On a bawdy Mississippi night, much like this one, two drunk men on a boat were met with an experience they never expected. Join Florida Man and Cheesehead and their analog walkmans as they attempt to recreate that fateful night, and uncover the mysteries behind the Pascagoula River.
Back in 1973, the abduction of Charles Hickson and Calvin Parker occurred over the Pascagoula River in Mississippi that has become an active case in Alien and UFO investigations to this day. The two fishermen experienced a UFO said to be football shaped with two port windows descend from above, sending a small fleet of aliens with bizarre and horrifying features. They were wrinkly and gray-skinned, with a slit for a mouth, carrot-shaped ears and nose, and completely devoid of eyes or even sockets. Their had pincher-like hands and the stumped feet of an elephant, though had little need for the latter, as they also possessed an ability to hover above the water.
After the two men were abducted, they watched helplessly as an extraterrestrial being performed strange procedures upon them, involving--but not limited too--reaching a finger deep into their nostrils to reach their brains. The being was believed to be female, only with an eerily featureless face that still haunts them.
These fishermen weren't the only witnesses to strange occurrences that night. A woman recently spoke out that she, too, spotted strange shapes in the sky along with hummings and humanoid shapes beneath the face of the Pascagoula River. This might be attributed to an even older legend that cites a mass suicide of the Pascagoula Tribe after an inevitable defeat by the Biloxi Indians. They waded deeper and deeper into the river, chanting peacefully all the way, until they eventually drowned.
Check out more on these topics by listening to The Talegate Podcast on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or any other fine podcast directories; and please rate, review, and subscribe. OR simply follow the link our user-friendly website at www.thetalegatepodcast.com! Also, be sure to follow us on Instagram @thetalegatepodcast and write us with your own stories at TheTalegatePodcast@gmail.com.
Episode 12: The Pascagoula Aliens
FLORIDA MAN: Howdy folks, and welcome to The Talegate!
CHEESEHEAD: For those of you just joining us, we’re on a roadtrip across America to uncover the mysteries behind tall tales, fairy tales, folktales, fishtales, & urban legends, one interview at a time.
FM: We inherited a truck from our late Granny May and discovered that the crystal hanging off the rearview mirror was more than decorative. It’s a Dowsing Pendulum leading us to the good folks behind the tales we all grew up with. With that, I’m Harrison, the Florida Man.
CH: And I’m Aaron the Cheesehead. And tonight is a little different, as we are not tailgating.
FM: S’right. Tonight we’re out night fishin, but we ain’t fishin’ just anywhere. Hell, we ain’t even fishin’ for fish.
CH: Indeed we are not. We’re in Pascagoula River, home of a very famous alien abduction, hoping to score an interview of extraterrestrial origins.
FM: Also, it’s the largest undammed river in the contingent United States. But before we get down to business, what we drinkin’ today, Cheesehead?
CH: Today’s brewskies are “UFO Hefeweizen” by Harpoon Brewery out of Boston.
FM: Not from Mississippi?
CH: No, but this one is thematic. [Hiccup] We’ve drank most of the case anyhow.
FM: Indeed, we drunk, baby! But, don’t crack the last of them babies open just yet. Gotta wait for the arrival of our Space Buddies.
CH: Isn’t that a Disney copyright? Not that I’m complaining, I would much prefer cute baby Golden Retrievers over alleged bodily invasive beings from another planet.
FM: Yea, we should probably be more scared of Disney coming after our asses than UFOS. Hey, look yonder right quick, would ya? I gotta pee.
CH: You’re going to break the seal right off the boat?
FM: Yea man. It’s pitch black out here and we’re floatin’ in the middle of a damned river in the middle of the damned night. Well, more like undamned River, but that don’t got the same punch. Point bein’, who could possibly be watchin’ us way out here?
[Pee sounds followed by sudden ominous humming sound]
CM: Uhh...Maybe that glowing football shaped UFO descending from the sky directly toward us?
FM: Ah shit shit shit! Cheesehead, stuff what beer’s is left down your britches before they haul us up! Hurry!
CM: Wait what? Why can’t we just carry these brewskies with us?
FM: These guys don’t work that way, do it quick like!
CM: Alrighty alrighty, lord almighty-- Ah geez, that’s cold!
