Dingus
I meant to get twice this amount done tonight but I seem to have run out of steam. Will continue this tomorrow...
This piece was inspired by the recent hijacking of my PC speakers by who knows what...
“So those alien bastards have come at last,” Randy Braunson muttered as he lifted the once-white eyelet curtains (yellowed from years of smoking with the windows closed) with the muzzle tip of his 422. He gave his chewing tobacco a long, thoughtful chew, then spit into an old Folgers can. “About damn time. I don’t care what damn planet you’re from, a man should show up when he says he will.” Randy gave the alien a curt nod of recognition before abruptly dropping the curtain.
Randy placed his weapon on the gun rack, and walked into his bathroom. He studied himself in the mirror. Sallow skin, loose around the jowls and neck; cloudy blue eye; uneven gray stubble. This was a historical moment after all – perhaps he should shave. If Edna had been here – May-her-soul-rest-in-peace (though how it could with her being buried so near the new highway he never did know) – she would make him shave. Well, she wasn’t here, and Randy was his own man. Instead he smoothed his thin grey hair, replaced his hat, and smiled a broad, amber smile.
Then he leaned back and took a nice, long piss.
“Ugly green fuckers,” he thought, whistling, “let them wait.”
Bladder relieved and blue jeans zipped. Randy had checked twice. Today was a big day for him, he didn’t want to march out there with his dingus hanging out. They’d probably think it was some kind of alien-killin’ gun – and zap him. Randy grinned as he checked one final time. Edna always said that dingus of his would get him into trouble.
He wished it had gotten her into trouble once or twice. He sure would like to have a pack of grand-babies with him now – how proud they’d be that their grandpappy was the Diplomat of Earth. Sure, it wasn’t an elected position, and maybe he did exaggerate his position in the world the first time those weird lizard things landed their tin can in his wheat field (lucky that crop was still green or there woulda been a fire blazin like who knows what!)– but the little tykes wouldna known any better than those things did.
Yup. It woulda been nice to have grandkids here.
It would have been nice to have someone here.
Randy sighed, opened his front door, and stepped out onto the porch he and his Daddy built when he was 11. Damn, but November nights were cold round these parts. He didn’t know how them aliens walked around without any clothes on. Didn’t lizards like the heat? He pulled his heavy flannel shirt closed and marched down the steps and into his front yard, the frost crunching beneath his heavy mud-colored boots.
The foremost alien gave a slight bow in Randy’s direction.
They always did that when they saw Randy – bowed. He liked it too. He liked it just fine.
Of course, he hadn’t marched up to them like this the first, time, calm as you please. But things were different now. They had a sort of an understanding.
The first time around, Randy came out shouting – flood lights on and gun raised. It was the animals that had let him that something was wrong. They made a heck of a noise, all at once. The cows crying, the chickens screaming – even the horses seemed to be trying to bang their way out of the barn. Woke him up from the sleep of the dead – and he was one mean fucker when he didn’t get enough sleep. He opened up the window to holler at them damn animals – and that’s when he saw it – and them, green as grass, and thin as it too, looking at him with their black beady eyes and heavy lizard heads. They were standing there, out in his wheat field, pullin’ up stalks like they owned the place.
He couldn’t remember what he hollered, he just remembered that he hollered but good, swearing a blue streak as he pulled on his coat and hat and grabbed his gun. He ran right up to the little one and pulled the stalk out of his hand and knocked him to the ground. Then he raised his gun at the big one.
He remembered what he said then. He had been waiting years for an intruder to come onto the farm just so he could say it. “This is Private Property. Know what that means son? It means if you want to keep your privates you’ll get off my property.” Edna – well – Edna had always thought it was a pretty stupid thing to say. In fact, she held to the theory that if there ever was an intruder, Randy would do better than to lock the doors and call “Nice Mister Johansen” – that young nip of a sheriff. Edna said weren’t nobody going to come steal anything from them – they had nothing to steal. At worst they’d get some kids drinking in the dark. And weren’t nobody going to be scared of an old man like him.
Old man? Old man? He’d only been 60 then – and that was five years ago – before the cancer took her. When the aliens came he was sixty-five - and fit as ever. His family – they weren’t quitters, no sir. His Daddy had plowed that field until he was in his mid-seventies. Call the sheriff? Bah. What had that woman known? Randy was a Braunson – and Braunson men protected their land.
Of course – his little speech hadn’t had quite the reaction he hoped. It occurred to him as he was standing there in his long johns, gun cocked, that whatever those things were were naked as the day they were born – and they didn’t have any privates that he could see.
Almost felt sorry for ‘em. But that didn’t worry so him so much. An intruder was an intruder. Shooting a bunch of holes in them was his right as a landowner and as an American.
Now, had they been punk –assed kids from the local high school – they would have been scared shitless by then, Randy was sure of it. The aliens, they just looked at him, feathery eyelids blinking.
