Read Online Little Green Men by Christopher Buckley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Buckley
Tags: Satire
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Zeta Reticuli 1. If aliens were abducting so many Americans - one in fifty, according to one poll - the obvious question was: why did the new gods reveal themselves only to - how to put it? - the lower orders?
The Nazarene was pretty working class Himself, but He did hang out with the more respectable element as well, tax collectors, Pharisees, the odd member of the Sanhedrin, gents like Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, substantial fellows.
Honestly. It was all so preposterous on its face. A few pathetic proles out to get attention make up stories about being abducted, the press duly reports them, Hollywood makes movies out of them, soon everyone wants a piece of the action and abductions are so commonplace it's no longer enough just to be abducted, now it's sexual probing -
Elspeth continued, "And a number of abductees report a strong odor of ammonia and cinnamon. Maybe they need to replace their air freshener. Mr. Banion? Sir? Should I go on?"
"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, Jack."
Banion sat in Dr. Hughes's office, exhausted and harried from a nightmare twenty-four hours that had included a CAT scan, MRI, blood work, and a colonoscopy (which Banion suspected Dr. Hughes had tacked on purely for purposes of revenue). But now he was about to have his worst fears confirmed - Burning Bush had been a hallucination brought on by a tumor, a dread astral cytoma that had possessed his intellectual jelly like a starfish, sinking its tentacles into the brilliant gristle of his brain, deeper and deeper until - oh God . . .
"Your bad cholesterol's up five points." "Jesus Christ, Bill. Don't do that!"
Hughes smiled. "You don't have a brain tumor. Your colon's clear as a bell. You're in perfect health, aside from the slight elevation in LDL-" "But how do you explain what happened on the golf course?" "I can't. That's not my field." 'Are you saying I need a shrink?"
"You've got a lot on your plate right now. Why don't we try something?" He scribbled on a prescription pad and slid it across the polished table surface at Jack, as if it were the opening price of a negotiation.
"Prozac?"
'A very light dose, just enough to take the edge off."
"I can't take antidepressants! I need my edge! My show! I'm moderating the presidential debates!"
"From where I'm sitting, I'd say you've got edge to spare."
'All right. Let's say it was a reality disruption or whatever you want to call it, you supply the medical jargon. How do you explain the ammonia and cinnamon? These are not flavors normally found in suburban Maryland woods!"
Banion realized two things: he was shouting, and Dr. Hughes's face had taken on a nurse-quickly-the-straitjacket! look.
"There's a guy I work with sometimes. Really bright, low key. Let me give him a call. He's in the building. Maybe he can see you right now."
"You're saying you think this is psychological, is that it? After thousands of dollars of tests, you're saying I need to go rent a couch for a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour."
"You told me yourself that you were assaulted by the crew of a flying saucer while you were playing golf. I'm trying to take this one step at a time."
Banion had called Burton Galilee from his car after storming out of Dr. Hughes's office. Banion didn't have a best friend as such, someone to whom one would turn in such situations. But he and Burt went back twenty years, and he trusted him. Everyone trusted Burton Galilee. Presidents, Supreme Court justices trusted him. The notoriously tight-lipped chairman of the Federal Reserve was even said to confide his lurid fears of inflation to Burton Galilee.
Burton had sounded a bit surprised by the urgent call but had said, by all means, come right away. He probably had to cancel something. As a senior partner at Crumb, Schimmer, Burton had most hours of his days spoken for months in advance, even at S500 per. Burton, the son of an Alabama hog farmer, had gotten his corner office on Pennsylvania Avenue by dint of charm,
The Nazarene was pretty working class Himself, but He did hang out with the more respectable element as well, tax collectors, Pharisees, the odd member of the Sanhedrin, gents like Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, substantial fellows.
Honestly. It was all so preposterous on its face. A few pathetic proles out to get attention make up stories about being abducted, the press duly reports them, Hollywood makes movies out of them, soon everyone wants a piece of the action and abductions are so commonplace it's no longer enough just to be abducted, now it's sexual probing -
Elspeth continued, "And a number of abductees report a strong odor of ammonia and cinnamon. Maybe they need to replace their air freshener. Mr. Banion? Sir? Should I go on?"
"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, Jack."
Banion sat in Dr. Hughes's office, exhausted and harried from a nightmare twenty-four hours that had included a CAT scan, MRI, blood work, and a colonoscopy (which Banion suspected Dr. Hughes had tacked on purely for purposes of revenue). But now he was about to have his worst fears confirmed - Burning Bush had been a hallucination brought on by a tumor, a dread astral cytoma that had possessed his intellectual jelly like a starfish, sinking its tentacles into the brilliant gristle of his brain, deeper and deeper until - oh God . . .
"Your bad cholesterol's up five points." "Jesus Christ, Bill. Don't do that!"
Hughes smiled. "You don't have a brain tumor. Your colon's clear as a bell. You're in perfect health, aside from the slight elevation in LDL-" "But how do you explain what happened on the golf course?" "I can't. That's not my field." 'Are you saying I need a shrink?"
"You've got a lot on your plate right now. Why don't we try something?" He scribbled on a prescription pad and slid it across the polished table surface at Jack, as if it were the opening price of a negotiation.
"Prozac?"
'A very light dose, just enough to take the edge off."
"I can't take antidepressants! I need my edge! My show! I'm moderating the presidential debates!"
"From where I'm sitting, I'd say you've got edge to spare."
'All right. Let's say it was a reality disruption or whatever you want to call it, you supply the medical jargon. How do you explain the ammonia and cinnamon? These are not flavors normally found in suburban Maryland woods!"
Banion realized two things: he was shouting, and Dr. Hughes's face had taken on a nurse-quickly-the-straitjacket! look.
"There's a guy I work with sometimes. Really bright, low key. Let me give him a call. He's in the building. Maybe he can see you right now."
"You're saying you think this is psychological, is that it? After thousands of dollars of tests, you're saying I need to go rent a couch for a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour."
"You told me yourself that you were assaulted by the crew of a flying saucer while you were playing golf. I'm trying to take this one step at a time."
Banion had called Burton Galilee from his car after storming out of Dr. Hughes's office. Banion didn't have a best friend as such, someone to whom one would turn in such situations. But he and Burt went back twenty years, and he trusted him. Everyone trusted Burton Galilee. Presidents, Supreme Court justices trusted him. The notoriously tight-lipped chairman of the Federal Reserve was even said to confide his lurid fears of inflation to Burton Galilee.
Burton had sounded a bit surprised by the urgent call but had said, by all means, come right away. He probably had to cancel something. As a senior partner at Crumb, Schimmer, Burton had most hours of his days spoken for months in advance, even at S500 per. Burton, the son of an Alabama hog farmer, had gotten his corner office on Pennsylvania Avenue by dint of charm,
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