Another Alien Sighting

Subject 9542: Mr. Roland M. King. Claimed to have seen an alien in his backyard fixing up the yard before interrogating him in their spaceship. Apparently did a bad job in the cornfield with the rake and left some strange mess (known as crop circles). Subject due for interview on verification of sighting and complete description. Subject is a Protestant church member with no traces of hallucinogens in blood and urine tests. MRI scan is also clean but there are chances of some slight disturbance as his location lacks any entertainment. Client is seen to have been watching programs on Extra Terrestrials and might have a good chance of influencing him into perverting a possible dream into a reality. A further probe will be conducted.
With an excerpt from a report above, this would definitely not be the first time Dr. Smith has to interview another person claiming to have sightings of the third dimension. Facing the field of Mr. King, a regular farmer with an old TV, Dr. Smith takes Mr. King to the dining room and conducts the interview. Everyone in the house is now told to keep out. Being that Mr. King is a farmer with an old TV that breaks down once in a while, he would tend to have a lot of children.
“Mr. King, you claim to have seen an alien in your front yard”
“I have, as what I have reported”
“And he was cleaning your yard?”
“He wants to hide the evidence”
“From?”
“People like you I guess”
“But what happened to the cornfields?”
“They messed it up, I guess they’re not good at fixing cornfields”
“Describe this alien to me” in a more bored voice, Dr. Smith feels this is one of those days again.
“He’s got some weird upside down egg shaped head. Tall and rather skinny, he seems to have some slight difficulty holding up his head with our gravity being different and all”
“Let me guess, he is green with large eyes?”
“Nope. He’s got those slanted Chinese eyes and his color looked like Mahogany”
“Have you kept the lid of that can open for a long time?”, inquired Dr. Smith, looking at a can of varnish on the side of the dining room. Mahogany colored aliens is rather the first time he has heard it.
“No Doc, I am not dreamin’ stuff up. He was real and I can tell you he was smart and all, like a computer. He was just curious with all this summer stuff we do and all. I had to defend why we all like to go to the beach”.
“And why was he curious about us going to the beach?”, now in a more curious tone. Dr. Smith is waiting for a story to laugh about. This can prove, in a way, that in some circumstance a farm boy will come up with some tall story with redneck words that would blow off the cover. Mr. King now narrates.
“He saw me, and waved his hands. I waved back and this alien approaches me. He holds my hand and looks up to this little bright light in the sky. I just saw things change in front of me. In one second. I was up in some space craft in a room with a window facing Earth. It was a little worrying and all as I thought he was going to get one of those alien whatnot and stick it up my behind. There was a chair and I was asked to sit down. In front of me was a figure and he started asking me
- Mr. King, are you comfortable? May we assist you with anything?
- I am all fine, but what is all this stuff about?
- We just have a few unsettling queries Mr. King. We’re pondering over your Earthly rituals.
- What rituals? I am a Protestant, all others are weird to me too
- Not religious rituals Mr. King, we have answers to that. We have already talked to the Dalai Lama, the Pope, and all others. They don’t seem pleased to be here though, and some of them seem to have lost their faith once they came up here. Odd enough, they all seem to cover their anuses for fear of us doing some tests. Rest assured, we don’t spend our time or be curious about putting things inside anuses. Your humanoid counterparts seem to have a strange fetish over anuses and found it rather interesting to talk about it. We suspect they were invented by a group of army or prison personnel. Who else would have such an interest. We are interested in your so called vacation, Mr. King. Kindly explain to me why your fellows find it amusing to pack a wicker basket with cooked food that will be brought along to what is called a beach. We cannot comprehend why would they want to go through congested roads for hours, scour different places for parking, and find a small area in this beach. What could be so amusing about covering oneself or musing over silicon chip raw material also known as sand, in the dreaded heat that causes regrettable skin peeling, or having to spend on sun block and consume topically and stay under the sun. They try to build a non-habitable sand castle near water that will wash it off, try to write something in the same place. And frolic in liquid not suitable for human consumption. This liquid, known as water, is also the same liquid where humans and sea creatures relieve waste in. This would also be the same liquid being mixed with incompatible foreign objects such as fuel from boats and such. What is to be gained from all this but a false mental illusion of peace and relaxation. Mr. King, does anyone in your planet have any logical explanation for such irrational choice of behavior? Doesn’t all the above defy what should be considered filth, crowd, hassle, and noise? Couldn’t there be anything more productive?
- Mr. alien, sir, I am just a farmer and everyday I watch my cornfields grow. I might not be the best person to answer but this is the best I can say. Being away from the daily chores with people you enjoy being with can help make life worth living. Working like a horse, as our phrase, would tend to make things stressful. More than fulfilling our purpose, we also want to appreciate the most basic and primal of everything, and that would be nature’s grand creation. While sand is indeed raw material for glass and computer chips, it also can serve a therapeutic and calming purpose when rubbed around the body. The waste products of animals, which makes the sea salty, can also be good for the skin. Moving around the cool waters in the midst of the summer heat gives two extremes we all enjoy to play with. The sense of relief does help a person’s body to relax better and let go of stress. Building sand castles and writing on sand expresses ones creativity and distracts the mind from everyday work. We tend to focus on creating something and the immediate sense of achievement can help a person’s mind feel the happiness of fulfillment, even for a short time. It is a mentally therapeutic venue, an excuse from stress. Sometimes you have to change your environment to forget work. As anything that reminds of work can burn a person out. This little recharging activity helps a person feel refreshed and work even further. How can we go the extra mile if we’re too tired to walk? We have to sit, relax, and gain some energy before we can run again. And this is a very important function for everyone.
- Thank you for your comment Mr. King, we will take note of that and review other comments. Thank you for your time”
“And then I was zapped back into my front yard as if nothing happened. I swear doc, I defended beach vacation”
Dr. Smith found the story impressive, from a farmer, this was a very logical outlay of words and reason. At one point, who knows, Mr. King might have actually met a mahogany colored alien with Chinese eyes who want to get an opinion from a farmer. Then again, why would aliens want to know what a farmer thinks, given that his formal education has been limited. But let us not forget that watching that cornfield grow can give someone enough time to reflect and ponder on ideas. Being too busy to reflect can sometimes lead us to become blunt. These aliens, if they do exist, did make a wise choice after all.
“Thank you Mr. King for your time, we will keep you posted”
Subject has been interviewed and needed report has been made, possibility of hallucination from varnish being called for consideration and possibility for sighting. While the farmer’s story seems too logical and advanced for his education, subject still has the very ability, like other humans, to dwell into broader fields of life and philosophy. More investigation might have to be conducted to prove or disprove sightings.

