She is big. A hulking female. Must be over six feet tall. And fat. 300 pounds? 350 pounds? Who knows? Find a fur coat large enough to fit her, and you could make another Big Foot movie. The Decline and Fall of Big Foot. . .now too lazy to catch fish or whatever they do. . .just sneaks out of the forest to dumpster dive at the nearest MegaBurger fast-food place. . .
You could paint her green and she could star in a trailer park SheHulk series. . .
Anyway, you get the idea. . .
She begins to trudge toward Siegfried. Frankenstein was more graceful than this poor creature.
“No. No. . .please, God. . .no,” Sig begs.
“Don’t pester God over your sin, my friend,” I say. “This beast is your just reward.”
"Me? What about you? You’re here for the same reason.”
“And what if I am? Perhaps God will be merciful, and allow me to learn from your painful example.”
Siegfried is unable to reply, for the creature has just lumbered to a halt within arm’s reach. She towers over the 5’ 8” Sig, and gazes down upon him through weepy eyes.
“It’s you! I can’t believe it! It’s really you!”
Sig just stands there.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” I ask Siegfried.
“Huh?”
“Who’s your friend, here?”
Sig looks at the beast. His face crinkles in disgust. “This thing ain’t my friend!”
The female Big Foot doesn’t seem disheartened by Sig’s tactlessness. Well, she’s probably had a lifetime of rebuffs. You get used to it, I suppose.
You get used to it, and then you imagine aliens need you, for some grand purpose.
“They must have cleared your memory,” she says.
I look at her name badge: *Isrella.*
“Where do you know my friend from?” I ask her.
“We were together--” she starts.
“It don’t know me! Quit screwing around!” Siegfried protests.
“This happens to me all the time,” Isrella says to me. “They don’t think he’s ready to handle the truth yet, so they clear his memory.” She turns to Sig. “But I think it’s so cruel of them. All those questions you must have. All those unanswered questions that haunt you and haunt you. You’re haunted, aren’t you?”
“I am now,” Sig says.
I am now, Sig said. I think about those words, today. I am now. At that moment, he had no idea how true those words were. But my friend Joe Siegfried was never the same, after that night. Never the same. And he would be dead in less than two years.
I remember, right at that exact time, I looked at Sig and said:
“Give the lady a chance. Let’s hear her out.”
It wasn’t so much that I wanted to rag my friend Siegfried. . .I really wanted to hear Big Foot’s story. . .because I knew it would be stupid. . .stupid, but amusing. . .something we could laugh about for years to come. “Hey, remember that huge ugly beast at the alien thing a few years ago, when she said she knew you from blah, blah, blah.” “Ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
What if? What if I hadn’t said “Give the lady a chance?” What if we had just brushed her off, went about our business of wooing abductees? Would old Sig still be alive today? Siegfried believed he would. He believed that night, the night at the Abduction conference at the Troy Hilton Garden Inn, was the night he died.
So I said “give the lady a chance, let’s hear her out.”
And she told us a pretty stupid story, all right.
She told us her and Sig and a couple other people were in some room on a space ship, undergoing medical procedures administered by beings she called “the bugs.” She described them as the typical *grays* everybody has heard about. . .big heads, oval black eyes, skinny little bodies. . .but they made strange humming and buzzing noises. . .insect noises. She said these medical procedures they underwent featured only minor discomfort, but they were conscious during the procedures, and the procedures were very disturbing to watch. . .
She said she watched these *bugs* remove Siegfried’s testicles. . .
A pretty stupid story, and we did laugh about it. Right then and there. We laughed out loud at Big Foot’s idiotic tale. We laughed so long and so hard at this ugly woman’s delusion, she started to cry. . .and that made it all the more funny.
By now, our little group had become something of a spectacle. . .people were staring, edging closer, straining to listen, trying to figure out what all the commotion was about. I noticed one woman, in particular. Very nice-looking, a fit fat-free body, long slender legs, early thirties. There’s a milf, for you, I thought. . .a Martian I’d Love to Fuck. But she had a very angry look on her face. Maybe she was Big Foot’s friend? That happens a lot, you ever notice? A nice-looking woman has a really ugly friend. These are pseudo-lesbian sado-masochistic relationships. . .very unhealthy, very unhealthy.
After I finally stopped laughing, there was Isrella, still crying.
Gee, I suddenly felt old and tired, standing there, looking at her crying. Mischief can get out of hand, sometimes. Things get carried a little too far, someone ends up crying.
Well, let’s be truthful, here. It’s a little annoying that a grown-up will still cry. A normal person should become desensitized to emotional pain or whatever you want to call it after living a certain number of years, say, twelve or thirteen. Why, if you stopped and thought about it, it was downright arrogant of Isrella to be crying. . .as if she were so much more delicate and sensitive than the average human being. This revelation energized me.
“Look, lady, quit crying. I am sure you were on a flying saucer or whatever. You just mistook my friend here for some extraterrestrial eunuch. But don’t take my word for it, convince yourself, ease your mind. . .put your hand down his pants and give his testicles a squeeze. . .then you can move on and look for your long lost alien eunuch somewhere else.”
That puts a stop to her bawling. She’s got a stunned look on her fat wet face.
“Go on. Squeeze ‘em, already! It’ll do you some good.”
Siegfried sucks in his gut, sticks his thumbs under his belt, and pushes the front of his pants out an inch or two.
Isrella bursts into tears, again.
Remember that scene in Carrie? Where Sissy Spacek is up there on the stage, wearing her crown or whatever, and then the bucket of pig’s blood comes crashing down? And Sissy Spacek imagines everyone is laughing at her? Remember that? Well, just imagine that scene, but instead of gorgeous thin Sissy Spacek up there, imagine Big Foot is up there. Big Foot is up there crying, and imagines everyone is laughing. Imagine that, and that would be about what it was like when I told Isrella to squeeze Siegfried’s testicles.
Yeah, anyway, she stumbled and staggered and lumbered off, crying her eyes out.
We were free of her. . .but our cover was pretty much blown. There were enough gawkers around that word about us would soon spread.
But at that point, I no longer cared. I was sick of people, in general. When people disappoint you, let you down, a hostility can develop. If people won’t let you use them as objects, frustration, aggravation develops. This woman’s mere appearance was disappointing. And it appeared there were no attractive women who could be used as objects. At such a point, just the presence of the average person is an irritation.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
No comments:
Post a Comment