FM: When I said stuff your britches with ‘em, I meant like, your pockets. Not literally inside your pants.
CM: Great, could have used that insightful info about twenty seconds ago before I rolled these full, frigid cylinders right over my trouser snake. Are you done peeing yet? Three strange-looking space men are exiting the flying object and hovering right for us!
FM: I see ‘em, and no I ain’t. This steam ain’t got an end in sight. These weirdos coming at us can’t be more than my height, maybe 5’8”...only gray, wrinkly elephant skin and levitating over the water like they’re straight out of Mark 6:49.
CM: Oddly specific verse.
FM: You know, Jesus walkin’ on water and all that.
CM: No, I mean, I’m actually impressed.
FM: Raised in the South. You just know these things.
CM Touche. Ew. These aliens’s lack of eyes and neck, tiny slits for mouths, and carrot-like spikes where their nose and ears oughta be is little short of alarming. These things are legitimately freaking me out and they’re hovering closer to our boat!
FM: We’ll be alright, we just hold tight!
CM: Hold tight? I don’t think we have a choice. I can’t move my body anymore. Florida Man, do you have any mobility?
FM: Nope. Not besides my mouth. I’m just stuck here holding my junk with a fountain gone dry.
CH: Took you long enough!
ALIENS: [Indecipherable conversation.]
CH: They’re beaming us up! I can’t move. Tell me you at least got zippered up before the beam Hit?
FM: Uhh…like I said...
CH: Goshdarnit. Hope these aliens know what they’re in for.
[Washing space door sound]
PART 2: Alien Forms
WOMAN: Good work, my pets. Bring them in. Mork, the tall one with the swiss headpiece, goes over there. Have they been properly sedated?
ALIENS: [Agreeable noises]
WOMAN: Good to know. Oh, and Gonzo, move the other specimen over by me.
WOMAN: The scruffy one in the weathered cap holding the...what even is that, a naked mole rat?
ALIENS: [alien for “penis”]
WOMAN: Crying Cosmos, why didn’t you wait until after he finished urinating (at least I hope that was all he was doing) to deploy the tractor beam? You know what, forget it. Just bring him and his… ugh, bring him over here.
FM: Thousand pardons, ma’am! For the record, you were right. I’s just takin’ a leak was all. I’d tuck the gopher in the hole, but I’m frozen stiff!
CM: Yea, you got us good, miss. Can’t move a muscle!
WOMAN: Your mouth is moving so clearing that is not the case. [whispering to aliens with waning patience] My dearest pets, why are the specimens able to talk? Did you detect any chemical agent in them that may have sabotaged the paralysis?
FM: Nah--sorry for ease-droppin’. But we don’t do drugs, Ma’am. We are drunk as all fuck Though.
WOMAN: First of all, it’s “Eave-dropping,” and secondly--
CH: WHOOOOO, you’re telling me, Florida Man! I haven’t hit the cans this hard since the Badgers lost the Rose Bowl on New Years.
FM: Which New Years?
CH: 2020. And 2013. And 2012. And 2011. And-- Ah geez, now, I’m just depressed. I’d slam more of beer if only I could move my gash-darn arms.
WOMAN: Beer? Those are chemicals. And alcohol is a drug. And at least part of you is moving.
FM: When it you put it like that then reckon...yea we do drugs!
CH: Matter of fact, we brought brewskies for you, too, as a token of good faith! You just gotta reach into the nether regions of my trousers to get them though.
WOMAN: My cup of gratitude for your boorish offerings spilleth over, but is this to imply that you both actually wanted to be abducted?
CH: Sure did! We’re working on a podcast.
WOMAN: Well, I assure you that whatever wireless microphone you had on that boat won’t pick up your signal out here. My ship has a jammer to black out audio signals beyond the ship.
WOMAN: Yes, thank you, Mork. Now hold still my little lab rats, we need to cut your clothes off.
FM: Gonna buy us dinner first or what?
CH: Oh! I’ll have the Culver’s Bacon Deluxe, fried curds, and a brownie concrete mixer, if you please.
FM: And hit me up with that Cracker Barrel fried catfish filet and basket of biscuits & cornbread with a side of them delicious hushpuppies.
