A Visit From The Air Force

I was working on a bottle of bourbon when the doorbell rang. “Oh shit” I thought. I was getting ready to go out and I didn’t need any company. I was heading out to the lodge – the Moose Lodge – and I had to psyche myself up. That’s why I needed the bourbon.

You see, it was autumn and it was time for the head butting contest. It had been three years since I last competed. That was at the World Championships in Paris. It was a brutal event, many of the competitors (and a few spectators) were killed or disabled.

I won that event, but at a cost – I had a concussion. The doctors said I could never compete again or I would suffer permanent brain damage. Still, it was worth it because under the rules of head butting the winner gets to pork all the women spectators.

I retired from competition after that. But I missed it – the sport, the cheers from the crowd, and of course the porking. So, brain damage be damned, I was coming back.

The doorbell rang again. I chugged the bourbon and opened the door. “What the fuck do you want?” I greeted my visitors.

“Mr. Moose, you’re gonna have to come with us” a little voice said. I looked down, it was a tiny Air Force lieutenant. He looked like a Boy Scout. “Yeah, you gotta come with us” said an even smaller voice from an even smaller lieutenant. With them was a big fugly sergeant who said nothing.

“Christ” I thought. “I don’t need this shit.”

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“Project Blue Book” said the tiniest lieutenant.

“That was years ago” I said. That made the tiny officers giggle like schoolyard sissies. That made me mad, so I slapped them. Then the big fugly sergeant whacked me with a blackjack and I was off to dreamland (no, not Michael Jackson’s ranch, you perverts! I mean I was knocked out, you sick fucks!).

. . . .

When I came to I was strapped to a chair. I looked around. Bare concrete walls, a single light bulb dangling from a string, torture devices. And of course the tiny lieutenants and the big fugly sergeant.

I stared at the sergeant. “Why do all these interrogation rooms look the same? Why don’t you fix the place up? You know, paint, wallpaper, some carpets? Just move your ass you fat Neanderthal bastard!”

“I ain’t fat” said the sergeant. The Lieutenants wrote down everything that was said.

“We have a few questions” said the larger lieutenant.

“I’ve got some myself” I said. “Like what the fuck is going on?”

“It’s about those aliens you killed. You don’t think you can just leave a UFO in the desert and forget about it, do you?”

“I never had a problem before” I answered. The lieutenants shut up and left the room

“I need a drink” I said. “Me too” said the fugly sergeant.

. . . .

When the lieutenants reentered the room they weren’t talking, just standing dumbly at the side of a 3 star general – a thick-necked, bull-headed squatty little bastard. As if he wasn’t fugly enough he was scowling.

“Okay Moose, you listen close.”

“That’s President Moose” I said, “get used to the sound.”

He scowled some more, like he was trying to set the world record for fugly. “You know those aliens you killed in the desert? You should not have done that. You don’t know what you’ve unleashed.”

He continued. “During Project Blue Book we discovered two kinds of aliens – the little guys with the big heads, like the ones you killed. And a tall skinny kind known as “greys.” Well, right now they’re fighting for control of the universe. And Earth is right in the middle of it.

“And the little guys are our friends. Our allies.” He paused to let his words sink in.

“I need a beer” I answered.

The general scowled again. “We made a deal with those little guys – we’d donate your DNA to breed an army of Mooseman soldiers, they’d give us their technology, and Hillary Clinton would rule the earth for the benefit of both our species.”

“You never cut me in on the deal” I said. “All I remember is being paralyzed, then those space midgets jacked me off and the next thing I know Chelsea Clinton was riding me like a bucking bronco.”

“Well, we’re still gonna get your DNA.” The general’s scowl was gone, replaced by a smirk. “Nurse!” he bellowed.

The nurse was hot, unbelievably hot. I got a boner in seconds. If I hadn’t been strapped to a chair I would have porked her right there – no talk, no kisses, no foreplay – just fucked her on the floor. But in my present position, the situation called for diplomacy. “How would you like about a foot of Moose schlong?” I asked.

She giggled, so I knew the answer. What she said was “Hold still.” Then she took a blood sample from my arm. This wasn’t good. I looked at her face for the first time, burning the image into my memory. She would have to pay for this. When I caught up with her – and I would – I’d remember and beat her ass.

The nurse walked away with my blood and I watched her ass wiggle out of the room.

“One more thing, Moose” said the General.

“That’s President Moose.”

He scowled again. “We don’t want you interfering with this war again, or I’ll have you shot. This is a matter of National Security. It is imperative that Hillary becomes Queen.”

“What about the election?” I asked. “You know, the democratic process and all that?”

“Fuck the democratic process” he screamed. “Obama could win and we can’t allow that to happen.”

“You see” he continued, “Obama is a Grey.”