Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss (13 page)

The sheriff investigated, going into the swamp to find Randal, but disappeared himself.
Everyone wondered
where the sheriff
got off
to
, knowing y
ou can sure get lost in the Louisiana bayou.

Randal
’
s childhood was mostly normal, other than a few more scrapes with the law and losing his pa to gators.
Randal boated to school forty-five miles each way north to Tippitoe, Louisiana, where he excelled in sports, bringing home a state championship in luge racing.
His teachers described Randal as a polite, quiet, mostly normal boy, popular with the girls.
Other than his fascination with
w
inter sports, Randal was like any other boy at Tippitoe High School, mean as a snake and could eat his weight in groceries.
Tippitoe High School was a rough place, and
kids
had to be tough to survive.
Randal always put on his game face before going to school, wearing a cap backwards that was so old it didn
’
t have a logo.
Randal was famous for his mad
-
dog stare.
Make eye contact with Randal for more than a second, and the fight was on.
His family was so poor
,
Randal often had to wear his father
’
s old clothes, starting a hip-hop droopy drawers craze that
is still going on
at Tippitoe to this day.

As an adult
,
Randal maintained the family business traditions of self-employed gator poacher and welfare food stamp fraud.
Randal
excelled at poaching, using super human reflexes to make a good living at such a dangerous occupation.
Welfare fraud investigators lurked behind every tavern and massage parlor.
Just last week Randal kicked ass on an investigator disguised as a tourist taking video
s
of the French Quarter.
Randal pawned the
r
evenuer
’
s video camera for some nice coin.
He
had to be careful out in the swamp, too.
Fish cops lurked everywhere,
fascist bastards
.

Business was good out in the swamp.
A water moccasin dropped from a tree onto Randal
’
s red neck.
Randal snagged the snake with his
one
hand and beat it to death with his callused black stump. He gutted the snake with his fighting thumb nail.
The skin would make a fine hat band, and the meat good gumbo for Yolanda
’
s pot.

Randal married his childhood sweetheart.
Yolanda was his little Queen of the South.
They were two of a kind
. S
he was his lady luck,
and
he was her wild card man.
Randal worshiped and needed that little woman like a crop needed rain. They shacked up in a castle double-wide floating mobile home barge so Randal could be closer to his work and avoid arrest warrants.

Unlike Randal
’
s no
-
account parents, Randal and Yolanda took an active roll in parenting, home
-
schooling all ten of their children in reading and cyphering.
The oldest boy aspired to higher education at Oxford, forty miles upriver, home to a junior high school and ox crossing.
No child of Randal
’
s would ever be used for gator bait.
Randal ended that family tradition once and for all.

* * * * *

Private Telk was conflicted about whether he would reenlist.
Telk signed up for fun, travel, and adventure, and the Legion delivered.
But was the Legion the place for a family man with responsibilities?
Would Telk raise his kids to be little legionnaires, never to see Old Earth?
Maybe.
Old Earth was overrated.

Aliens were fully integrated into America
’
s Galactic Foreign Legion.
Private Telk wondered if that was a good idea.
Didn
’
t Rome fall because they let Germans and French in the Roman legions?

Telk watched Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne from afar.
Corporal Wayne was a true alien bad-ass.
There was no doubt the spiders could fight.
Wayne had already saved Telk
’
s life once, pulling him to cover off the turret from sniper fire, so Telk supposed that Wayne was a
‘
good
’
spider.
But what about the rest?
Were they good spiders and scorpions?
There was no way to tell.
No human
could read their stoic faces.
Hard exoskeletons masked their every thought.
Was Wayne
loyal
to the Legion
?
Were any of the spider and scorpion legionnaires loyal
?
What if the aliens turn on us?

Raised in New York City, Private Telk as a school kid memorized the message of the Goddess of the Harbor:
‘
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
’
That
was
what America
was
about, being free.
But how d
id
letting spiders and scorpions in
to
the Legion make
America
any more free?
It doesn
’
t
, concluded Telk.
This story won
’
t end well.
The government should have put a stop to aliens a long time ago.

Telk closed his eyes for a second.
The fantasies were coming more frequently, and
he
was powerless to resist...

* * * * *

United States Air Force Major Randal John Wayne Telk was appointed in charge of Project Bluish-Green Book, a top
-
secret mission to coverup UFO sightings and contacts.
Most people already did not believe in aliens.
It was Major Telk
’
s job to keep it that way.