WOMAN: What? Dinner? ...no. Why? are your vitals impaired and in need of nourishments? Mork, Gonzo, two alimentary syringes!
FM: Haha, nah, just fuckin with ya. Had Whataburger ‘bout an hour ago. I’s just pullin’ your leg.
CH: Yah, it’s just a joke, doncha know.
WOMAN: Does this look like I’m in the mood for jokes? Look around you. Well, I suppose you Unable to look around you as you remain in a 98% state of full-bodied paralysis. But metaphorically look around you. You are hovering in the planet’s thermosphere amidst a ship of alien life forms undertaking crucial scientific experimentation on this pest-infested rock you call Earth. And not only did you arrive on your own accord, but you came with...with jokes in hand?
FM: Ain’t exactly what I came in hand with.
CH: That or she’s just calling your weener a joke.
FM: Dangit, you reckin? Ma’am, are you roastin’ my weener?
WOMAN: Quiet! I can’t even think with you two blathering on. The sooner we cut these clothes off and implant your brains with monitoring cells, the sooner I can be rid of you. Mort, the tall one. Gonzo, the Florida Man.
FM: So you’ve heard of me?
WOMAN: No. I took one look at you and made an educated guess. Flawless in my perception, I see.
CH: Wowzers, she nailed yah, bud! Do me, do me! I’ll even give you a hint...
CH: Amazing! You’re like that Madam Cleo from the TV Guide Channel. So what kind of sci-fi gadgets did you use to decipher our point of origins?
FM: Witchcraft, prolly. Hey, you...you one them witches? Are you the Witch in the Wood?!
WOMAN: The only gadget necessary was my brain, and sad little of it. And no, I am no witch. Nor have I any need for their superstitious rubbish. If you must know, your inflections on “th” sounds and long “o”s indicate a midwestern accent. But I won’t play coy. The root of my hypothesis rests on your hopeless dedication to the NCAA Madison-based, Wisconsin Badgers.
CH: “Eat Shit.”
WOMAN: Excuse me?
CH: “Fuck You.”
WOMAN: Explain yourself before I have your brain replaced with a llama’s right here on this gerni.
FM: Yea, Kuzco!
CH: Oh no, it’s just a popular Badger’s chant where one side of the stadium shouts, “Eat Shit,” and the other replies,
FM: Fuuuuck you. Did I do it right?
CH: Nailed it, buddy!
WOMAN: Primitive. Now that your clothes have been removed, and before I jam my finger up your nostrils, tell me: why are you both strapped with these horribly dated, decades-old technology? Or do I even want to know?
FM: The walkmans is so we can interview ya.
WOMAN: Interview us?
FM: ‘Course. For the podcast we mentioned. We read all ‘bout UFOs and electronic & radio interferences so we went as analogue as we could for quality assurance. We’re recordin’ you on cassette tapes, baby!
WOMAN: And the sweating, lukewarm cans of beer residing in the pants near your boyfriend’s private parts?
WOMAN: Cousin, boyfriend... are we really going to pretend those two titles are exclusive to you Floridians?
FM: I mean...it’s true in our case, anyway.
CH: Oh yah, no, and these sweaty, lukewarm brewskies steamrolling my private parts are for you, Miss.
WOMAN: For me?
CH: Donchaknow it! Spared no expense on these craft brews. It’s even called UFO!
WOMAN: [exasperated] Fine. The total anesthesia failure is on me, I confess. I will partake in your rudimentary offerings and grant you an interview on your walkmans in exchange for a smooth examination henceforth. Nobody would believe your cassette tape abduction anyway.
FM: Done deal.
CH: Ah geez, what a swell gal. Yah know, Florida Man over there is tied. But I’m single if you care to experiment a little father on me.
WOMAN: Why don’t you leave the practice of medicine to a professional and fulfill the reproductive-yearning chemical reactions you call “love” to the tip-fed bimbos at the truck-stop strip clubs you are so likely to frequent?
CH: That was only when Brandy Cane was on shift.
WOMAN: I am afraid to admit, but I do appreciate your forwardness. So often do I find human forms dodgy at the best of times. Liars at worst.
CH: Ah shucks. Thanks you Miss...Miss. Uh, what even is your name? Or did I miss that part?
