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Alien Abductions

"Oh My God, I was abducted by aliens!" A Wicked Scholar Special Report

by Eric Wolf

"I was abducted by aliens" the anguished voice on the telephone cried as I listened incredulously. Last Saturday night, as the Wicked Scholars were sampling the latest shipment of bootlegged Cohibas and a very fine Paraguayan Gin in the library of Scholar William Weatherton, the convivial atmosphere of the evening was dashed by the anguished words that tumbled from the telephone receiver like so many tumbling things. The caller, who identified herself as Marion X was almost hysterical as I pried the phone out of the hand of Cliff Danger, who inebriated, was inviting Ms. X to join him in an unnatural sexual act involving an extension cord, a string of christmas lights, a wine bottle, and a mouse trap. Using special mediation techniques I learned while doing graduate research in India, I was able to calm our hysterical caller and gently coax the details out of her. What follows is the actual transcript of our conversation:

E. Wolf: What the hell do you want?

Ms. X: Aaaaaaaagggghhhh, aaaaagggghhhhh, ohhhhh God help meeeeeeee pleeeeease!

E. Wolf: Shut up, damn you woman! Shut up or I will hang up on you.

Ms. X: No please don't hang up on me. Pleeeease, I need your help!

E. Wolf: Now I won't ask again, what do you want you hideous old bag?

Ms. X: Aliens, they, they abducted me. They did horrible things to me. I'm so frightened.

E. Wolf: Tell me what happened you stupid cow.

Ms. X: Aaaaaahhhhh aaaaahhhh I was watching WCW wrestling and the reception was the shits. I got pissed off so I climbed up on the roof to fix the frigging antenna. I was twisting the antenna around and I heard this strange sound. It was a horrible ululation, the sound of 10,000 tortured souls. I got scared and ran to the edge of the roof. I tripped over a deer's head and fell off. Fortunately, my 1972 Ford pickup broke my fall and I only knocked myself out. When I came to, there was stars swirling around my head and then I saw . . . . I saw him aaaaahhhhh aaaaaaahhhh aaaaaaahhhhh aaaaaaaaaahhh.

E. Wolf: What did you see? What did you see, dammit? Calm down you miserable old harpy.

Ms X: He was horrible, just horrible.

E. Wolf: Who? Who?

Ms. X: Him! Him! (several minutes of sobbing and moaning followed. At this point I wandered away to join a spitting contest and to administer first aid to Cliff Danger who had accidentally set himself on fire with the 200 proof Paraguayan gin. The transcript of our conversation continues).

E. Wolf: So what did the alien do to you?

Ms. X: It's too horrible to talk about right now. Can you come see me? Pleaaaaaaaaase.

As it was apparent that speaking to the hysterical woman was useless, I took her address and made arrangements visit her at her home the next day.

The following day, the Wicked Scholars, armed with a travel bar and picnic basket, loaded into my Land Rover and set off for the 2 hour trip to Spuzzum. We arrived at the mobile home of Ms. X at 2:00 in the afternoon. As we piled out of the Land Rover (Cliff Danger was passed out in the back having consumed all of the contents of the travel bar on the way to Spuzzum), we were met by a woman in a bathrobe and curlers who we ascertained was Ms. X. by the rather large, purple goose egg on her forehead. We were invited into her trailer and sat down around the kitchen table. Over coffee, Ms. X, who had calmed down considerably since the previous evening, began to tell us her story.

She recounted that when she regained consciousness after falling off of the roof, she saw a horrible and hideously deformed figure standing over her; silent, deadly. "He was definitely a grey. Oh yeah, they sometimes sneak into my bedroom at night those cheeky little beggars. I just thank the Lord Above they weren't those green buggers or reds, I wouldn't be here right now. Next thing I know, he was trying to speak to me in some horrible, garbled language that made no sense at all.

All of a sudden, he tried to eat me by vomiting all over me. Grey aliens eat their prey by vomiting acid on it to dissolve it then they suck up the goop, just like in The Fly" Ms. X explained to us. We asked her to show us the site of the assault so we could look for evidence. Ms X. took us to a spot at the side of her mobile home, and pointed to the ground. "It was here," she told us, "it happened right here." We all got down to examine the ground in minute detail. We could clearly see where Ms. X was laying. It was right beside an empty 26 of Croatian Olive Schnappes.

Spattered on the ground were several small patches of a clotted substance which had been a liquid but that had soaked into the soil. We collected samples for analysis at our laboratory. .Almost simultaneously all of the scholars exclaimed "gadzooks, now that's interesting."

We had all noticed that beside the ground disturbed by Ms. X's body were several clear footprints that looked suspiciously like size 14 Doc Martens. Fixing Ms. X with a penetrating gaze, I asked her if perhaps her alien attacker had been wearing a pair of classic 7" air wairs, the prefered footwear of Guiseppi, official Wicked Scholar bodyguard. "Well then, now that you mention it, that little bastard alien was wearing some sort of boots, but of course, all aliens wear space boots."

Case closed, the scholars piled back into the Land Rover, pleased that once again, science and superior intellect had triumphed over superstition and the effects of prolonged substance abuse.

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© 2002 The Wicked Scholar