Personally, Major Telk knew the existence of aliens to be a fact.
As a child growing up in the corn fields of Nebraska, young Telk
had been
abducted by aliens and probed.
Major Telk only thought of that mostly repressed memory when drunk on weekends, and on Mondays when drunk watching Monday Night Football, and sometimes during the week when drunk at social occasions, or when drunk trying to pick up women at bars, or at work, or at AA meetings when he usually wasn
’
t drunk yet.

Major Telk was determined to get payback and readily volunteered for Operation Bluish-Green Book.
The governments of the world agreed that something had to be done about the increase in UFO sightings.
This is our planet
, they decided
,
and
we were here first
.
The United Nations unanimously passed a no
-
immigration
-
from
-
space resolution, which America agreed to enforce and fund.
Those alien bastards could go back to Uranus, by force if necessary.

Major Telk was dispatched to investigate a report of UFOs landing on a strip mine in Dupont, Pennsylvania.
Telk took his skeptical assistant, Airman Bruce Bongwater, who briefed Telk on the short drive from DC.

“
I
’
ve been to DuPont,
”
advised Bongwater.
“
It
’
s a shit hole.
The initial report is that thirty townsfolk witnessed an oblong glowing cigar
-
shaped craft land at the strip mine outside of town.
Then the phones went dead.
”

“
Sounds like it could be a credible report,
”
replied Major Telk thoughtfully.
“
Thirty witnesses?
”

“
Not likely,
”
scoffed Bongwater.
“
It was Saturday night.
That means the whole town was in its usual weekend state of alcohol
-
induced assholism.
You should fit right in.
”

“
What did you say
,
airman?
”

“
I meant the locals will talk to you.
You know, when you
’
re in disguise, pretending to be drunk all the time.
Stupid drunks, right?
”

“
You don
’
t believe in extraterrestrials, do you
,
Bongwater?
”

“
I have an open mind on the subject
,
”
answered Bongwater defensively.
“
If there really are space dudes out there, we need to kick their ass.
I can see letting their women in, if they
’
re really hot.
But if they
’
re green and fat, no way.
”

“
That
’
s very astute and insightful.
Did you come up with that all by yourself, or from talk radio?
”

“
The part about the fat green alien babes came from the first chapter of the Bluish-Green Book.
”

“
Yes, quite right.
No fat alien babes allowed.
The United Nations was very clear about that, especially if the heifers nag as much as Earth women.
The Air Force will pimp
-
slap any fat green alien bitches that nag.
”

At Dupont, Major Telk and Bongwater immediately went to the only bar open in the morning to interview witnesses.
The bartender was very informative.

“
I think it was an alien that came down the ramp to talk to me,
”
advised the bartender.
“
It
’
s all kind of hazy to me
,
now that I
’
ve almost sobered up.
”

“
An alien, not of this Earth?
”
pressed Major Telk.
“
Was it green with big black eyes and no lips?
”

“
It definitely had no lips,
”
slurred the bartender, wanting to be helpful.
“
Or it could have been a groundhog, you know, like Punxsutawny Phil.
Did you know that if Phil
b
aby sees his shadow, we are going to freeze our asses off for six more weeks?
So much for global warming.
”

“
Are you willing to put that in a written statement?
”
asked Major Telk, sliding the statement form across the bar.

“
Absolutely!
”
answered the bartender, already writing.
“
Global warming is bullshit.
It could even be seven weeks, with snow too!
”

A nice looking woman sat next to Major Telk, her short skirt sliding up past her bubble butt.
Major Telk tried to stay professional.
Temptation of the flesh often interfered with investigations.

“
Hello, there, handsome. I’m Yolanda.
Are you the UFO guy I
’
ve been hearing so much about
?
”
asked Yolanda, placing her hand on Major Telk
’
s knee, caressing his leg seductively.
“
I saw the alien too.
”

“
What did you see?
”
asked Major Telk, ordering drinks for himself and Yolanda.

“
Those horny little aliens wanted to probe me every which way but loose, but couldn
’
t come up with the cash,
”
complained Yolanda, pouting.
“
I don
’
t take no stinking credit cards, so I told the little green bastards to fuck off.
How about you
,
big boy?
Help a working girl out?
”