A deal

1. “Break open the bubbly, Miss Zweig!” the mayor exclaims to his secretary.
2. He sweeps her off her feet. “We got $500,000 dollars for the property on industrial way, one million for road repair… and donations toward my re-election!”
3. “And all I had to do was sell this town to an alien scientist,” he mutters to himself, feeling guilt as the alien carries her away.

Towns need law and order

Towns need law and order

1. Towns need law and order… “My dandelion garden!” frets the alien as the flamingo-bot munches his dandelions.
2. …a need filled by “The Karate Fungus…” The Karate Fungus practices the crane stance on a piling by the sea.
3. …defender of peace and justice! The Karate Fungus comes to the rescue with a flying side-kick and a “kiai!” “Ar-honk!” groans the flamingo-bot. “Huzzah!” exclaims the alien.

Towns need upstanding citizens (a.k.a. Time is money)

Towns need upstanding citizens (a.k.a. Time is money)

1. Towns need upstanding citizens. “Time is money,” thinks the great blue heron, checking his watch.
2. “Money is power,” he thinks, slipping the great egret a few bucks.
3. “Power… is relative,” the thinks again as the egret accepts a suitcase of cash from a black-crowned night heron.

The mayor and the alien

Gilligan Pistachio emerged from his mental fog. The intercom buzzed a second time. Miss Zweig, his sexy secretary, was calling to him in Brooklynese.

“Mistah Mayah.”

Gil picked up the handset. “What is it?”

“Mistah Mayah, an alien scientist is here to see you.”

Gil opened his mouth to answer but didn’t say anything. Alone in his shabby office, seated behind a big oak desk and under a bare incandescent light fixture, Gil had been drinking. Besides the phone, desk blotter calendar, pen, and the martini glass, there wasn’t anything on the desk except Gil. He was slumped over it in a dejected pile.

“My career is in the toilet,” he thought when he plopped into his executive swivel. He had taken the necessary ingredients for his drink from the bottom desk drawer and spent the morning slowly sipping away. There wasn’t much to do anyway. The village was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

Why would a scientist want to talk to him about aliens? Why would a scientist come to Terminal Moraine at all? Gil decided he did not want to talk to a scientist about aliens, to anyone else about aliens, or to scientists about anything else. He wanted to talk to developers and lobbyists about lining his pockets. But, he was the mayor and it was his job to meet with people, and there wasn’t exactly a line of fat cats waiting in the lobby. Gil finished his drink and returned the glass to the drawer marked “Important Files.” He pulled a folder from the drawer and a pen from his pocket- might as well look busy. The folder was labeled “Traffic signal specifications.”

“Yeah, go ahead and send him in.”

Gil was surprised he didn’t start screaming when the space alien hopped through the open door. The first thing he thought was, What on Earth was Miss Zweig thinking? It wasn’t quite one of those skinny, big-eyed aliens of cheap souvenirs from Roswell. The alien was squat, about three feet tall, bluish-green, and naked. The alien and Gil stared at each other for a moment, Gil through his ubiquitous John Lennon sunglasses, the alien though two vertical slits on its tear drop shaped head. It didn’t occur to Gil that the alien was waiting for him to say something polite like, “Hello, my name is Gil” or “How can I help you?”

Instead Gil poured it a martini.