Alien Couch Potato's

   I invited them later on that evening to watch TV, and it was a pretty good time until I used the microwave to pop corn.  Thurgians are sensitive to microwaves, it doesn't cause pain, although I think it’s disruptive to their sight.  After this was smoothed over we all settled in and got down to some serous TV watching.  There was only one strange thing.  Every time I would leave the room the three would abruptly start communicating and when I got within range of the thought paths they would abruptly stop.  It struck me strange at the time.  

  Ya know I had always thought that a group of aliens would come down make a few proclamations say "Take me to your leader" then go.  The three Thurgians, made themselves at home.  They all hung around on my couch generally stinking things up, although their odor was like the most amazing flower scent I had ever smelled.  It was annoying all the same. One of them was always surfing the web. Broadcast and media seemed to be its main interest. It learned the written languages very fast, I think it might of figured out Japanese and German as well as English.  Another planted himself on the couch and watched TV.  The extreme animal extravaganza was its favorite, but news and weather were meditated over also. I was like a servant to him.  Sure playing the host part is important but this is ridiculous, it would even ask me to change the TV channel, and then hand me the remote.  And the strangest one microwaved everything.  It continuously cooked any object until it was pulp or exploded, I think he even cooked a few live animals. One of them had taken apart the TV, computer screen, four clocks and my watch before I stopped him.  Enough was enough, It was apparent to them that they were driving me nuts.  We made a deal and boy what a deal it was.  If I had only known what would precipitate from this transaction I would have let them stay on my couch until they died of old age.  They gave me their ultra advanced solar panels, an electric generator that could use anything for fuel, and a formula for a type of super concrete.  In return I gave them the computers (I really had enough of computers any way), all of the monitors and TV screens (they had taken most of those apart already), and the microwave (it was a freaking mess).  So I thought had come out pretty good on the deal.  In fact I felt so bad for having ripped them off so bad that I gave them a five-pound bag of plant fertilizer (it turned out they loved the stuff). So I waited till dark. Patted them all on the back and said "don't let the door hit'cha in the backside on the way out", towed the ship out to the field and they filled their gas bag up and floated away, out’a my life for ever. Arriba dirtchi. Si a nora. Bon Jovi.  Later.

Encounter of the Third Kind.

I had my head in an old cranky diesel generator. It had broken down a day earlier, and there hadn’t been a good sunny day in weeks so my generator would kick in to supply the power the windmills couldn't. But even my considerable mechanical skill couldn't bring it back on line. I had just shocked the pie out'a my self when I heard leathery slap kind of sound, and looked up. Of course I couldn't believe my eyes and was scared and all that kind of alien human first interaction hoo haa but then I settled down and studied the things. Highly botanical was my first impression of the three, as I took a closer look they were a sort of a less flesh like rose with a ball on a stem that had the appearance of a fly eye. I made an attempt at communication at which they promptly started to hoot and plionk at. A few minutes of this was enough for all of us and we just kind of stood there for a while, stammering with our body posture. I took the triad as some what being dork like for their race. Oh they seemed to be bright enough but dorks all the same. I drew a picture or two and they seemed to be interested, but it was slow going. I thought a computer could break down the linguistic barrier, but that would be impossible to do with my computer. I then thought of telepathy, I had read a science fiction story once, man and alien communicated in this manner. Then it came like a flash of light, I could sense their thoughts

The Damp

    The Midwest might not be as cold as Siberia, but I'm sure the misery index is much higher. It seems as though the wind never stops and it has the audacity to rain at the temperature of Thirty degree's Fahrenheit,,, most of the time. Fog and drizzle from sun up to sun down, not that you could tell if those celestial events had occurred. It was dark or very near dark until about my third jar of tea and became the same during my afternoon snack, until finally the sun gave up its fight and was extinguished by the dampness of the Middle West. It was a day such as this when the Thurgieans landed

Watching

 Lucky and I had been brought close together by Wade's mini dampener amp, so my recall of scene: Mr. Starr's response to the question: who exactly was spying on him, is vivid, timeless.  "A couple of years after the Ivy infestation, I got smart and took M-corp to court for loss of livelihood.  Was going well when, bang, the police action started, M-corp dropped all the formalities of acting within the legal frame work, of course, and left me and P5 out of fair bit of change.  almost the minute the treaty was signed I began receiving messages, bills, that is, for their legal fees.  At first, if I got any payment, over any kind of network connection, almost instantaneously they'd bill me for exact the same amount.  So naturally I switched to cash only, and made the transactions here at home, at this table; a few got by, but soon I'd get a bill the instant I received payment; many time's the person paying me would still be here.  I tried an experiment, I made arrangements to sell some crushed soy to a person that habitually tries to short ya, does it every time, a compulsion or something, you have'ta go through a sorta dance with him; offer a second cup a tea, count the money, apologize to him, 'but I think your sum is short' and he say's 'oh yes, you're right, my error' and then he pays the rest.  So ya see my trap, right?  He pays me the wrong amount as he always does, and instantly I get a bill from M-corp for that same amount.  We do the dance and he pays the rest: about fifteen minutes later I get a bill for the second amount.  Ha! got em... bastards" peers at the screen on the wall. 

