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THE POLITE VISITORS
"Sir, we have something that needs your attention right away."
"What is it this time, Charlie? More crop circles?" asked Mr. Dem.
"Well, there is a corn field affected, but you need to come right away."
"We're going to a corn field, Charlie?"
"Yes, sir. I'll just close the car door and I'll rush you right there."
"I have a monthly report due tomorrow. This better be important."
"We're here. You better straighten your tie, sir. This is very important. Here, let me get the door for you, sir."
"Mr. Dem, I presume?" said the seven foot tall human like alien next to his space craft hovering in the corn field.
"Uh, yes, sir. That's me, Mr. Dem."
"I didn't want to bother the president, so I asked for the person in charge of alien visitors. My name is Grog and I am seeking permission to move my family to your planet, as ours is now gone."
"Uh, you are seeking resident status?"
"Yes, Mr. Dem. Is there a problem?"
"Well, I think you might need to discuss this with immigration. Has the military arrived yet?"
"I don't believe they were able to detect our approach. I wanted to be subtle on this visit."
"I have a question that has been on my mind for some time now. Why do you pick corn fields?"
"The corn stalks prove to provide a soft landing spot for the hover mode. Thank you for asking about our parking needs."
"Ah yes, you're welcome. You seem to be very civil, Me. Grog."
"Why thank you Mr. Dem. I have studied your customs for quite some time in the hopes of fitting in with your species."
"Well, then. What housing needs do you have?"
"I'm glad you asked. I am quite able to supply my family on a one acre plot of land, given that anything that comes inside the boundaries is fair game."
"I don't think I understand, Mr. Grog."
"But I researched the term game and I do believe I am using it correctly that we plan to hunt and eat anything that comes onto that acre of land. We are omnivores and do require meat for sustenance."
"We buy our meat at the market here, Mr. Grog."
"I have young who need to practice the art of hunting to keep their skills up for a possible transplant to another planet."
"I'm not sure we can accommodate your hunting needs as you have described them. A child could accidentally wonder onto your land and that wouldn't be safe. Surely you can see that."
Chomp, Swish, Chomp, Chomp. "Daddy, these humans don't taste very good. Can we go somewhere else?"
"Of course, darling. We'll begin the Martian lessons in the morning."
"Oh goodie, goodie. We're going to have Martians."
This story was hand-written on 07/22/09.
website created by Janine Bouyssounouse.
Last updated 07/22/09