An extraterrestrial comedy of idiotic proportions

 

by R. R. Stark

*     *     *

Note to reader: This tale of failed humanistic behavior in contrast to idiotic alien mentality

may be fatal to those who are allergic to heavy guffaws and side-splitting activity. Be warned!

 

 

A short man in a black business suit, black briefcase in hand, stood on a chunk of asteroid hurling around Earth’s orbit, while jutting his thumb out into space. Not to mention a funny bubble helmet covered his head. What a pathetic sight! Especially for some unsuspecting alien spacefarer who just might happen to see this poor miserable wretch. Hence, such an unsuspecting alien spacefarer did just happen to meander along.

 

Zrrrkfripzzotlinger from Xrrrpitar –  driving his flashy, state-of-the-alien-art Quizaptarian B-57 Trans-Galactic Cruiser,  with Villuumian buclet seats – came zooming along one fine solar day, brushing somewhat close to Earth, a common place he often frequented to use the  bodily-function relief stations at the convenient “rest areas” that were satisfactorily positioned beside these extremely elongated yet narrow, flat strips that crisscrossed the various continents, upon which squatzillions of  tiny metal vehicles slowly plodded along. To avoid frequent stops down there he realized he should stop his gluttonous guzzling  of Xjrillian Guutflemjuze, a highly fermented tri-quadrical berry from an offshore world called Pthetiko, which reminded him a lot of Earth.  Pthetiko also had a lot of bodily-function relief stations, but awkwardly positioned amidst the countless pricklythorn Achstaschiocondra trees that insanely ravaged the whole planet like a mass epidemic of insidiously hideous alien parasites from another conquering planet -- which is exactly what it was. 

And then!....Zrrrkfripzzotlinger saw the hopeless human figure in his multi-angled, quad-plex view screen, and so he sighed, shaking his hairless head. He had forgotten how many intergalactic hitchhikers he had picked up lately  – out of sheer loneliness, for someone to jabber at on his long trek across the vast infinite expanse of the eternal night of outer space – on a mission he had long since forgotten already. Space Madness will do that to an unsuspecting alien spacefarer, you know.  He will be heading somewhere on a brief excursion to an exact location, a particular point in space of rather urgent importance – then he  begins to forget why he was even out there, meandering around aimlessly all alone in the universe on a pointless mission to nowhere – just like poor Zrrrkfripzzotlinger.

Nonetheless, he gazed out the porthole at the forlorn, scrawny, pathetic excuse for a bipedal humanoid creature. 

“Ho-hum,” he mused. “Another wretched Earthfling trying to escape from Earth again. I suppose I must take it upon myself to rescue the poor, miserable, minimal-intelligence, humanoid creature.”

So, driving his shiny silver Quizaptarian B-57 Trans-Galactic Cruiser, that looked a lot like a  giant octopus wrapped in tinfoil, swooshed down upon the little panic-stricken Earthfling whose thumb still jutted out, and vacuum sucked him up inside, then swooshed away.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” verbally regurgitated the rather startled human upon seeing his captor.  Likewise his hands groped all around his head which was no longer protected by the bubble helmet. The suction that delivered him into the ship had popped it off, by mistake, but thankfully he discovered that he was breathed regular old air in this alien cockpit, into which some mechanical hand had quickly plunked him into one of those Villuumian bucket seats.

The hideous blue-skinned alien grunted, “That’s no way to treat your rescuer--”

“What!?!?!? Huh! Aren’t you capturing me?” the confused homosapien biped cried.

“Why, no, not at all. I took pity on your wretched soul and rescued you.”

“Could have fooled me! You scared the beejeebers out of me!”

“I scared the what out of you? I’m so terribly sorry! Should we return and gather them back up?”

“Nevermind . . . ” the distraught businessman groaned, wondering what an idiotic alien he had just encountered –even though he did speak rather excellent non-accepted English – in a fair mediocre kind of way.

 

*   *   *

The Earth escapee sat in the seat next to Zrrkfripzzotlinger, whose seven fingered hand casually maneuvered the stick shift that appeared to have a hundred gears. He wrenched it this way and that so many times that his blue hand was a blue blur, but this managed to make the ship zoom much faster now. For stars whooshed by the view screen –or was it a window? – like zooming light-streaks hastily passing by that you often see in the usual science fiction, space adventure flicks. 

