Mark Allan Gunnells is thirty-two years old and holds a degree in English and Psychology. He has sold approximately forty of his short stories to various markets. A small town boy at heart, he still lives in his hometown of Gaffney, SC, with his lover of five years.

Mark is the author of The Sidekick Lounge, A Hell of a Deal, and The Princess and The Witch.

When the spaceship landed, the President was notified immediately. At first he thought it was a joke, something cooked up by his Chief of Staff to make him look like a fool. The President was convinced that everyone was out to make him look like a fool—the media, the House and Senate, the opposing Party, even his own staff. Sometimes he even suspected the American people had elected him only so they could point and laugh at all his goofs. So he assumed the news of the spaceship must be some kind of prank.

Until, that is, he was escorted to the site just in front of the Washington Monument. Here he was confronted with irrefutable proof, the spaceship itself. It wasn’t large and it wasn’t disc-shaped like the movies always portrayed. Instead, it was relatively compact and resembled those bow-tie looking ships from the _Star Wars_ movies. God, the President hoped Darth Vader didn’t step out of the damn thing!

The ship was surrounded by military personnel with their weapons trained on a closed hatch in the front of the craft. Through some kind of intercom system, an electronic voice repeated the same eleven words on a continuous loop. “WE COME IN PEACE! WE WISH TO MEET WITH THE LEADER! WE COME IN PEACE! WE WISH TO MEET WITH THE LEADER! WE COME IN PEACE…”

The President realized he had been staring slack-jawed at the spaceship for a full minute, and he closed his mouth with an audible _click_ of teeth snapping together and turned to find the Secretary of Defense standing next to him. “So, when did the ship enter the atmosphere?” the President said, hoping that was an appropriate, intelligent-sounding question.

“We’re not sure, sir. To be honest, the craft caught us completely by surprise. It didn’t show up on any of our radar. We were not even aware of it until it landed. We assume it must be equipped with some kind of cloaking device to avoid early detection.”

The President scratched his chin because he believed it would make him look thoughtful. “Hmm, just like the Klingons.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President, this isn’t a television show.”

“Those were feature films, as well,” the President said then tried to get back on track. “So, you think I should go up and knock on the hatch or what?”

“I wouldn’t advise that, sir. We have no idea what is waiting inside.”

“Well, they say they come in peace.”

“Yes, and the Trojans said the horse was just a gift.”

The President had no idea why the Secretary of Defense was talking about condoms, but he nodded as if he understood.

“And as we all know,” the Secretary went on with a sly wink, “_To Serve Man_ turned out to be a cookbook.”

Now the President was really confused. This whole spaceship thing must have really thrown the Secretary of Defense for a loop if all he could talk about was condoms and cookbooks. “So, uhm, what do you think we should do?”

The Secretary opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, there was a loud _whoosh_ sound and the spaceship’s hatch began to open, lowering itself into a walkway. _Just like in the movies_, the President thought.

But the two creatures that emerged from the craft did not look anything like any of the alien creatures the President had seen on film. These creatures didn’t look like E.T., or the Ewoks, or even those lizardy people from _V_. They weren’t little green men with light-bulb shaped heads and large black eyes, either. These were beings like nothing for which Hollywood had prepared the President. Six thin, multi-jointed legs, a pulsating, undulating torso, a bulbous head with a single eye of crimson, arms like tentacles, skin that shimmered with a rainbow of colors and looked like burnished steel. Most movies and television shows seemed to agree that aliens would at least be humanoid in form, but these creatures were just monstrous. Alien in every sense of the word.

The military personnel snapped to attention, their weapons tracking the creatures as they lumbered down the walkway. Next to the President, the Secretary of Defense was standing tense and rigid. The President himself felt like a quivering bowl of Jell-O, his knees knocking together like two stones trying to strike a spark. He had the sudden urge to reach out and take the Secretary’s hand, but he for once made a smart decision and decided against it.

“We come in peace,” the creature in front said in the clipped, awkward accent of someone for whom English was a second language. “We wish to meet with the leader.”

“What should I do?” the President whispered out of the corner of his mouth, afraid to make any sudden movements.

“That is your decision to make, Mr. President, but just say the word and we’ll blast these ugly fuckers back to whatever godforsaken planet they came from.”

The President’s fear was becoming eclipsed by a childlike sense of curiosity. The creatures didn’t have any weapons that he could see, and in most alien invasion films he’d watched, the Commander-in-Chief usually survived. The President stepped forward, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair, aware as always of the cameras that were trained on him. This was a historic moment, greater even than the moon landing. He cleared his throat and said in a deep, resonate voice, “I am the President of the United States. Welcome to our planet.”

The two creatures turned their misshapen heads his way and made a gesture that looked somewhat like a bow. “Hello, President. We are Ent and Kurn from the Glaxon Nebula. We have traveled a great distance to come to your world and meet with the leader.”

“I am honored,” the President said and bowed himself like a Japanese businessman. “I welcome an open dialogue with you. I believe there is much we can learn from one another.”