Writer’s mental block

A repetitive, in an almost perpetual consistency of thumping could be heard in the next room of a very thin and poorly insulated wall. This does annoy Robert, who, by deciding to be a low profile writer, stays in a low budget apartment. This noise could sound like a man who seems to be banging his head to the wall, but that would hurt, a lot. In fact, that would hurt a great deal lot that even a drunk man would either pass out from being drunk or knock himself out in pain. Repetitive thumping noises of a certain length should not be possible for any human being, which could then mean one thing, it is not a man thumping his head against the wall.
The noise was in fact his neighbor thumping a Judge’s mallet on a table, or actually more of a cheesy wooden artifact he regrettably bought overpriced in his recent trip to the next town. Now, the whole vacation doesn’t matter much as it has nothing to do with Robert, who, incidentally, also got a cheesy wooden statue from his neighbor. No, his neighbor was trying to pretend to be a judge, for, after all these years of being a lawyer, his dream of being a judge passed of as a mere dream now that he was forcefully retired due to old age, which wouldn’t be much of a problem if he didn’t usually forget everything, including going to court during the cases, or even the cases he was supposed to defend, or prosecute. Yes, the judge would have a very bad tendency of forgetfulness that only a man who wants to go to jail, or get a good laugh, would like to hire him.
This is not about the judge. No, this is about Robert, our special main character who is suffering a mental block. Since Robert is suffering a mental block, he tends to be so boring that his retired lawyer neighbor would seem to be more interesting. Even his cheesy statue would be more interesting, had it not been abstract, we could actually describe it, all that could be said about the statue is that it is abstract, brown, and disturbing. It seems to be more of a petrified cow dung shaped like a dog’s dung, however, it would be best to ask a dung expert to analyze this further. If you do find a dung expert though, as an advice from this author, DO NOT SHAKE HIS HANDS.
The lawyer gave another disturbing petrified dog dung looking statue to Robert’s other neighbor, who is now dead. Incidentally, he died at the start of the story, apparently, his life was so boring that the thought of someone writing a story about him excited him so much he died of a heart attack in the process. Nothing much could be said about him now, except that he’s dead on the floor, and not holding the statue.
Had it not been for the administrator figuring out who are still alive in this God-forsaken apartment could they have found out about the dead neighbor. The administrator/landlord actually knocks on everyone’s door at
8 PMevery night. he waits for an acknowledgement before proceeding. This is his only way to find out if he should call the medics. But this does not necessarily the best way to save lives. An old cat lady was shocked to death by a knock in the door, considering that in her previous apartment she had no one knocking in the door for almost 20 years, she never did keep friends or relatives more of staying alone. She did find it surprising to get a knock on the door all this time, and expected it might be death, and decided she should go on before he does the job for her.
Getting back to the writer, who is still holding his head and thinking of what to write, quite truthfully, he is rather dull, and there’s not much to speak of about him except that he hasn’t even written a word. In some strange way keeping to himself has not brought him any new books or articles. Keeping of the outside deprived him of something to write about, a new experience on everyday lives, about the neighbors, the landlord, or even the statue. Robert actually has a very bad imagination and keeping himself trapped in the room doesn’t help.
Eventually the story is running out of anything interesting to describe. The sun is setting again, just like it has yesterday or the days before. The neighbors go on with their usual lives, be it peculiar and strange, in some way, someone else is living the exact same life somewhere, and is starting it off as the sun rises on his side.

