, you landed in an obscure part of Fredericksburg with no previous communication to our government and sneaked into Washington D.C. looking for our leader. What does that say about you? Aren’t you really just an alien aggressor who intended to snatch the president’s body and rule the best country in the world by yourself?”
Slippy undulated and burped. “No aggression—”
“Then what about the poor Nebraskan you kidnapped and still hold hostage today?”
“Pete is free.”
“Oh, I’m sure you tell him that, but alien’s have extremely advanced forms of persuasion, don’t they? Have you ever heard of Stock Home Syndrome?”
I scoffed. “She means Stockholm,” I said. Jimmy watched with some interest now as he put away glasses.
“I do not know this,” Slippy said.
“So you’re admitting that Pete may have Stock Home Syndrome because you kidnapped him.”
“Admission is not—”
“Moving on, Mr. Wibble. How is your mission to conquer the world going?”
“Dennys is mission,” he said.
“You spent weeks infiltrating our government to discredit our leaders,” Jenna said. “Did you or did you not embarrass the president of the united states and undermine his power?”
“He has no—”
She turned to the camera. “For the record, he isn’t denying it. Nor did he deny that the Wibbles’ real mission on earth is to abduct human beings in large numbers to feed their children.”
She flipped her hair and seemed to go in for the kill. “This gets us down to the real nitty-gritty of the situation, ambassador. The number one most critical question I have. I think I speak for all of America when I ask you: Are you a Democrat or a Republican?”
“I do not—”
“Well, if you ask me, it’s pretty obvious you’re a Republican.
There you have it, folks. Our alien guests are clearly Republicans who want to take over the government and steal our children for food. This is Jenna Gibbetti for WFH TV.”
“Holy cow,” said Jimmy as he wiped down the liquor bottles. “That was harsh.”
“I know,” I said. “She’s about the best journalist on TV.”