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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/881371-Little-Green-Men
Rated: E · Fiction · Children's · #881371
Meeting an alien
Little Green Men



Blog was a Zzippian from the planet Zzip.

He looked a lot like a human: two hands, two feet, two ears, and a mouth. The only real difference between zzippians and humans were the eyes; zzippian eyes jutted out from the tops of their neon-green heads on tiny three-inch stalks which could twist and turn allowing them to see in every direction. Other than that, they mostly looked human . . . mostly.

Blog prepared to beam down to earth. He wore his standard issue shiny, silver shipsuit that sparkled in the sun.

His shipmate, Blang, carefully went down an itemized checklist. “You got your honk?”

“Check!”

“Pit-a-pat?”

“Check!”

“Shmek?”

“Check!”

“Boom-da-ba-wrooo?”

“Double check!”

“You’re all set, then,” said Blang, slapping Blog on the back and stepping on his toe in the traditional ‘good luck’ farewell.

“Thanks, Blang. I have to admit, I’m feeling a little burbled.”

“Not to worry, old friend. Everyone feels the burbles their first time out. Just make sure to use your honk if anything starts to go wrong. It could save your life.”

“Understood, Blang, and thanks for all your help. Oh, there is just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, sure, go right ahead.”

“Well, what was it like for you? You know, the first time you met a human?”

Blang smiled knowingly, showing two titanium buck-teeth. “Party time, Blog, sheer party time. But everyone has a different experience. Humans are a very diverse and complicated species. My first trip, I didn’t actually meet a human. I met a robot. He stood over seven feet tall, bright red, and with his name printed across his big broad chest: C-O-K-E. Yeah, that was his name. Crazy, huh? Anyway, I slowly approached him, but when I touched his skin he spit a small red cylinder out of his mouth. It was cold to the touch and made of a soft metal we later discovered was aluminum. Our scientists believe, that it was some form of primitive communication, or sharing of party culture. Later, another similar robot was discovered, named P-E-P-S-I. The point is, you just never know who or what you’ll meet on Earth.”

Blog let out a deep floosh. “All right, then,” he said. “I guess I’m ready. But don’t chug-a-lug until I get my va-va-voom back here.”

“Stop worrying, Blog. Earth people are friendly, and they love to party.”

“If you say so. I just hope I meet someone nice, that’s all.” Blog solemnly stepped into the Ting-a-ling Machine which would miraculously transport him to earth.

Blang threw the big red switch, and there was a loud, “weoooeeeoooee” sound, then a brilliant flash of light that swirled around Blog like a rapidly stirred glass of water and glitter.

Then, he was gone.

Blog reappeared in a corn field, right smack-dab in the middle of a complex, geometrically shaped, crop circle. He surveyed the area, noticing how intricate the circle was. He whistled, then shook his head, “Man, that’s some circle. Only one group of aliens I know that can make a circle like that -- Yayters from the planet Yaytatata. Juvenile delinquents, the lot of ‘em. They've been spreading graffiti from one end of the universe to the other. This is serious. I’ll have to remember to report this to Blang.”

In the distance, Blog saw his first human. The earthling stood proud and tall among the corn, swaying and dancing. A gray hat was pulled down over his eyes to shade him from the sun, and he wore tattered blue jeans with a matching jacket.

Blog watched him. The man spun around and around from time to time in a perfect circle, his arms opened wide in a most friendly gesture. The harder the wind blew the faster the man would dance.

Blog approached cautiously, but was ready to party.

When he got close enough, he shouted a greeting. “Boom de-boom,” he said as bravely as possible, his voice carried by the wind. But the man did not answer. Instead, he spun around a few more times with his arms still outstretched. Then the wind died, and the man stopped dancing. Blog took this as a definite sign that the man had seen and heard him.

“Clinkety-clank, ding-a-linga-clop-clop.” Blog said, smiling, and walked up to the man. But the breeze stirred and the human turned his back. Well, on planet Zzip, this is about the worst insult you can give to a Zzippian, and Blog felt his heart thumping so hard his face turned yellow.

Angrily, he pulled out his boom-da-ba-wrooo. “You take that back, human, or I’ll fill you full of holes.” The man slowly turned around and faced the green alien. “Now, that’s more like it,” he said, holstering his weapon. “My name is Blog from the planet Zzip. What’s yours?”

The human did not answer.

Blog noticed the man was standing on a pole that was planted into the ground; the pole had a swivel half way up that allowed the man to spin around and around. “That looks awfully painful. Why are you perched up there anyway?”

There was still no answer. But then the man turned his back again.

“Look, I can’t stand around here all day waiting for you to talk. Besides, you’re the rudest life form I’ve ever met. I thought humans were nice and friendly. I guess I heard wrong.” Blog pushed his honk, which sent a signal to Blang to pick him up. He looked back at the skinny earthling one last time, then suddenly, the man spun around wildly and threw his hat into the air. Blog caught it just as he was transported back to his ship.

“So, did you meet a human?” asked Blang.

Blog looked at the hat. “Yes,” he said, “a man as thin as a board that danced around on the tip of a pole.”

“Bradada! That’s unbelievable! What did he say?”

“He said nothing. But he gave me this as a gift.” Blog showed him the hat.

“How does it work?”

“You put it on your head, covering your eyes, then dance with the wind until you’re dizzy.”

“This human must have liked you a lot to honor you with such a gift.”

“True, but I believe he was just testing me, to see if I too was a party animal and could do the Macarena.”



© Copyright 2004 W.D.Wilcox (wdwilcox at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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