Well, if hollering wasn’t going to get them off his land he knew what would. He pointed his gun up in the air and fired off a round.
That got there attention. Damn straight.
At first he thought the kickback had knocked him over; (something he never would have lived down.) Thankfully, the aliens had just put him in some stranger sleeper hold. The short one lifted him up and dusted him off. He tried to pull away, but realized that he could see and hear and breathe all right – but he couldn’t move.
He realized it should have made him angry. First they came and took his wheat – and now they were taking control of his body. Instead, he felt that strange otherworldly calm that comes from being completely and totally out of control of a situation.
The first thing he noticed – now that the screaming had stopped – was the smell. Randy was a farming man – born and raised. He had been shoveling shit – out of stables and onto mulch piles – since he was old enough to hold a shovel. He breathed shit, carried shit, tracked it in his house when he forgot to take off his boots; once a man has handled the excrement of a cow with a stomach ailment he assumes there’s not a smell on Earth that could wrinkle his nose. And perhaps that man was right. But whatever these things weren’t from Earth – and they stank.
The smell was the most awful thing Randy had ever experienced. They were rank and fetid – it came off them in rank and fetid waves. His eyes watered and his stomach wanted desperately for him to revisit the mac and cheese he had had for dinner. Instead he just shuddered uncontrollably and tried to get enough control of his motor functions to breathe out of his mouth.
He knew he had to concentrate or he would vomit – and he didn’t want to die choking on his own sick like some goddamned hippie rockstar.
He figured they probably couldn’t help it. His brother-in-law had been a big-rigger – and when he stopped by to say “heya” in the middle of a cross-country jag where he went days without showering, he had been a fair sight rank too. Randy didn’t know where these fellas had come from, but he was sure it was a damn site farther than Allentown, Pennsylvania. A roadtrip like that was like to make anyone stink a bit.
By God, it was disgusting.
Immobile and barely breathing, Randy tried to organize his thoughts. He looked at the intruders – who were carefully considering him and making noises among themselves.
H had never seen anything like that silver contraption hovering over his crops – well – not except in those movies Edna used to like to see at the matinee (Randy preferred adventure movies – those science fiction thrillers always put Randy to sleep. In the end Edna gave up trying to get him to enjoy them - she’d just give him a sharp stick in the ribs every now and then to keep him from snorin’ in at the Bijou.) Never in real life though. It was a real proper flying saucer – flat and silver and constantly spinning like a top. They never landed it – not really – it just hovered there, spinning, a black ramp leading the way from the ground to the door.
This piece was inspired by the recent hijacking of my PC speakers by who knows what...
“So those alien bastards have come at last,” Randy Braunson muttered as he lifted the once-white eyelet curtains (yellowed from years of smoking with the windows closed) with the muzzle tip of his 422. He gave his chewing tobacco a long, thoughtful chew, then spit into an old Folgers can. “About damn time. I don’t care what damn planet you’re from, a man should show up when he says he will.” Randy gave the alien a curt nod of recognition before abruptly dropping the curtain.
Randy placed his weapon on the gun rack, and walked into his bathroom. He studied himself in the mirror. Sallow skin, loose around the jowls and neck; cloudy blue eye; uneven gray stubble. This was a historical moment after all – perhaps he should shave. If Edna had been here – May-her-soul-rest-in-peace (though how it could with her being buried so near the new highway he never did know) – she would make him shave. Well, she wasn’t here, and Randy was his own man. Instead he smoothed his thin grey hair, replaced his hat, and smiled a broad, amber smile.
Then he leaned back and took a nice, long piss.
“Ugly green fuckers,” he thought, whistling, “let them wait.”
Bladder relieved and blue jeans zipped. Randy had checked twice. Today was a big day for him, he didn’t want to march out there with his dingus hanging out. They’d probably think it was some kind of alien-killin’ gun – and zap him. Randy grinned as he checked one final time. Edna always said that dingus of his would get him into trouble.
He wished it had gotten her into trouble once or twice. He sure would like to have a pack of grand-babies with him now – how proud they’d be that their grandpappy was the Diplomat of Earth. Sure, it wasn’t an elected position, and maybe he did exaggerate his position in the world the first time those weird lizard things landed their tin can in his wheat field (lucky that crop was still green or there woulda been a fire blazin like who knows what!)– but the little tykes wouldna known any better than those things did.
Yup. It woulda been nice to have grandkids here.
It would have been nice to have someone here.
Randy sighed, opened his front door, and stepped out onto the porch he and his Daddy built when he was 11. Damn, but November nights were cold round these parts. He didn’t know how them aliens walked around without any clothes on. Didn’t lizards like the heat? He pulled his heavy flannel shirt closed and marched down the steps and into his front yard, the frost crunching beneath his heavy mud-colored boots.
The foremost alien gave a slight bow in Randy’s direction.
They always did that when they saw Randy – bowed. He liked it too. He liked it just fine.
