I. Stanley Grabowski's Accident
As rebellious teens, we lit firecrackers, then tossed them into a petro-filled bucket. Stanley's idea... He must've splashed some gasoline on his flannel, because when he lit the last bottle rocket, flames snaked up his torso.
"Fire! I'm on fire!" he screamed, before stopping, dropping, and rolling over a mudspot.
II. Rejection is Futile
After logging into her FaceSpace account, Paris sees: "You Have a Friend Request from Tra'al Grabowski!"
Hmmm... No avatar.
In college, she'd broken up with an Astrophysics major named Stanley Grabowski because of his obsession with UFOs.
She almost clicks "REJECT?", but gets up for another martini.
Something smells awful.
Entering the kitchen, there's...What the—? Three fat, slimy tentacles thrash from underneath the table. An unearthly shriek and putrid stench fill the air.
Paris screams and sprints back. A new message has popped up on-screen: "I don't like rejection. Accept the Friendship Request or die, humanoid."
She clicks: "ACCEPT!"
III. No Love for the Lana
Yesterday Tra'al caught me reading Cosmo-Gasm magazine's Sex Secrets for 2109. With big hopeful eyes, I whispered, "Let's try anal... I-I mean, Lana tonight."
"Lana? That's gross!"
"C'mon, baby! Cosmo-Gasm says it's in style," I begged in my cutest voice. "Pwease?"
"Maybe."
I couldn't believe my prude fiancée was considering this!
That night we rented Lana—a buxom fembot—and the fantasy became a nightmare.
During foreplay I discovered Lana's flowery miasma to be nauseating. Tra'al inhaled it ecstatically. While Tra'al's tentacles caressed Lana's rubberized lips and metallic breasts, my flaccid eyestalks recoiled in disgust.
As they were coming, I was leaving.
IV. Stanley's Thank You Letter to Cosmo-Gasm Magazine
Getting anally probed on a regular basis took some getting used to…
At first, I found that having my alien girlfriend shove a huge, glowing orb up my ass wasn't only uncomfortable, it was also kind of humiliating. Fortunately, she taught me some sex wisdom from Cosmo-Gasm magazine:
1.) There's no such thing as too hard, or too fast. I'm just the passenger!
2.) The best time to probe was when I didn't feel like it. My body was lying to me!
I've now realized: tabloid sex advice is infallible. Since the (Cosmo-Gasm recommended) tentacle assignment surgery, life's improved immensely.
V. Last Tanga in Paris (Not Starring Marlon Brando)
Tra'al the Zulian gives Paris a green capsule. "Swallow this."
"Why?" she asks.
"Pregnancy protection."
Alien babies are hot. I want one, she thinks while pretending to swallow the capsule.
"Now butter me, baby," Tra'al says.
With humans, butter allows for tasty lubrication. Zulians claim its phospholipids enhance orgasm. The waterbed is soon a slippery tangle of limbs and tentacles.
By morning light Paris notices a pillbox: Tanga Inhibitors.
Unknown to her, Tanga (literally: birth) is an Earth term for "painful parasitoid." The gestation cycle is approximately four hours.
Paris screams as a baby Zulian devours her from the inside.
VI. Tra'al's Accident
Luckily, the accident only singed Stanley's eyebrows. He quit school a week later. We never saw him again.
Yesterday, he phoned me. The caller ID showed: "Tra'al the Zulian." He insisted it was him. He needed bail money. Stanley was in jail for accidentally killing his celebrity girlfriend. I hung up.
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Curt A. Strophe: "I'm a student of environmental science, life, and all other things strange. I have no cats or children because I'm allergic to them. I plan on owning neither in the near future."