WOMAN: For my kind, the concept of a name is a skin shed long ago. We are creatures with such heightened acuity for detail that we ourselves appear to have none, at least none that are visible to you. We are beings without names or features recognizable to the human eye.
CH: I gotta call BS on that. You’re wearing an all black suit. Red lipstick, sweet sunglasses, and The Rachel. Isn’t that what that hairstyle is called--the Rachel?
WOMAN: I wear neither lip shade nor clothing. I have neither hair nor fashion. What you see before you is but an illusion. Something familiar to keep your bodies from a fit of Cardiogenic shock. A biological response perfected over billions of years evolutionary favoritism. What you see is only the image you want to see.
FM: More like the image you think we want to see. When was the last time you updated your act? The Rachel? Common. Girl, that was a 90’s thing, get with it.
WOMAN: I suppose this to be true. I’ll admit, I’m startled by your wit, Floridian. I chose the South for its cognitively arid climate for which to conduct my experimentations. So forgive me, as I am a little taken aback by the exceeded expectations.
FM: The hell? I got a Masters Degree, for cryin’ out loud.
WOMAN: Hm, I presume this to be some milestone of intellect you have here on Earth? And what degree have you, Wisconsonite?
CH: Degree 48 hr protection.
WOMAN: Interesting. Take note, Gonzo. The Wisconsinite claims to be in possession of a force field of some kind. We shall, of course, scan his limbic system for further insight. Could be useful in the interplanetary wars to come.
CH: You know, for someone tooting their own horn over their evolutionary superiority, it’s all conjecture until you show us your true form.
FM: Yea, the hell you even look like if you aint’ what you appear to be?
WOMAN: Alas, the burden of proof is mine to bear. All you see before you are highly advanced chromatophores: cells with the ability to transverse a spectrum of color beyond that which your feeble minds may fathom. I shall do this once and once only, not because I must, but because I feel a dutiful urge to award your… your unbridled tenacity.
CH: Miss, your clothes… your hair….it’s all gone! You’re uncanny. It’s like you're only the faintest idea of human form.
FM: Jumpin’ Jesus, you’re a blank slate. You’re like a sentient, featureless mannequin or less with the color-changing skin of like, a super-advanced cuttlefish.
CH: Revert Revert!
WOMAN: Scary how little of the Universe you humans can handle. Any semblance of structural integrity in the human mind suddenly crumbles to dust at the slightest lift of the cosmic veil. And yet here I protect you, as instructed, like a park ranger may protect a bed of ants.
CH: We get it. You’re big, we’re small. So how about we get to work unpacking what exactly the heck all this is?
WOMAN: I shall play along with your questionnaires as I work, but for not a moment longer.
PART 3: History of Pascagoula Aliens
FM: Fair ‘nuff. So you fellas in this here ship have a reputation in these parts of Mississippi. Heck, y’all got a reputation world wide-- ‘least with alien enthusiasts. From my recollection, it all began back in, what? 1970?
WOMAN: 1973. Did you not research any of this before pursuing this interview?
FM: Well, got it written there on my hand, but somebody decided to paralyze me.
WOMAN: Writing on your hand, hm? Is this the research tactics they taught you during your Masters program?
FM: No. Sure is one I used though. Anyway, what exactly happened all them years back that put this otherwise unremarkable fishin’ hole on the map?
WOMAN: Things you wouldn’t understand.
FM: Ah. Well, that clears it up.
CH: And that’s it for our show, folks! Be sure to tune in two weeks from now for our next episode!
FM: See ya later, Talegaters!
CH: Just kidding, what the eff does that even mean?!
FM: Yea, elaborate!
WOMAN: It would be like explaining the internet to a homo heidelbergensis.
FM: How can I explain the internet to a long extinct member of my evolutionary heritage? They simply ain’t here no more to do it.
WOMAN: Hm. Perhaps not all hope is lost. Fine. I shall conceded some of the details of the 1973 abduction incident. Only some.
FM: High five, Cheesehead!
CH: High five, Florida Man!
WOMAN: What? What’s the point of shouting “High Five” if you can’t actually do it.
FM: Because we can’t actually do it.
WOMAN: Great galloping galaxies. Mort, hand me the Earthen beverages.