A Story out of Nowhere

Mr. White is an aerosol insecticide salesman. But he is not really white, he is a little reddish, like his parents and those before him. Although this would be a strange way to start a story, we are talking about him anyway, and is really proud to be the first aerosol insecticide salesman to be talked about in the story.
While lawyers, doctors, engineers, and some other occupations are usually discussed in stories, no one has ever dwelled into what an aerosol insecticide salesman has to say. It usually seems uninteresting, and it probably is. But Mr. White has a strange interest. Mr. While likes to read stories on ordinary people or certain special people, on how their day went before they passed away. This type of story is usually being discussed in eulogies in funerals. Mr. White actually attends funerals of strangers and listens to these stories. He does like the whole idea that it all seems ok in the end. The person meets his maker after what would be called a very wonderful day, and when the person did pass on he typically seems to have had no difficulties whatsoever. In this respect, he avoids newspapers who discuss certain methods otherwise.
Living an uneventful life of going to supermarkets and promoting insecticides, Mr. White would try to consider his life as something “stable”. Nothing strange happens to him and his town, and is not necessarily bothered by this. A predictable life is an easy life, it is easier to expect what would happen next and, know that it will all be ok. He feels he will leave at the age of 77, as what the average life expectancy of his town is, but has a feeling it may prolong if medical technology will improve as expected, or shorten due to the harm being caused by his insecticides, irregardless, 77 is a safe bet at this point.
Although life is “stable”, there was one occasion when everything was better than usual, and this terrified Mr. White. This morning, Mr. White woke up a little happier than usual, had a better prize in the cereal box, got a raise from his boss, and got the chance to leave for home earlier to celebrate. This was a very worrying day for Mr. White.
It may seem like a great day for us, but for Mr. White, he feels his death is impending. A day too good than the usual reminds him of the funeral stories, this is not what he was expecting at all. Mr. White cursed the fact that he had a wonderful day. He hated it today, and will curse it all eternity in his afterlife, after he dies tonight, as what he believes will happen.
How can you prevent a good day to happen when it has too? But what if it is too good? He panicked, and suddenly regretted the environmental impact his products are causing to the ozone layer, as that might be the reason he might go to hell. Forget all those church visits and morning prayers, no, Someone up there is upset over his contribution to the damages to the ozone layer that he might be given the punishment of standing beneath a hole for eternity, smelling like insecticide.
But nothing could be done, he decided that while many of these people died in their sleep, it would be best to stay awake. He is terrible at doing this though, and at latest, stayed awake until
8:33in the evening, 3 minutes after his usual time of sleeping of
8:30.
The next day Mr. White woke up with a sort of curiosity over the idea that he might be already dead. He tried walking around the yard naked to see if people will notice him. He could have still done this with clothes on and be greeted by neighbors. Instead, they stared at him with disgust and surprise as they called the kids back in to the house, no longer curious about his only secret. Here is a man who has no secrets anymore in his neighborhood, but it was not one of those things people will keep staring at, it was really best not to look.
Realizing he was alive, Mr. White felt a sigh of relief, and utter stupidity and embarrassment. He later explained the same story to his neighbors, after the police, who later forgave him and inside felt good after all that something different actually happened in their town. This was a story worth talking about in their town, apparently, and Mr. White became quite proud for his stupidity, which entertained his neighbors.
His wife thought otherwise, now and will always be embarrassed over her husband’s logic. But is still happy with his raise anyways, and found that it would be a good idea to put a bell near the bedroom door to ensure she knows when he will be leaving the room and check if he is clothed. Mr. White did live long and is still alive and kicking at 76.

