Chapter 1- The drop in.


It was a cold day on Feb 30 at the Tribune Herald office when veteran editor Billy Big Cheeze Chavez smelled a story brewing in Montana that would make the front page on every paper in the country. The facts were bizarre, the events even stranger. The fragmented AP report said that a man disappeared from Kool’s Pool Hall in Jousey City, vanishing in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind a cue stick, a box of classic Camels rumored to contain those secret ingredients made illegal since 1955, and  a list of sports scores from a Roswell, New Mexico bookie in 1947  that predicted every world Series and Superbowl outcome until the year 2,000–at which point the sporting events were named something very non-male, and non-female, in a language appearing to be more Hieroglyph than numerical. By Feb 31, the reporter who filed the story was seen Cable None News,  hiring himself as a guide to lead pilgrims in search of the REAL truth up Mount Grunje, the garbage dump in the Pelham  section of the Bronx that, for the last decade, was the highest land mass in the Tri-State Area. On the Ides of March, said journalist journeyed up the tortuous tin-can-laden slopes with an expedition of imaginary friends who paid him in real cash. All members of the party were lost, said imaginary friends reported to have killed, and then eaten, their leader. Only one finger remained on the hand that drifted in to the picnic basket at the annual BPV (Broadcasters to Prevent Vitality) convention, the third digit, still, apparently, asserting the real spirit of any true pioneer.

Y.B. Smart and K.D. Long were the hottest almost-married journalists on the paranormal circuit till certain indiscretions led to unexpected pregnancy. YB asserted to his colleague KD that the ET was an intern in the oval chamber of the space ship, and that he let himself get abducted for the story, and that it wasn’t really sex at all, in the legal and biological meaning of the word. When YB refused to take care of the odd-looking lump in his belly at the ET embryonic extraction clinic, KD did one up, by having a lurid affair with the first sound guy she could pick up on the “Outer Limits” shooting set, a geeky-looking nerd who apparently had been saving the most fertile of his sperm for one, special occasion.

Both offspring were eventually had, and given away for adoption, somewhere in the Goosebay, Labrador.  The YB-KD marriage which had been secretly performed at the Elvis Chapel in Vagas was colorfully annulled, the King being recalled from hiding to officially sign the papers before evading the fans who had forced him to live in hiding under the assumed identity of Wyoming rancher and militia boss Hershel Horowitz.

But that was then, and now was now, so it was then reported. With the exception of some stories dealing with veterinary medicine, YB Smart kept his personal and professional life separate, but was rumored to have been so frustrated at being dumped from the profession that he started his own newspaper  “A-s Id.”  KD Long-Smart retained her name, and invested all her money into a low-budget TV series pilot about the threat to civilization, “The Ex-Files”. Both adventures failed miserably, as did the attempts of KD and YB to become respected journalists in newspapers that told story with words rather than fabricated photos.Editor Billy Big Cheeze knew that YB and KD was the powerteam that could solve ANY problem– Y2K, ET or even PMS. The rules to get back their press cards back were simple. One story, and, at the end, one voice. The alternative—a one-way flush of their careers down the toilet—for good this time. Big Cheeze called in too many favors to get the story about the disappearing Jerseyite  from the Big Kahoonas in Washington, Moscow, London, Geneva, Rome, Bejing, and, yes, even….Secaucus, New Jersey, still the smelliest exit on the turnpike.

YB and KD never agreed on anything, and wanted their work to precede them. The result was the following report.


We arrived at the Big Fish, Montana  Drive In Theater just as the last feature was finishing up. “Barbie goes Ballistic” started out as a Cinderella story about a girl who just wanted to be the best Postal Worker she could, but it quickly devolved into an empty viewing experience, paralleled only by the absence of any life in the parking lot.


It was odd that the temperature in Montana felt more like Miami, but the locals said the Shinooks from the Pacific were blowing in quite often since Christmas, warming the valleys but still keeping the mountains cold and snowy enough for  skiers to show off their best performances and the latest fashions. Though there was another rumor going around the local pubs…


…that the Lonesome Dove fad brought in enough millionaires with money to spend on high tech systems that could control the weather and most probably have been since the Mets won the World Series…


….in 1969, according to rumor.


But the facts showed lights in the sky that couldn’t be explained. We triangulated the point of entry, intuiting the maximally optimal vantage point…


…and pretended that we were making out in the 1965 Mustang, the only vehicle left in the junk  yard…


…which was a classic antique, reeking of old memories of a bygone era, a time where making out was an art form…


…and still smelled just as disgusting as it does now.


….But which sustained a generation, which was to spawn another generation, which was to save the world…


…from hallucinations and force fields we humanize as foreign invaders…


…or  beings much like ourselves, with common problems, common struggles, and one common agenda.


…To maintain the species, biologically.


…And stay Alive, Sane and Happy, in a universe where male matter and female anti-matter must meet to form.




….That does matter…


…a lot.


The crafts converged just as the closing scene to “Barbie Goes Ballistic” ended. I couldn’t help but wonder what the creatures emerging from them were thinking as they looked at the big screen and saw the movie voted most packed with gratuitous sex and violence…


…which, ironically, some of our own investigative team were fixated onto.


