Due to disastrous laziness, I also have not completed a story for this evening. Instead, feast your eye-like appendages on an unfinished story I wrote like two years ago.

Jim and the alien.

Jim was in bed when the alien came. The ship landed silently in his back yard, utterly destroying a years-work worth of credenzas. The alien woke Jim by telepathically sending him signals telling him not to fear the strange and wonderful alien creature that was about to appear, and then violently punching him in the stomach.

“Greetings, squishy.” Said the alien in an unmistakably British accent.

“Ackghh,” replied Jim, clutching at his bruised and admittedly squishy stomach.

After regaining his breath, Jim gazed up at his extraterrestrial attacker. The alien was covered entirely in a metal suit with glowing bits that just seemed to be there for decoration. This made Jim wonder if he was dealing with an alien or a robot.

“Even if I was a robot, I’d still be an alien,” replied the alien to Jim’s thought. Jim decided not to think too much anymore.

“Well, squishy,” began the alien. “What is it that you call yourself?”

“Jim”

“Hmmm… Jim-Jiiiimmm. Jim?” The alien tried the name aloud, producing syllables that Jim was sure were impossible.

“I don’t like it. I think I will call you r².”

“Well I rather prefer Jim.”

“I should think that as I am the one who is forced to produce the necessary sound waves, that I should be able to decide what they are,” replied the alien curtly.

“Oh… all right then,” Jim said dejectedly, as he was not one for nicknames.

“Now r², you may be wondering why it is I have come across the incalculably large vastness of space to your humble living box?”

“It honestly hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Well let me tell you!” the alien said, ignoring Jim. “I have come across the vast recesses of space in order to make you a remarkable offer.”

“Of what?” Jim asked apprehensively.

“On this, of course!” replied the alien. “This magnificent property you have.”

Jim looked around his house. It was easy to do because it was all one room. His kitchen consisted of a microwave next to a toaster oven and his bed folded up into the wall. His bathroom was located next door, outside the truck stop. The walls were an ugly lime color, which Jim had later found out was not, in fact, paint, but a mostly harmless fungus. For tax reasons it was classified as a shed.

“I honestly hadn’t considered selling it,” said Jim, slowly.

“Oh but you must!” The alien cried. “It is such prime real-estate. Not too far from the interstellar turnpike yet scenic enough to enjoy a clear sky, free of starships.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it like that before.” Said Jim, for once feeling some attraction to the house that was slowly giving him cancer. “ I guess those are nice features.”

“And that’s not even to mention its 220,000 miles of coastline!”

“Umm, excuse me?” said Jim, sitting up in his bed.

“Oh, and the mountains,” gushed the alien. “ I’ve never seen such beautiful mountains. All the ones on my planet have been ground down into fuel, but not these. Oh, it’s so relaxing.”

“Wait, hold on. Do you mean to say that you want this whole planet?” said Jim quickly, trying to get a hold on the situation.

“Why of course, you silly squishy. What else could I have possibly meant? Certainly not something as insignificant as this flimsy structure? That’s ridiculous.” The alien laughed at his own whimsical musing. It reminded Jim of the noise that was made when his neighbor’s Pomeranian had bit into a power cord and was electrocuted. Any pride Jim had begun to feel for his dwelling was immediately dashed into innumerable pieces. He slumped back in bed as the alien went on and on about the wonders of his planet.

“Obviously,” the alien continued. “I’m willing to offer well above galactic asking price.”

“Look, Mr. Alien… Metal… Thing,” began Jim. “I would love to help you but the earth isn’t mine to sell.” The alien, behind the entirety of its metal suit, still managed to look dejected.

“Are you sure?” it asked, disappointment heavy in its voice. Jim had to think about it for a minute.

“Yes, yes I suppose it really wouldn’t do for me to sell it.”

“I was so sure that this was the owner’s location.” then, brightening up again, “well would you please direct me to where I might find him?”

“Well, that might also be a problem. I mean no one really owns the earth, we all just sort of share it.”

“Ah, so you’re Communists. Well if that’s the case, then you should have a leader of some sort.”

“Well, I suppose that would be the President but he doesn’t-“

“Splendid!” cried the alien. “Tell me where I may find him.”

“He’s in the White House,” Jim said confidently.

“Which one?” asked the alien.

“Uhh…” Jim thought for a moment. “The big one?”

“Talking is such a wasteful activity,” grumbled the alien. “I’m sure you know where it is somewhere in there. It’s nothing a little old fashioned telepathy won’t solve.” With that, the alien forcefully grabbed Jim by the face. The room began to spin as his mind was jostled about by none too gentle hands. He cringed with the pain of what felt like two electrodes shorting out right behind his eyes. For a second, everything tasted purple, and then Jim blacked out.

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