Supper time

Mr. Starr ate a big mouthful of potato, insuring he wouldn't be able to talk for awhile.  Mrs. Starr looked at Lucky, studying him as he ate, "so today, I got a message.. one of our old alerts, I haven't received one those for quite some time".  Jen quickly spoke up, "we had company man come out today, and he spent most of his time with Lucky".  Mrs. Starr made a look of concern, "oh.. I hope it wasn't serious".  "No Mrs. Starr, it wasn't, just a soil guy looking into a subsidence".  Mrs Starr was always on the look out for Jen, she had long since given up trying to fix her up with anyone she knew, so a new person was a highly desirable target.  "So, Jen.. is this 'soil guy' single" everybody groaned: "if he is, I would've been happy to ask him over tonight".  Lucky pointed around the kitchen, "where's gonna sit, I mean, it's cramped, just to let me out, you and Jen w'have'ta stand by the counter. and I'd have'ta push the table forward".  "We would find the space.  I'm sure your father would be happy to eat on a tray in the living room".  Mr. Starr finished his potato, "What this guy's name?" Wade stopped eating mid chew, Jen made an awkward sound, and Lucky looked up at the clock.  "I wasn't gonna tell ya, but I guess it'll get around sooner or later.. Ward Vogt".  Mr. Starr's eye's got big, he took a drink of water, shifted in his chair, lucky could tell he ran the, expand calm: "that kid? figures he'd be a company man" and started in on his carrots.

It's damp outside.

 Wade tapped his foot: one,two,three, the tune was a trance grass favorite: Jen on the bass Banjo, Lucky thumping on the big acoustic Bass, and Wade on the Dobro.  The three were sitting around a cylindrically shaped amplifier that Wade had tweaked to cancel out,or dampen, parts of the electromagnetic spectrum (radio), most acoustic waves, and high frequency gravitational waves, ([H.F.G.W.] *reportedly, the recently infected, had no E.M.I. interference with their link, it had been theorized the machine had evolved to use that communications spectrum) and with each instrument keyed into the amps receiver -- the musicians only heard a perfectly balanced audio landscape of what they were playing, no link interference, no outside audio interference, and the strange effects of the H.F.G.W. damping field.  It was a long tune, Jen played a quick riff, "evidently the send pass code, was for me to play my dashboard like a pair of bongo's, embarrassing.  That kid in the pit walked up to see why I hadn't taken off, took one look, gave a thumbs ups, walked back and started drumming out a tune on the side of the bed,  saved our ass".

Cascade

Jen hit the juice, the electric motor thumped up an and the hydraulic drive whined as the truck went forward as fast as it could.  Nobody tried butting in line, but she wasn't going to let anybody have second thoughts.  Into the shadow of the towering elevator enveloped by a cloud of dust, and though the pit one entry bay; clank and bump over the grate, a kid in the dust slid buy.  Pressing back in the seat, looking though the side mirrors until he held out his hand, palm forward, and she stopped, and lifted the bed.  Looked over to Vogt, he had dropped his case, left foot twitching, eye's glazed and slobbering.  Yelled "HEY" loud enough for the kid at the gate to faintly hear it over the electric motors blowing air through the heaters and up though the drying bin exactly over their head.  Threw the rest of her water at him, he twitched, "then I tried slapping, shaking,pinching and pulling on his arm, and he wouldn't come to.  During all this the corn had run out, that kid clanked the gate shut and was waiting for me to pull out; when I didn't - he started ah walking up to the window.  Here's this guy, this company man, dying in the passenger seat - I could not remain calm - and guess I triggered that encrypted emergency alert, and from what you guys have told me, it must've triggered over and over.  She peeped over the potted plant, Mrs. Starr was in the kitchen making her famous boiled chicken dinner, Mr. Starr was asleep in his chair, and door to the deck they were on was shut.      

Bibs: For Air Circulation

       The red truck was not Jen's favorite, the air ride system right down to her seat was flat, and if she hit a big bump she would bottom out with a clunk.  It looked as though the seat could be slid back further than it did, which pissed her off, she could have used the extra leg room.  The steering wheel was too close, and no matter how they were adjusted, the vents always seem to blow in her face, requiring her to put on quite a bit of moisturizer, that facilitated the adhesion on dirt, resulting in a thorough pumice cleansing every night that left her so skin raw that a special night time moisturiser had to be used.  The sun beating through the driver side window tended to just affect one side of her body: she wore thin white leather gloves, a long sleeve canvas shirt, and a soft long sleeve under garment; bibs: for air flow, a wide brim hat with the side tied down on windy days, and pair of goggles that were disguise as stylish sunglasses.

 

Map Off... Clear Cache

Sat up and looked down the row, a beam of humidity filtered light hit the thermos; a jittery white pro-misted polished stainless steel cylinder in the bottom right peripheral of his anamorphic visual field, cast flickering bright green flashes, burnt out to the point of clipping the bottom of the leaves, overlay on.  Twisted bits of information superimposed on the thicket, identify each hog with banners waving in that breeze that strolled through his mind.  A big letter P expertly built out of the soil: map off... clear cache, stands up, bumps into the hand tow and remembers the race is on.