Eyeing the rather alien looking alien, he wondered if his host was male or female.

“Care for a drink, my friend?” grinned the strange alien, whose teeth looked more like orange and green piano keys. Don’t ask! Just imagine it.

The alien’s voice was masculine -- but then the  businessman had known a few deep throated women in his time, like his landlady who never shaved her furry legs -- or upper lip hairs that came awful close to being called a mustache.

He observed that his rather charming yet ugly alien host had no lip hairs at all. Not even a glimmer of sparse peach fuzz. So what did that mean? Was he a male lacking lip hair or a female which wasn’t supposed to have any but did?  Or can you determine an alien’s gender by human standards, especially if that standard was his grossly hairy landlady? And such earthly standards were often ambiguous anyway, especially in the late 22^nd Century where mankind lost track of just how many sexes existed, or even who was attributed to which sex? The last recorded statistic stated that six sexes now existed on Earth. A real head-shaker, folks!  Leave it to those demented biogenetic engineers that love to tamper with things they should have no business messing with!  

However, his host did have sparse green fuzz on his naked light blue skin, which in theory could determine a particular sex, or it could just mean he never shaved his arms  -- or legs either quite possibly. But he had no hair – or fuzz –  on his shiny slick blue cranium or face.  The long, slender eyes were clear green cats’ eyes, long slender, thin-lipped mouth, and elfishly curled up at the ends – was that a smile or just the way his face was built?  Hmmm  . . . .  The nose was small and upturned, cute as a button! His arms were long and lanky, and those long, slender, seven fingers seemed awkward, but obviously very efficient as he manipulated the stick shift and other knobs and levers with gracefully rambunctious  dexterity.  All in all, he looked like a friendly creature out of a Dr. Suess story. He liked his alien host immediately, for a friendly sort of Mr. Grinch at any rate. Let’s just hope he doesn’t steal his Christmas.

“My name is  Zrrkfripzzotlinger,” announced  Zrrkfripzzotlinger, suddenly sticking out his seven- toed foot for a hand shake.

“Aaaaaaahhh!”  screeched the Earthfling, backing away.

“Well, aren’t you going to shake my foot and introduce yourself, my little Earthfling friend?”

The man slowly reached out his quivering hand, timidly (or in great fear of getting some alien athlete’s foot disease) then cautiously yet loosely gripped the foot, and gingerly shook it -- “I-I’-I’m George . . . George Bronkiszowski.” – then releasing it quickly before he contracted some hideous cooties.

Well, Iiimgeorgegeorgebronkiszowski! Glad to know you!  I must admit, your name is quite a mouth full.”

“So’s yours......But just call me George.”

“George it is!”

And – I can’t pronounce your god-awful name either – no offence.” 

“None taken. Just call me Zrrrk.”

“Okay,” George nodded, smiling now.  “Zrrrk it is.”

“Very good. Very good indeed,” grinned Zrrrk, weirdly as ever. Was that orange color on his teeth natural or from a possibility that it never occurred to him to brush regularly? George had no idea what qualified as alien hygiene –nor would he dare ask either! 

“Say, uh, Zrrrk, you speak excellent English –  for an alien.”

Zrrrk laughed lambastically, which sounded a cross between a trumpeting elephant and an old- fashioned ambulance siren, to which George coward and covered his sensitive ears. George hoped he’d get used to it before he decided to bail out into icy cold space. He quickly discovered a tiny lever down by his seat that must be an ejection handle. Every time Zrrrk laughed, he gripped it.

“You’re a funny Earthfling George! A really funny Earthfling!” Zrrrk decided he liked his current  space-hitcher. The others had been boring creatures void of personality who were from rather dismal worlds of nondescript features. 

George chuckled weakly, “I guess so . . . We humans from Earth are funny animals I reckon.”

“You rip me up inside!” and he laughed insanely again, George scrunching down and gripping that lever tightly again. Perhaps he’d better say something very sad, so Zrrrk won’t laugh anymore.