Of course, he hadn’t marched up to them like this the first, time, calm as you please. But things were different now. They had a sort of an understanding.
The first time around, Randy came out shouting – flood lights on and gun raised. It was the animals that had let him that something was wrong. They made a heck of a noise, all at once. The cows crying, the chickens screaming – even the horses seemed to be trying to bang their way out of the barn. Woke him up from the sleep of the dead – and he was one mean fucker when he didn’t get enough sleep. He opened up the window to holler at them damn animals – and that’s when he saw it – and them, green as grass, and thin as it too, looking at him with their black beady eyes and heavy lizard heads. They were standing there, out in his wheat field, pullin’ up stalks like they owned the place.
He couldn’t remember what he hollered, he just remembered that he hollered but good, swearing a blue streak as he pulled on his coat and hat and grabbed his gun. He ran right up to the little one and pulled the stalk out of his hand and knocked him to the ground. Then he raised his gun at the big one.
He remembered what he said then. He had been waiting years for an intruder to come onto the farm just so he could say it. “This is Private Property. Know what that means son? It means if you want to keep your privates you’ll get off my property.” Edna – well – Edna had always thought it was a pretty stupid thing to say. In fact, she held to the theory that if there ever was an intruder, Randy would do better than to lock the doors and call “Nice Mister Johansen” – that young nip of a sheriff. Edna said weren’t nobody going to come steal anything from them – they had nothing to steal. At worst they’d get some kids drinking in the dark. And weren’t nobody going to be scared of an old man like him.
Old man? Old man? He’d only been 60 then – and that was five years ago – before the cancer took her. When the aliens came he was sixty-five - and fit as ever. His family – they weren’t quitters, no sir. His Daddy had plowed that field until he was in his mid-seventies. Call the sheriff? Bah. What had that woman known? Randy was a Braunson – and Braunson men protected their land.
Of course – his little speech hadn’t had quite the reaction he hoped. It occurred to him as he was standing there in his long johns, gun cocked, that whatever those things were were naked as the day they were born – and they didn’t have any privates that he could see.
Almost felt sorry for ‘em. But that didn’t worry so him so much. An intruder was an intruder. Shooting a bunch of holes in them was his right as a landowner and as an American.
Now, had they been punk –assed kids from the local high school – they would have been scared shitless by then, Randy was sure of it. The aliens, they just looked at him, feathery eyelids blinking.
Well, if hollering wasn’t going to get them off his land he knew what would. He pointed his gun up in the air and fired off a round.
That got there attention. Damn straight.
At first he thought the kickback had knocked him over; (something he never would have lived down.) Thankfully, the aliens had just put him in some stranger sleeper hold. The short one lifted him up and dusted him off. He tried to pull away, but realized that he could see and hear and breathe all right – but he couldn’t move.
He realized it should have made him angry. First they came and took his wheat – and now they were taking control of his body. Instead, he felt that strange otherworldly calm that comes from being completely and totally out of control of a situation.
The first thing he noticed – now that the screaming had stopped – was the smell. Randy was a farming man – born and raised. He had been shoveling shit – out of stables and onto mulch piles – since he was old enough to hold a shovel. He breathed shit, carried shit, tracked it in his house when he forgot to take off his boots; once a man has handled the excrement of a cow with a stomach ailment he assumes there’s not a smell on Earth that could wrinkle his nose. And perhaps that man was right. But whatever these things weren’t from Earth – and they stank.
The smell was the most awful thing Randy had ever experienced. They were rank and fetid – it came off them in rank and fetid waves. His eyes watered and his stomach wanted desperately for him to revisit the mac and cheese he had had for dinner. Instead he just shuddered uncontrollably and tried to get enough control of his motor functions to breathe out of his mouth.
He knew he had to concentrate or he would vomit – and he didn’t want to die choking on his own sick like some goddamned hippie rockstar.
He figured they probably couldn’t help it. His brother-in-law had been a big-rigger – and when he stopped by to say “heya” in the middle of a cross-country jag where he went days without showering, he had been a fair sight rank too. Randy didn’t know where these fellas had come from, but he was sure it was a damn site farther than Allentown, Pennsylvania. A roadtrip like that was like to make anyone stink a bit.
By God, it was disgusting.
Immobile and barely breathing, Randy tried to organize his thoughts. He looked at the intruders – who were carefully considering him and making noises among themselves.
H had never seen anything like that silver contraption hovering over his crops – well – not except in those movies Edna used to like to see at the matinee (Randy preferred adventure movies – those science fiction thrillers always put Randy to sleep. In the end Edna gave up trying to get him to enjoy them - she’d just give him a sharp stick in the ribs every now and then to keep him from snorin’ in at the Bijou.) Never in real life though. It was a real proper flying saucer – flat and silver and constantly spinning like a top. They never landed it – not really – it just hovered there, spinning, a black ramp leading the way from the ground to the door.