WOMAN: I said Beverages, not beverage. I am going to need all of it to get through an entire session with these...these…
WOMAN: Podcasters! [opens beer, shotguns]
CH: Now we’re talking! Actually, we’ve been talking for a while now. And are the paralysis drugs making me hallucinate an elongated finger up my nose or is this happening?
WOMAN: Just your imagination.
FM: Reckon we’re in a shared imagination then, Cheester, ‘cause I see that lady’s finger knuckle-deep up your nasal passage.
WOMAN: Fine, yes, my finger is up your nose. It is gloved, if there is an issue of sanitation.
CH: You’ll probably find a good number of erasers up there.
WOMAN: I have evaded them and I am precisely on target, in the frontal lobe. Anyway, do you want to hear the story or shall we spend the remainder of our time together prattling on about lodged erasers?
CH: Sure, go right ahead, why doncha?
WOMAN: The Earth year was 1973 Common Era. The Pascagoula River babbled and flowed very much as it does today only slightly less polluted with discarded bottles of Mt Dew. There, below the night sky, a boat lay anchored, laden with two fishermen. Men with reel and rod far more sizable than your own.
FM: Ah, common.
WOMAN: These men were also unlike you in their inherent innocence of our impending encounter. Shock and horror met them both as my pets seized the men in paralysis, bringing them aboard the very vessel in which you lay.
FM: Really? This some kind of vintage star ship then?
WOMAN: Well, no, actually. This isn’t the exact vessel, but one very much like it. A trade-in. Same model, different year. What am I talking about? One more outburst from either of you and I shall cease to speak on matters further!
CH: Our bad, our bad.
FM: Let me make it up to you by fillin’ in some gaps. Hey, Mort, mind moving my head down a little so I can see my arm-notes?
FM: Thanks, pal. Now, according to my copy of The Encyclopedia of Extraterrestrial Encounters, on October 11th, 1973, you fellas abducted two fishermen on the banks of Pascagoula River: Charles Hickenson and 19 year old Calvin Parker. Our experiences back up their claim of a gray-blue “egg & saucer” shaped craft with a pair of portholes. From this craft, they were abducted by aliens robotic in their movements. Aliens who were mummy-like in appearance with carrot-shaped ears and nose and crab-lookin’ pinchers.
CH: You just described this lady’s “pets” to a tee. But like, are they your actual pets like ourdogs and cats? Or more like just a pet-name for your minions.
WOMAN: Both and neither. They are like dogs in that they follow commands They are unlike dogs in that, much as their movement implies, they are indeed robotic. Robots who tend to retread old mistakes and prolong my migraines.
CH: Retread? How do you mean? Were Charles and young Calvin trying to interview you as Well?
WOMAN: Quite the opposite. They were very private individuals, even reluctant to come forward to authorities with their stories.
FM: Other than fishin’ then, what were the similarities?
WOMAN: Both pairs of you imbeciles were under the influence, thus partially countering my paralysis and granting the ability to retain some memory of their experiences here.
CH: I know we’re making our conscious time here interviewing you. What did these friendly fellas do with their special time in the stratosphere?
WOMAN: The youngest of the lot, Calvin, came too suddenly, and proceeded to strangle me and bash my head on a suspended mirror.
FM: Shit, how’d that work out for him?
WOMAN: Well, the shock to my system dropped my camouflage. My conjured image of a friendly, female flower-child blinked out of existence for the featureless mannequin visage you saw earlier.
CH: Yah, I’m sorry but your true form chilled me to the bone--Like a naked Slender Man-- and I came into all this anticipating extraterrestrial lifeforms. I can only imagine how some ill-prepared, drunk teen would react.
WOMAN: Negatively. I hear our time together did a number on his mind.
FM: Yea, several articles as late as 2019 relay that Calvin still has repressed memories
resurfacing. You sure turned his brain into a personal House of Horrors.
WOMAN: For the record, Calvin, if you are hearing this, that was certainly not my intention. The procedures always assume the patients to be fully under anaesthetics to avoid condemning situations such as that which you have experience.
CH: For all the damage you caused, and pardon my saying this, but your apology sounds kind of half-assed.
FM: Yea, you wanna apologize to them fellas, you gotta go full-ass.
WOMAN: Fine. I am sorry you were inebriated during your experiences here.