But Zrrrk went on, “I speak excellent English, as you remarked, because I am a Harvard graduate. With honors! I studied behavioral psychology, specifically to understand human behavior -- or lack thereof. You’ll never know what to expect when you visit Earth’s bodily-function relief stations, or as you affectionately call them ‘restrooms.’ Many  strange humans frequent these disgusting facilities! Just the very  thought of it irks me gravely! In fact, what irks me most is that humans are so irked! And by such non-irksome things even! I am so irked by it! Irk-irk-irk!!!”

Ah . . . a sad subject. Good. “Yes, I can imagine.” He shook his head. “ It’s just awful how uncouth we humans are. I confess. It’s sad. So sad.  So very sad. So very very sad.”

George looked over at Zrrrk for a response, but the blue alien just grunted. That was the extend of his response. Perhaps he didn’t like sad conversations.

Alright, moving on.

George was intrigued by this alien’s incongruent Earth education. So he asked  “But how did you get through Harvard – I  mean – looking like THAT?!”

More elephant trumpeting siren hooting burst from those thin blue lips, to which George cowered again and gripped that lever with his life this time.

“You are indeed a funny Earthfling humanoid creature!” he boomed bombastically.

George was a nervous wreck due to Zrrrk’s current laughing fit, but the goofy alien finally regained a normal unhumorous state of consciousness and answered, “It’s very simple, George.”

And at that the weird blue alien quickly morphed into a human-looking male person, though with enlarged forehead and flat top, Frankensteinesque in nature.  He laughed again, and although it was not as terrible and life threatening, it sounded -- and looked -- more like Herman Munster belting out a wickedly idiotic chortle. George half smiled, half frowned. He wasn’t sure what to think exactly.

Zrrrk explained, “Oh, but this is a mere illusion. I can look like anything I want to! I rather fancy those cute and cuddly beasts you call elephants--”

“NO! That’s alright, I believe you!”

“You don’t want to see my elephant morphalization?” he frowned goofily.

“No – besides, they’re far too big to fit in this tiny space.”         

“Hmmm.... You do have a very good point, George. You must be one of those intelligent Earthflings.” At that he turned back into his usual weird blue alien self.  Much better.  His human morphage looked pathetically fake  anyway. It made the old Hollywood horror flicks makeup jobs seem far less phony in comparison.  

George shrugged, “Oh, I’m just your average Joe, that’s all--”

“Ha!  Average Joe! You’re funny!” More of the same avalanche inducing horrific laughter and this time George pulled the lever hard! A blue  air bag whooshed into his face –and Zrrrk now laughed so hard that George couldn’t take it anymore –  so he conveniently fainted.

 

*      *      *

 

“So George, why are you escaping from Earth, your beloved home planet?”

“Huh?” George was barely regaining consciousness now.

“Did you just have a nice nap?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, nice nap.....whatever.....” George groaned.

“Have some  Xjrillian Guutflemjuze! It’ll make you wake up and feel all tingly inside!”

At that Zrrrk handed George what looked like a blue and orange spotted dumbbell-shaped melon with a curly straw sticking out of the top. George took it. He was rather thirsty. He took a sip and smiled.

“Wow! This is great stuff!”

“Really? Glad you like it. Now. . . .any second now. . . you’ll feel all tingly inside.”

“Huh?”

Suddenly he felt as if someone had stuck a flaming hot coal in his stomach and that his entire insides were on fire! His imagination ran wild, seeing himself spontaneously combust into flames leaping everywhere.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!” came out of Georges mouth along with spewing flames.

Zrrrk trumpeted another seizure of laughter. He was amused by the fascinating display of human emotion – or seizure of torment, take your pick.

 

*      *      *

  

After George’s second nap, Zrrrk asked his question again, “So, George, why did you escape

from Earth?”

“I felt like it,” George grumbled with disgruntlement .

“Should I laugh?”

“NO! Please don’t! You’ll kill me!”

But Zrrrk couldn’t contain himself, and trying to stop himself from laughing was even more horrible. It sounded something like the siren up the elephant’s trunk being poorly muffled by a badly inserted cork. 

 

*      *      *

 

After George’s third nap, exhausted from being unconscious most of  times, he finally pleaded with Zrrrk, “Do you realize the decibels of your laughter are so high, it’s practically killing me to death – and I’m NOT being funny either! Please don’t laugh like that, please!”

“Well. . . . it’s not like I’m torturing you with extremely long flamboozle sticks inserted up your dual nasal cavities.” 

