Bubba Pritchert and the Space Aliens

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Bubba knew there was something peculiar going on when the flying saucer dropped down behind the Bowl-a-Rama. He’d been sitting on the front steps of the Eat’n’Run nursing a bottle of Anchor Steam, munching an occasional peanut and enjoying the late night air when the sky overhead lit up and he heard a sound like air escaping from a tire.

Everybody else in the little town of Central Garage was over at the VFW hall for the Bean Supper and Dance, except for Bubba and a few other misfits who couldn’t get dates, didn’t like beans, or hated to dance, so he knew the chances of anybody else seeing the thing land were slim. He threw back the rest of the beer, folded the peanuts carefully in their bag, and wiped his hands on his overalls before getting up and making his way to the Bowl-a-Rama parking lot.

It was a pretty thing, all smooth lines and curves, and it looked like it could go like white on rice when you put your foot in it, but Bubba figured there was only one reason for this thing to be in a bowling alley parking lot this close to midnight on a Saturday: engine trouble.

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