"It was sort of like a....well, it was a

The Project Blue Book (US Air Force UFO investigation) officer sipped uneasily a jam jar of moonshine offered by his guest who continued: "They were like uhh... you know... um...

googly eyes sex crazed ayleeyuns! They come for my sis... wife an was fixin' to empreganate 'er with their ayleeyun seed!" Sgt. Hicks pretended to take notes, but when he saw the

aliens begin their exotic cabaret dance, he couldn't resist getting up on the stage with them. Next thing he knew, he was in an unfamiliar bed in a galaxy far, far away, with a

being that appeared to be Dennis Rodman and a headache that refused to quit. What. Happened. Somehow he sensed that they were travelling at least at 1.5 times the speed of light wh

ile still dribbling the ball. What was causing that awful sound? And why was my hair fuchsia? I grabbed the ball with both hands and realized that it had a leak.

As I clutched the leaking ball I shot all over the room. Bruised and beaten, I was penalized for "travelling" and went to the bench, hanging my fuchsia hairdo. It wasn't fair.

The can of whipped cream had exploded and got all over everything. It was 50 years old and still good, Gladys insisted. I disagreed and threw it out. A new one was bought that day.

So I'm a cow, just a jersey cow, I was, I was and even if history and memory forget me, I was. Just why did it have to be at the same time as him? This trump?

This purveyor of loud sounds most not pleasant at all. He hardly lived up to his name. I plugged my ears waiting for the wall to rise. But as I did they circumlocuted it in boats.