For some odd reason, that idea sounded much more pleasant than Zrrrk’s horrible laughter.

“How’s this, George?” Now he made a barking/whining sound, or was it a hyena in the awful throes of death?

George chuckled, “Well, that’s rather disturbing, but at least not life threatening.”

To which Zrrrk hyena-laughed again.

George signed with annoyance,  wondering why he ever ditched Earth. What was he thinking? He should have stayed on that despicable rock he called home. Too late now. As he looked out the window, he saw a tiny blue ball shrinking down to nothing, and he felt as if his heart was shrinking and disintegrating along with it.

 

*      *      *

 

“So, George, you were telling me why you have abandoned Earth.”

Clearing his throat, George decided that telling a strange alien his tale of woe was just as good as telling it to a bartender – and considering whatever fiery innards combusting toxic beverage Zrrrk had given him earlier, this most peculiar alien might as well have been an intergalactic bartender. 

“Well, where do I begin?”

“You’re asking me?”

“No. . . I’m asking myself, actually?”

“Fascinating! I notice that Earthflings do this quite often.  A strange habit. We Zrrrpitarians NEVER talk to ourselves! It’s considered a serious life-threatening mental illness. We must always find someone else to talk to.  As we are doing now, George.” he declared, smiling like an idiot. “That’s why I always pick up space-hitchers, like you. I’d go insane otherwise if I had no one to talk to except for myself. But then, the planet Zrrrpitar is highly overpopulated so there is always someone else to talk to other then ourselves, so we may never know if anyone HAS such an illness.”

“ I see.” George pondered.  “Well, here on Earth talking to oneself is absolutely normal, not a mental illness at all. I think its good therapy actually.”

“Hmm...Hmmm...Very fascinating. What is good therapy on Earth is a highly horrific mental disorder on Zrrrpitar. How astounding! How different our two cultures are indeed, George! Simply astounding!”

George nodded indifferently, sighing, “I suppose so.”

“So, tell me. Did you defect from Earth because you suspected that talking to yourself was a dangerous life-threatening illness on another world, such as mine for instance? Therefore, you decided to find a world where this bizarre behavior was NOT acceptable, where appropriate psychological assistance would be available – such as the mere availability of talking to our squatzillions of friendly inhabitants?”

He gave Zrrrk a lopsided, goofy, puzzled look.  “What?!?! No! Not at all!  I enjoy talking to myself!”

At that Zrrrk quickly scooted away from George, cramming himself up against the side of the ship.

George shook his head, and then signed. “If it’s any consolation, I haven’t talked to myself in a few days now.”

Zrrrk relaxed now. “Phew! You must be cured then! Congratulation!”

Deciding to change the idiotic subject, George got them back on track with his tale of woe. “Anyway, I decided to leave Earth for several reasons--”

“Let me guess! I love to guess!” Zrrrk squeaked like a rubber ducky. “You realized how disgusting the human sex habits are on Earth and you knew that most members of the intergalactic population behave themselves more sophisticatedly. Am  I right, George?”

“No, Zrrrk. Not exactly.” Then he thought it over. “Well, yes, maybe sorta kinda.”

“I was right, George! I was right!”

“What I mean is, my girlfriend dumped me because I didn’t spend enough time with her –  if you know what I mean.”

Zrrrk hyena-laughed,” I sure do, George, I sure do!”

“But that’s not the only reason I wanted to get away from Earth. Not only does my love life suck, but my job sucks, my friends suck, my landlady REALLY sucks – and life on Earth in general just totally SUCKS!”

A long silence pervaded the small cockpit now.

Then Zrrrk said, “I do not understand something, George.”

“What?”

“How does a job suck, or a girlfriend, or a landlady? Do they vehemently inhale all of the oxygen in the surrounding vicinity with a terrible inverted sucking sound to where it simply irritates you and drives you to quickly flee from Earth?”

This time George laughed, a horrid, gut-wrenching, cacophonous guffawing sound that disturbed Zrrrk profoundly, whose long, lipless lips sagged in terror, eyes bugging out hideously, ready to explode.

After George ceased and desisted his hearty fit of human cackles, Zrrrk said, “George.”

What?”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“Okay. What?”

“If you don’t ever laugh again, I promise I won’t either!”         

“It’s a deal!”

And they shook feet on it!