The Cookout from Another World

Fourth of July Friday Fiction.jpg

Glagznorp IV, Supreme Commander of the Visconian Advance Force glowered at the festively-decorated suburban back yard. Around him, a score of elite Visconian scouts waited, their gelatinous forms quivering in the summer breeze. Most of them longed to dash into the soothing spray of the misting fans just yards away, but they dared not move lest they attract the attention of their furious Lord.

“WHERE ARE OUR GUESTS?!” Glagznorp IV gurgled in a powerful baritone voice. He turned his eyestalks to a single Visconian, who winced noticeably. “You! Supply your designation!”

“I…I am Blifnar, O Glistening One.”

“Blifnar! Has all been prepared?”

“Of a certainty!”

“Are the mutilated cattle patties properly browned?”

“To the exact specifications given by the Earthling female Stewart! And all the vegetable matter has been arranged pleasingly to serve as additional flavor enhancers!”

“What of the potato and egg emulsification mixture! Were delicious pickles added? And paprika?”

“Truly, Your Mucilaginous Glory! All is ready! We have excluded no pleasure, no comfort! The only guest not invited this day is the evil villain the Earthlings call Gluten!”

“Then how can it be that no one has arrived? Was this planet conquered yesterday? Were we dormant while July 4 passed us by?”

“! such a thing is not possible!”


Blifnar nearly withered under Glagznorp’s gaze. The early July sun beat down on him and he could feel his glistening skin tighten. He wrung his tentacles together in what he hoped was an acceptable display of subservience.

“It is our neighbor John Harrah, Your Greasy Eminence. He has procured–” His voice faded to a squeak. “–a bouncy house.”

“WHAT?!” The enormous green Visconian flailed his tentacles skyward in frustration. “Such structures are forbidden by the Ordinances! Were we not forced to destroy our Great Mucous Projector only one lunar revolution ago?”

“Yes! The Earth Enforcers demanded it! And yet Greasy Eminence, young Earthlings bounce unceasingly while their…parents…consume organic material clearly inferior to ours!” Blifnar grew bold in his righteous outrage. He flailed his tentacles toward only other cookout on Happy Harbor Drive. “Behold! Behold the merriment he has stolen from us”, he wailed.

Glagznorp beheld and his minions trembled in the silence. In the distance, he watched the neighbor John Harrah smile, surrounded by this fellow Earthlings who laughed and consumed his inferior organic materials. Glagznorp supposed he had procured them from the massive nearby market instead of seeking out the very best cattle meat from Whole Foods as he had done. At last, he encircled a bowl of potato salad from the table with a tentacle, drew it to him, and began to scoop it into one of his mouths.

“Very well”, he said. “John Harrah has triumphed today. But he will know defeat even if I must crack this puny world into piece–by the twin suns of Cra’lazor, this is delicious! Who assembled this?”

Blifnar beamed with pride. If Glagznorp loved the potato salad, wait until he absorbed the cupcakes!

I know what you’re going to say. This is not a 100-word story. It is, in fact, a 500-word story and probably the longest story I’ve posted here. The only excuse I can offer for breaking my own Friday Fiction prompt rule is that the more I wrote, the more fun the story was to write. I could hear the dialogue in my head as I wrote it, which means you may encounter this story again in another form. I’m about to launch a Patreon campaign and audio versions of the odd story here or there is a mighty fine thing to offer to potential patrons, don’t you think? I mean, wouldn’t you pay good money to hear me say “mucilaginous”?

Just saying.

In other news, I do have a couple of favors to ask. If you’re on Facebook, I have a couple questions for which I’d like your honest answers. Also, I’d not mind if you followed that page — my professional writer page. Facebook gives small kindnesses to pages that people like.

And while you ponder that, why not write a little story of your own? Who knows? You may suddenly encounter more fun than you thought you’d have on a quiet Friday night.