Best Sellers

Another café, another writer. It seems to be a standard in some cafes to have writers who would sit in their own spot in some strange place indoors or outdoors. It would also seem strange that the outdoors would typically be occupied by a woman reading a novel, in a strangely noisy and non-conducive area. Anyway, away with the reader we’re talking about this messed up looking writer and that’s who we will talk about all along. This messy, confused, and passionate writer who is now currently taking interest in the corner hinge part of the door, in fact, the left hinge, as he stares intently, as if there’s something interesting.
If you were to think he’s completely out of his mind, you’re probably right. After all, what does the corner hinge have that is so interesting, he has just got another waiter confused, staring with him intently, awaiting some image to pop-up, like those 3D paintings that has a good half of us wishing there was an open window to throw it off. He stares at the hinge and then he starts writing. He’s got the waiter so confused the waiter went outside with the tray and crossed the street, giving the latte order to some bystander on the other side waiting for the taxi. Upon realizing this, however, the waiter apologized and asked for the coffee back, swearing to never stare intently at the door hinge again.
But the writer writes, and writes. Irregardless of the weather, he writes. Irregardless of the fact that riots are happening outside the café, he writes. Or the fact that the woman outside, reading novels at a noisy street, comes in to look at his work, is now staring at him intently, to ask to read the first page. She is ignored as he writes. She, by the way, is now staring at the hinge he was, and is found utterly confused. She now knows he is a total nut, and she has to read his writings even more.
And he writes, and he writes, and he writes. Irregardless of his state, he writes. His passion for the door hinge has got him writing. And the owner is starting to get irritated over a writer getting people to stare at the door hinge and thus making them confused. What’s worse, he hasn’t even bought any coffee for the past week. He just comes in, sits on his table, and writes about the door hinge.
At long last the opus has been completed. In this time he has written two versions, one for the owner of the café, and the other for the rest of the world to read.
The owner of the café got a letter thanking him for his hospitality and patience for giving a location he found most conducive for writing. A request, though, was asked, that he will be allowed to have his book signing on the table, once the book is published.
And that the door hinge be oiled once a week for its generous service of handling the weight of the door, and its service of opening and closing the door for the customers of this café.
His book, is never about the hinge, but it did get special mention, along with the other hinge and the floor mat. The window got more credit though, because it was the main instrument on which the reflection of the woman reading a novel in an inappropriate location was seen, just beside the door hinge.
The book was entirely based on a poetic inspiration derived from the woman reading a book. Anyone who has such beauty, and passion for a book, to actually want to read it outside a café instead of inside, must be waiting for someone, as the book seems to be a romance novel. She is waiting, and the writer wishes he is with her, sitting in front of her, buying coffee from the neighboring café which, in his opinion, has better coffee, convincing her to buy a decent book, while intently staring at her eyes. He does not have the guts though, and found that when she came in and almost got a conversation from him, all he said was “I’m busy, wait until it is published”. His ruined opportunity was blamed on time since he was getting to a better part of the book, but it is all over now.
Book signing came, and the café owner got his copy signed, and he had to pay for his copy. Irregardless, he’s quite satisfied to be bestowed the honor to have the book signing in his café, little knowing how badly his coffee was described in the book.
Now arrive the woman, he smiles as he signs her book with his mobile number. She knows that it is about her, and gets more excited in getting to read the book. Barely any conversation could be brought up as there is a long line of women reading books in different cafes in noisy locations lined up to get their books signed. She will call him, she promised.
And indeed she called him, a little irritated, for having her taste in books described as “pathetic” and her choice of location as “even more so”. Nothing could be described with her choice of coffee, except “as bad as the book and the location put together”. And felt that if he was just interested with her looks, he should just go and pick girls up in a bar, which he has indeed decided as a better idea after all.