FM: Full. Ass.
WOMAN: Galloping galaxies. Look, I never meant to inflict harm on either of you--be it physical or cerebral. I hope you find it within your myocardium tissue to forgive me and my pets for malpractice.
CH: Now that’s what I call full-ass.
WOMAN: So my apology was to your satisfaction?
CH: Oh, sure, but I just meant like your actual ass. I just noticed how bodacious it is.
WOMAN: Then let me assure you that the only “ass” here is you.
FM: Can’t blame him really. You got us both layin’ here on strapped to these cold, metal examination tables exactly at ass-level. Ain’t much else to look at.
WOMAN: Touche. And thank you. I’ll admit it has been sometime since anyone has paid me a compliment.
CH: Because you’re a nightmare to look upon?
WOMAN: NO! Because I’m isolated out here on this stupid mudpuddle of a planet for scientific observation.
CH: Ah geez, tough break. If it’s any constellations, I’d love to take you out sometime.
FM: Think you mean “consolation.”
WOMAN: Indeed, the constellations Andromeda and Perseus represent literal star-crossed lovers. And… yes. Permitted I ever get a break from my life’s work here, perhaps I shall take you up on your offer.
FM: Daaaaamn, son!
CH: Speaking of a date with a lovely lady, recently a second eye-witness came forward some 45 years after the original incident claiming to have seen a UFO the same night as the two fishermen.
WOMAN: News to me.
CH: Well, it was literal News to us, as Maria Blair finally agreed to an interview with WLOX here in Pascagoula. She was on a boat with her husband, looking out over the water while he slept. She told the news:
...Looking at stars, the big dipper and things, that’s when I saw it rise up in the sky. ...The blue light was just right over where they (Charles Hickenson & Calvin Parker) were abducted.
FM: What exactly did the lady claim to have seen?
CH: At first just a blue, inaudible light zipping about for around half an hour. Then she says,
We hear this loud water, just something fell in the water, it was a loud splash. The water was just rippling, and when I looked down that’s when it looked like a person in the water. I was looking just right below me.
FM: Miss Alien Lady…
FM: ISSSSSSSS THIS YOU?
WOMAN: Are you asking if I did a high-dive out of my airborn spacecraft into the nasty river just to scare a few yokels? No. That was not me. But glowing images, humming noise heard that same night by the fishermen, human shapes in the water… perhaps there is a second culprit at large.
PART 4: SINGING RIVER
FM: Yanno, I’s gonna bring this up in our next dashboard chat, but, while the history of Pascagoula River’s abductions is fascinating, it overshadows a nearly forgotten and very haunted past.
CH: I’m all ears.
WOMAN: I would say you both are more, “All Mouth,” but I digress. Continue.
FM: Sure thang! So Pascagoula River sometimes goes by the more colloquial name, “Singing River,” on behalf of a mass suicide which happened many centuries ago. Cause legend has it, the buzzin noise so many people been hearin’, is a tune sung by the extinct Pascagoula Indians.
CH: Ah gosh, what caused them to go extinct? Let me guess, those no good land-thieving colonials?
WOMAN: Unlikely that the lizard folk would be interested in indeginous surface affairs. Oh wait, you meant your human colonists! Yea, they seem a far more likely candidate.
FM: So I’m got this info from the site, “Only In Your State,” readin’ that Chief Altama of the Pascagoula Tribe was in love with Princess Anola of the Biloxi Tribe. Then things got all Shakesphere.
CH: Ah, so Princess Anola is the proverbial Viola, crossdressing as her assumed dead brother, while Chief Altama falls in love with-
FM: What? No. That’s Twelfth Night. I was referrin’ to Romeo and Juliet. You know… “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?”
CH: Isn’t that the Shakespeare movie with Paul Rudd?
FM: No man, Paul Ryan Rudd starred opposite Meryl Streep in Henry V way back in 1976.
CH: No, Paul Rudd as in the actor people actually know. He was in the 1996 Romeo And Juliet.
FM: Nah man, that was Leo Dicaprio.
CH: And Paul Rudd.
FM: I don’t remember no Paul Rudd in no Romeo and Juliet.
WOMAN: The Wisconsite is correct. Paul Rudd played Dave Paris, Juliet's fiancé, in the Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet.