The two creatures exchanged a glance, and the one in front seemed to fidget nervously, shifting from one foot to another to another to another to another to another. “Pardon us, President, but you misunderstand. We wish to meet with the leader.”

“I am the leader of this great country.”

“Again, you misunderstand. We do not wish to meet with the leader of this country. We wish to meet with the leader of _The Squad_, Ms. Amber Paulson.”

The President frowned. He, of course, knew who Amber Paulson was. She was the star of the television program _The Squad_, about a professional cheerleading squad and their sexual exploits. The show was all about jiggle and splits and softcore porn; it was a huge ratings hit.

Apparently sensing the President’s confusion, the Secretary of Defense stepped forward and said, “Why would you want to meet with Ms. Paulson?”

“Our satellites have intercepted transmissions of _The Squad_, and Amber Paulson has become an icon on our planet. We have come to take pictures with her and get autographs to bring back to our people.”

The President glanced over at the Secretary and saw that the usually unflappable man was also speechless. The President had known that every male on Earth lusted after Amber Paulson, but apparently her allure reached beyond the Milky Way. Talk about universal appeal.

“Well, uhm,” the President stammered, all his public speaking skills escaping him at the moment, “you see, the thing is that Amber Paulson isn’t here.”

“But you are President; you can bring her here. We will wait.”

The President turned to the Secretary, seeking counsel as usual. “What do you think?”

The Secretary did something the President had never seen the man do before—he shrugged. “To be frank, sir, I wouldn’t mind meeting her myself.”

They sent Air Force One to California to pick up Amber Paulson and bring her back to Washington, D.C. An expensive, luxurious cab ride. As requested, she wore her cheerleading outfit from the show, skirt riding high on her thighs and tight sweater barely constraining her ample bosom. Her blonde hair was teased to perfection, and a recent bout of botox injections had smoothed away the lines from the corners of her eyes and lips (as well as all traces of emotion and expression). Her collagen-pumped lips were painted harlot red.

When she first saw Ent and Kurn, she found their appearance off-putting, but she had taken pictures with plenty of fat, balding men. She had learned to swallow her revulsion and smile for the cameras. Amber wasn’t quite as stupid as the tabloids suggested; she knew her major fan base was over-the-hill disgusting slobs jerking themselves off to episodes of _The Squad_. To be honest, these aliens weren’t quite as repulsive as some of her human fans.

She posed for plenty of pictures. With Ent, with Kurn, with both of them, their tentacles wrapped around her waist. At one point, one of Ent’s tentacles started to snake down her shirt; she let him get a little bit of a grope before shooing him away. She signed headshots, T-shirts (not that these creatures could wear them), and copies of the show’s first season on DVD. She made small talk and laughed flirtatiously.

“What’s your favorite episode?” Amber asked, one of her standard questions to fans. She immediately tuned out, just smiling and nodding without actually listening to the answer.

Ent, whose six knees were shaking in Amber’s presence, said, “I enjoy the episode where your character reveals she is dyslexic, making it hard for her to spell out the team’s name during cheers.”

“That’s a good one, and what about your friend?”

“Kurn has not mastered your language.”

Kurn did not speak, but he did drool. A lot.

Amber later posed for more pictures with the aliens as well as the President and the Secretary of Defense. She kept calling the President by the name of his predecessor, but he didn’t seem to mind. The Secretary of Defense slipped her his cell number. She was rather exhausted by the time she said goodbye and Air Force One whisked her away back to Hollywood.

Ent thanked the President profusely and turned down an offer to stay and have dinner at the White House. He and Kurn took their photos and signed memorabilia and climbed back into their ship, rocketing into the sky and vanishing from sight in a matter of seconds. The President remained on the grass, staring up at the vastness of the heavens for several moments before turning and heading back.

The President and the Secretary of Defense sat alone in the Oval Office, smoking cigars and enjoying some Scotch. The President leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. The smoke hung near the ceiling like angry thunderheads.

“What planet were they from?” the Secretary asked.

“I’m not sure they ever said, and I didn’t think to ask.”

“What were their names? Ant and Corn?”

“No, no. I think it was End and Churn.”

“I guess maybe we should have asked them some questions about their civilization, their technology. I mean, it’s not everyday you meet life forms from another world.”

The President raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, taking a gulp of his Scotch. “Never came up. You think people will want to know that stuff?”

“Might be.” The Secretary leaned forward, smiling around his cigar. “But more importantly, did you get a load of Amber’s tits?”

“Oh yeah. Those are some first-rate knockers.”

“Think they’re hers?”

“Hers as in she paid for them.”

They shared a raucous laugh, raising their glasses in a salute to Amber’s gravity-defying breasts.

The President sighed and let his feet drop to the carpet. “It has certainly been a memorable day. One I’ll certainly never forget.”

“You got that right. I can’t believe I actually met and had my arm around Amber Paulson.”

“And it’s all thanks to Tent and Turd.”

As the sun set, the President and the Secretary of Defense remained in the Oval Office, replaying their meeting with Amber Paulson.

And the aliens, of course.