Issues Under Fire: Slack Slacker Meet the Little Green Men

                              Slack Slacker Meet the Little Green Men 

As you may recall, Friday last was another day missed from work due to an extraordinary circumstance that seemingly could only beset Slack Slacker. Unfortunately, that bad luck has bled over into this Friday the 13th due to another spectacularly unbelievable event. Yet again, I must report an incident so incredible, impossible, and inconceivable that you're bound to think you've been taken One Step Beyond the Twilight Zone. 

As usual, it all started with me bellying up at the bar of my favorite Tequila joint on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Slim Slimy, another of the Slack Pack, and I were tossing back unlimited shots of the cheap stuff like there was no tomorrow. Little did I know that this Thursday night would prove to be the most perilous adventure this slacker has experienced in a long time. 

Just as I was refocusing my vision on Juicy Lucy, one of the joint's regular bar flies, a tiny little, deeply olive-complected "fellow" with an out-of-this-world accent nudged his way through the crowd to introduce himself as 1010011010. When he realized I clearly didn't understand, the little greenish man adjusted the sound of his voice and said, "You can call me Z." That works for me," I say, and, albeit strangely, the conversation continued.  

With a blank stare devoid of human expression, Z said he'd been told I'd be interested in making some easy money if it didn't involve hard work. Despite my compromised thinking capacity, I could still recognize opportunity when it came knocking, so I gave the little green man as much attention as I could muster. Z explained that he'd been on a journey to locate and obtain certain items to complete an experiment that could benefit life-forms throughout the universes. 

His pitch sounded so exciting that, without waiting for details, I asked, "How much do I get paid for doing nothing, and when do I start?" Z said I could start right now if we left through the rear exit of the bar, where transportation would be waiting in the alley. That sounded rather odd, but before I could reconsider, Z's noticeably mighty four-fingered hand gripped my arm at the elbow and quickly led me outside.  

Once in the alley, Z signaled a large craft hovering soundlessly above the neighborhood. Why I couldn't hear panic in the streets and the authorities responding was a mystery. Still, at the moment, I was more worried about the whitish blue light that enveloped, immobilized, and lifted me weightlessly toward the silent craft above. As I floated up, I could see I was not alone. Ten, maybe fifteen other guys were being transported up, too. Gazing at each other in petrified horror, I ascended slowly with the others until I felt myself losing consciousness. 

When I regained my senses and surveyed the surroundings, I realized I was restrained on a metallic operating table in a laboratory-like environment so advanced it would've impressed Bill Nye, the Science Guy. But again, I was not alone. The lab was huge. There were guys staked out on metallic tables for as long as I could crane my neck to see. And what a horrifying sight it was.  

Some guys were being operated on, while others, like myself, were praying not to be next. I could see other little greenish men like Z removing organs, limbs, eyeballs, and all kinds of stuff people generally want to hang on to. Shit real got scary when I saw how the little green men disposed of what remained of the guys like me. With nothing left of them but carved up carcasses, they were flung out the craft, into the choppy cold waters of the East River. 

Just then, Z came by and told me the experiment was going according to plan and that my contribution was the most critical to achieving the desired results. Terrified, I asked, "What contribution? ""Your brain, Mr. Slacker. You're contributing your brain," Z said. Suddenly, many other little green men crowded around me and examined my head.  

However, the more they scanned, probed, picked, and pulled, the more I could see the little greenish men beginning to show what could only be described as human-like emotions. Some of them looked confused, others shocked, while still others were clearly disturbed and disappointed. I could hear them angrily concluding, "His brain won't work!"

Their top head examiner acknowledged there seemed to be sufficient wave activity, but the brain simply refused to work. Hurrying off in a huff, the little green men started desperately rummaging through piles of leftover body parts, presumably looking for a suitable replacement. 

Pissed he'd be held responsible for selecting the most work-averse brain on planet earth for the experiment, Z removed my restrains, clasped his vice-like four fingered grip around my neck and tossed my ass out of the craft like a bag of trash. After landing on a slab of floating ice and watching the craft dematerialize before my eyes, I paddled myself ashore and hailed a cab.  

As I sat shivering in the backseat on the way back across town, I couldn't help wondering why a technologically advanced civilization like Z's would think a slacker's brain had anything to do with work. Go figure.

Bottom line: I'm still feeling light-headed from the close encounter, so I won't be in until Monday at the earliest.