FM: What, seriously? Damn. Sorry I doubted you, man.
CH: It’s okay, buddy. Hey, Womanniquin,
WOMAN: That is a wholly offensive title.
CH: How did you know about Paul Rudd?
WOMAN: This isn’t about me.
FM: Ah, common, Womanniquin. We’re splayed out here as your living specimens. Least you can do is open up a little.
WOMAN: Fine fine--just shut up! And could you stop calling me that? Look, when I first took assignment here, back in the early 1970’s, I was under strict orders to remain on the ship until my fifty-year contract was completed.I was not to mingle or interfere in human lives in any way, shape, or form beyond my scientific duties.
CH: So you’re contract is almost up then, is what you’re saying?
WOMAN: That was not the point I was getting at, but yes, I will be relieved of my duties here in the short months to come. Anyway, the year was 1995. By then I had begun sneakily watching Earth media such as Muppets, literally anything by Robin Williams, and things of the ilk.
FM: Can’t go wrong with Robin Williams.
WOMAN: Infected with cabin fever, I slipped off of my ship and into American cinemas to watch the latest film, this one in particular was called, Clueless. And then… I just…I mean, who didn’t?
CH: Can’t blame you. Paul Rudd is hot enough to stall off a Wisconsin winter.
FM: Clueless was a retellin’ of Shakespeare's Emma, so I guess we went full-circle.
WOMAN: Was there not a story you were in the midst of telling?
FM: Sure, right. What I was getting at was that Princess Anola ran off with Altama.
CH: Oh Snap!
FM: Long & short of it, Biloxi and Pascagoula tribes went to war over it and the Pascagoula were facing certain defeat, either in death or enslavement, so they waded peacefully into the river here and took their own lives.
CH: The tribe ended on their own terms. I can respect that.
FM: Sure. But people say the singin’ and glowin’ in this here river is song of the Pascagoula people.
WOMAN: That explains a lot of what people might be experiencing. I swear we do not go off abducting every nightly riverside individual.
CH: That’s a relief.
WOMAN: So you two are nearly inseparable from my observation.
FM: Like breadin’ on a chicken cutlet.
WOMAN: That is a strange analogy, even for you.
CH: Yea, more like breading on a mozzarella stick.
WOMAN: Somehow even more strange than the Floridian. Anyway, what I am getting at is that I have already implanted the Wisconsonite’s brain with a tracking device and, as a favor for your admittedly much-needed entertainment, I will only implant one of you.
CH: Ah thanks, lady! Wait a second, you did what?!
WOMAN: Without breaching confidentiality agreement, I will tell you that my procedures are just like you, Mostly Harmless.
FM: Mostly Harmless? Haven’t I heard that somewhere?
WOMAN: I tag and release my specimens similar to how your Earth biologists might tag and release theirs. A little pinch and you’re free to live your lives in the wild, as we gather invaluable information in the meantime.
CH: I’d say I feel violated, but what you just described isn’t any more invasive than my own cellphone. Yea, I’m on to you, internet, with your eerie targeted ads! Overhearing that I like MLP doesn’t mean I want advertisements for your creepy little app games.
WOMAN: My job here is done. You are tagged, and therefore, must be released.
FM: Aw man, that means the interview is over?
WOMAN: Unfortunately, this is so. You know, as reluctant as I am to admit it, you two boys ended up my most unconventional yet refreshing experimental candidates.
CH: And speaking of Dates.... I mean I know that doesn’t work phonetically, but it’s in the word--did you mean what you said about allowing me the honor of taking you out on the town?
WOMAN: Hmm. I think so. It would have to be once my intergalactic work visa here has expired yet before I am forced to return to my home world to calculate all of this data.
CH: Good enough for me! What--should I come back here to this river in a boat at midnight, er…
WOMAN: Let us not overly-complicate things. I shall come to you.
CH: Sounds great!
WOMAN: More than likely.
CH: Sounds good.
CH: Sounds like you should probably return us home before this deal gets any worse.
WOMAN: Do not speak of this encounter to the authorities. That is bad PR for us. Oh, and thank you for the beer. It was...interesting.
CH: Welp, that’s our show for today! We hope you enjoyed it and maybe even learned something about alien encounters.