They had what appeared to be pencils, pads and wore what seemed to be purple fluorescent robes…


…with  collars that made them all look like bad Elvis impersonators and green boots, orange gloves and striped scarves,  definitely proving that they are             light years behind us in fashion, or colorblind.


A stage appeared in front of the screen, a bright light flashing down onto it.


The procession of what seemed to be  genderless royalty, wearing sunglasses that were more 1947, Roswell than 1998 Vancouver, put what seemed to be their hands together and clapped.


Slide projector in place, podium set, the guest of honor appeared in a puff of white smoke. He was male, late thirties by his build, mid-forties by his eyes, dark hair, dark-Caucasian complexion, dark lack pants, dark black leather jacket, dark black shoes…


….in the manner of a burnt-out Jersey ‘dumb guy’ trying to look like a hip Mafiosi Wise guy. Apparently, our source was right. He appeared to be the man who had disappeared from the New Jersey tavern two days earlier. Amazingly, he appeared fresh, as if no time had passed at all. We called out sources to see if he had been skipping out of child support payments…


…charges which were false, according to our more reliable source…


…who was also not available for comment. Static had blocked out our phone transmissions, and we took a careful look around us to as certain if this “arrival” were actually projections testing a new multimedia light show…


…But we found no cameras, no

projection stations on the hillsides,

and nothing else supporting the

hologram hypothesis…


So we, provisionally, observed the proceedings, noting what appeared on the screen, and what we heard with our human, and discerning, ears.


YB:  Setting: United Confederation of Galaxies  annual gathering in Big Fish, Montana, fourth crop circle after the Seven Eleven turn-off.

KD: Speaker: I.B. Mann, Ph.D., M.D., H.B.A.R.P.

(Human being aspiring Renaissance person)

YB: Topic: Homo erectus, subspecies  femina.

Hologram projected: The earthling woman..

KD: warm, gentle, understanding and…

YB:  wondrously…deceptive.

KD: The question was clearly asked from a voice in the darkened audience.

Q: Can you tell us about the woman, in twenty-five words or less?

Mann: Hey, in your dreams and mine, pal. You guys beamed me up here from watching a fourth quarter showdown between the Dallas Cowboys and the JERSEY Giants for this?Q: We thought you were a typical male, Mister Mann.Mann: Hey, that’s Doctor Mann, as long as I’m wearin’ the purple robe here, pal. And don’t call me typical, neither. I ain’t dumb, stupid or typical.

Q: Average then?

Mann: Hey average this third digit, Conehead.

Q: Regular. A regular man.

Mann: You want me to tell you what the earth woman is really about, you call me something—

Q: –Real. You are a real man.

Mann: That sounds, acceptable. I can deal with that.Q: So, real man Mann, what is the real earth woman really like?

Mann: Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Unless they got PMS.Q: PMS? Is that contagious? Mann: When they want it to be.

Q: And how long does it last?

Mann: Thirty days a month in my last two relationships.

Q: You mean male and female humans don’t mate for life in personally fulfilling interrelations that sustain both species in a completely synergistic way?

Mann: Like having and honest and effective President, it’s wishful thinking. But, you still gotta try.Q: But both humanoid sexes need each other, is this correct?

Mann: Not according to Xena, Gabriela and KD Lang.Q:

Excuse me. Your cultural frames of reference confuse us.

Mann: They confuse us, too. Q: And do women confuse you also? Mann: They fascinate us, frustrate us, and…Hey, you guys wouldn’t want to let me have a listen to the tape of what you got when you planted that mic in the broad’s can?

Q: The female anal probes?

Mann: No, Metallic Moron. The ladies room. Where they take, like a five seconds to do their biological stuff and spend ten minutes talking about us.

Q: We were more interested in YOUR perspective, real man.

Mann: About what?

Q: Woman, from a developmental point of view.

Mann: You mean from when they figure out that they can through the bull around boys at school till they become old cows

Q: That is a rather crude analogy. Does that mean you hate woman as much as some of them hate you?

Mann: No. The woman is the most fascinating creature in the universe. They got medicine that every real man needs at some time in his life, sometimes at lots of times in his life.

Q: What kind of medicine, Mister Mann? Mann: ‘Mister’, I hear as I fold up my notes and go back to watching the game at—Q: —No, Doctor Mann.

Mann: Thank you. A dollar of respect always buys a buck fifty in commitment, and kindness.

Q: And that’s the way it works between real men and the woman?

Mann: Not exactly…Can I have the next slide, please. From MY box.


The speaker took a sip of water…


…which we tested, too. The fluorescent strawberry-flavored elixir…


…was without effect.


So we continued to watch the screen..


…and the activity of the light-projected “audience”…


…knowing, by the look of the weapons being serviced from the spacecraft, that this was the last show of the night, or perhaps ALL nights.

MJ Politis, Ph.D., D.V.M., H.B.A.R.P. (human being, aspiring Rennaisance person) 


340 Jenkins Road, Clearwater, BC VO 1N2 Canada