“All the lights and sounds drove every zombie in town here,” Alien Jones said.
“Great,” I said. “We’re safe from being blown up but now we’re going to be ripped apart by the undead.”
“Not quite,” Alien Jones said as he punched a button on his space phone. The pilots’ voices were back.
“God I hope there’s some hot chicks at the ‘Cool As Shit Fighter Pilot Bar’ tonight,” Buzzkill said.
Alien Jones handed me the phone.
“You can communicate with them now. Human signals are notoriously easy to hack.”
“They are?” I asked.
“Of course. How do you think the Mighty Potentate has been getting free cable all these years?”
“Umm,” I said into the space phone. “Come in, good buddy?”
“Who is this?” Buzzkill asked.
“This is Bookshelf Q. Battler,” I said.
“This is a secure channel. How did you hack into it?”
“Umm…there’s an app for that? Hey listen, Cool As Shit Fighter Pilots, I need you to come back and waste some zombies.”
“10-4,” Buzzkill said.
Alien Jones leaned over me and punched a button. A non-lethal red laser shot out of it.
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
“A laser target designator,” Alien Jones explained. “Point it at the zombies and the Cool As Shit Fighter Pilots will do the rest.”
“Damn it,” I said. “This thing has everything. Where can I get my own space phone?”
“Eh,” Alien Jones said. “They’re fun at first but then they become a pain in your back quarter. Every year they tweak it a tiny bit and expect you to buy a whole new one.”
I pointed the laser at a house down the road.
“Wait,” I said. “We should let the zombies get closer.”
“Why would you want them to get closer?” VGRF asked.
“Because they’re right by…the house…”
VGRF glared at me.
“You know, the one that sorority rented and they all just lie around on the roof and sunbathe topless all day?”
VGRF slapped me for the fourth time this month.
“So I’ve heard! Ahh, screw it, those babes are probably all zombies by now.”
I pointed the laser at the sorority house. The zombies were tearing it apart, looking for survivors.
“Buzzkill, I’m painting the target now.”
“How does a civilian have a laser target designator?” Buzzkill asked.
“I uh…bought it on eBay?”
“Shit,” Buzzkill said. “Probably some disgruntled Russian sold it.”
The F-15s did another flyby.
The sorority house went up in a fiery blaze, taking the majority of the town’s zombies with it.
The F-15s flew off.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Bookshelf Q. Battler. Stop by the Cool as Shit Fighter Pilot bar sometime. First round’s on me.”
Alien Jones launched his space phone into the air again and dropped a funky, smooth beat. It was reminiscent of one of Barry White’s soulful 1970’s love jams.
3.5 readers, you might remember from the beginning of this tale that Alien Jones sounds exactly like Barry White.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Now it’s time to celebrate,” the Esteemed Brainy One replied.
The alien levitated himself in the air. Still in his hipster garb, he broke out into song.
FUNK YOU, BABY
By: Alien Jones, The Esteemed Brainy One
Aww baby…don’t you know you make me feel…fresh.
Aww baby, don’t you know you make me feel…frisky!
Aw baby, don’t you know you make me feel…FUNKY!
I’m gonna funk you up woman, funk you up and down.
Funk you all over the place, all over this funkin town.
Funk you up in the mornin’
Funk you up at night!
Goddamn baby don’t you know our funky love
Will be one funky ass sight!
Funky love baby!
Funk you all night long!
Funk you all night long!
Funk you the funkin hell up while I’m singing this funky ass song!
I don’t know how I’ll do it, because I got no junk!
He’s got nothin’!
But you know my ass will find a way because I’m one funkin funky ass hunk!
The space phone dropped into Alien Jones’ hands.
“That was unlike you,” I said.
“Sometimes an alien just has to funk.”