Crap shoot, p.1
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       Crap Shoot, p.1

           Richard Johnson
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Crap Shoot


  By Richard Johnson

  Copyright December 2011 Richard Johnson

  ISBN 9781476097596


  “Flight 312 you are approaching bogie and should be within visual.”

  “Confirmed! Bogie is a sphere surrounded by a disc, slivery-blue in color, about 120 feet diameter by 40 feet thick moving east at 500 knots. No visible means of propulsion or weapons. Approaching to intercept.”

  The F-16s approached on afterburner, two dropping behind to attack position, two more flanking the UFO. “Attention Unidentified Aircraft, this is United States Air Force Flight 312. You are in American airspace and are ordered to change course and land immediately.”

  The pilot gave them a minute to use whatever translation devices they possessed to process the message then repeated his demands.

  Y: “Hey there Air Force guys,” the female voice came over their headphones. “We’re kind of lost so can you tell us the way to Arizona so we can pick up Arlin?”

  “USAF Flight 312 to UFO, you are ordered to change course and land immediately.”

  Y: “Kay, I don’t think they are friendly.”

  K: “No shit, Yuri! Let me try. Hello Air Force guys, we’d really like to see Arizona, so if you could please tell us where to find it, we’ll be on our way. Oh, right… thank you... and over.” This female voice had what appeared to be a mild southern, perhaps Texan drawl.

  “Negative UFO, change course 1 2 5 degrees north, drop speed to 200 knots and reduce altitude to…”

  K: “I don’t think they are friendly. I can see they’ve armed their weapons. Not that they can hurt us or anything. Let me try again. Hey Air Force Guys, I can see a city up ahead, how about I just nuke the city out of existence then keep on nuking every city I see until you tell me how to get to Arizona? There, that should get us some directions.”

  “Major,” another voice broke in. “They sound like a couple of bimbos who aren’t smart enough to pull into a gas station and ask directions. Maybe we should try another way…”

  K: “Gas station? Yuri that just might work. Thanks guys!” The flying saucer suddenly dropped and reversed direction instantly accelerating to a speed faster than the jets could imagine and were off the radar screen within seconds.

  “Control, this is flight 312, the bogie has changed direction and accelerated to a high speed. We are unable to pursue. Can you confirm?”

  “Affirmative Flight 312, the bogie accelerated northwest to mach 10 and is off our screen. Come in boys and I hope your recorder and cameras are working. The Brass is going to shit kittens over this.”


  The gas station attendant was sipping his coke as the flying saucer landed. It didn’t really land so much as it came down, hovered a few feet off the ground as a hatch opened on the lower bulge and two women exited to stride toward the station. The attendant couldn’t hear the slight humming but he did see the guy pumping gas into his Volvo stare until gas spurted from the tank. He had plenty of time to watch them approach. Both wore bluish coveralls, almost form-fitting to show that they were women and very well built women at that. The shorter had long black hair, the slightly taller had medium length red hair. Both had monkey-like tails and carried handguns at their swaying hips. Ordinarily when approached by anyone with a weapon, he’d hit the panic button that summoned the sheriff and craw under the counter but this time he just stared, open-jawed.

  The door beeped as they entered and the smaller asked, “Hey, can you tell us where to find Arizona?” She stared, waited then waved her hand before his face. He barely noticed that instead of a little finger, she had a second thumb. And antennae, and cat-eyes and green skin. “No one home Kay.”

  K: “No matter, I found an Atlas.” She opened the book on the counter to a map of the US and said, “here’s Arizona, now where are we?”

  Y: “Now I wish I had spent more time awake in geography class. Hey, Cletus, wake up!” she snapped her finger in front of his face a few times and he started.

  K: “Good, welcome back to the land of the living. Look here, not at my tits, down here. Good. Now here is Arizona, where are we?”


  K: “Good boy. Now, try to think. Where in Missouri? God Yuri, no wonder the US never made it to the Moon and had to fake the landing. They’re lucky they can reach orbit without blowing up. With guys like this it’ll take forever to find where we dumped Arlin.”

  The attendant whose name was not Cletus touched the map and Kay drew a circle around where his finger had been then another at the Grand Canyon. “Good. Hey Yuri, grab a couple chocolate bars and I’ll get the Cokes.” She then folded the book and went to the rear as a child with his terrified mother asked, “My daddy said we were on the moon.”

  His mother pulled him closer to her as Kay kneeled and said, “You daddy was wrong. NASA filmed the entire thing in a movie lot and pretended just to scare the Russians.” She smiled, patted the child and continued on, “Hey Yuri, they have something called Coke Classic and …”

  “Whatever is diet, you think I want my hips back?”

  As they were leaving, the attendant woke up and managed to squeak, “Hey, you have to pay for those.” The two women stopped, turned and approached the counter, Kay resting her hands on a very wicked handgun at her shapely hip and commented, “We are intergalactic criminals being chased by the Interstellar Police, Star Fleet and three separate crime Syndicates for smuggling, bank robbery and assassination and you expect us to pay for a map, a couple of candy bars and some cokes?”

  “It comes out of my paycheck if you don’t,” he managed to whisper , terrified that they’d suck his brains out or implant a monster in his chest or just ray-gun him. He wished he hadn’t had that third coffee that morning. He also wished he had called in sick like he had originally planned.

  The two looked at each other, placed their booty on the counter and with one motion, unzipped and exposed their large and very firm breasts to the attendant who just stared. After a moment, Yuri asked, “Are we square?”

  The man who was not called Cletus just drooled and nodded so the two zipped their coveralls, picked up their booty and left to enter their flying saucer and take off to the southwest.

  The man who was not named Cletus stared as they left then yelled, “SHIT!” and ran for the back where he pulled the security tape, shoved it into the VCR and logged onto the internet where he sent copies of the security tape to everyone on his e-list with a hurried note, “Got robbed by aliens. Pass this around before the FBI shuts the incident down.” After a minute, he added, “They are looking for someone called Arlin in Arizona at the Grand Canyon, run a search and get back to me.” Then he relaxed. After that show, he’d never be satisfied with human porn again.

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