Alien Laughs Last

By: submission | October 9, 2024

Author: Susan Jensen Sweeting

Pelcretuche searched for his Xanax, grateful for all six of his tentacles, since he couldn’t for the life of him, remember in which pouch he had put it.
Finally, his twelfth suction cup latched on to the shaky little bottle in the pouch just below his left belly button. Thank God. He deftly popped the top and downed two of the little pills, just as a waiter passed with a tray of champagne.
He looked around for Walter, his realtor, who had promised to be there. His upper lip drenched in sweat as he scanned the sumptuous gathering: dozens of ladies in pink and yellow chenille with wide brimmed hats, men in tan leisure suits. Over the lawn, swans strutted about under a white ribboned archway, donned with bouquets of matching lilies. He searched past the woman in the flowing white gown dancing with the tuxedoed man, and there he spotted Walter, just down by the pond, smoking a cigarette, chatting up some pubescent debutant.
Pelcretuche slithered across the expanse of meadow, visually struggling to keep his nerves in check, willing the Xanax to kick in.
He glided up to Walter making a great showing of tentacles, suction cups, eyes on stalks. Horrified, the debutant made excuses, hurried away.
Walter turned to him angrily. “What are you doing?” he demanded, glancing at his watch and then around to see who might be observing them.
“You said you would be my date,” Pelcretuche groused.
“Well, not in the traditional date sense,” Walter said, through clenched teeth. “That would be ridiculous! I only meant that we would come together, you know, as two blokes. That’s how men do at weddings, mate. And thank you very much,” he gestured towards the retreating debutant. “I think I may have had a chance with that one.”
Devastated, demoralized, all twelve of Pelcretuche’s eyes cast down, stalks wilting. He fought back tears, his tentacles shaking, every single bulging pouch glistening with the slime of deceit. “I was really looking forward to this. I’m so humiliated.”
“You’re taking it all wrong, mate,” Walter soothed, rubbing what he thought might be Percretuche’s shoulder. “There’s bound to be a bird here for you.” Cigarette in hand he gestured out towards to lawn and did a double take, for there, at the top of the steps leading down to the swimming pool, stood Jessica Rabbit, flaming red hair, painted on sparkly gown and all.
Walter’s jaw dropped. “Would you look at the headlights on that one?” Pointing her out, he glanced around at Pelcretuche. But Pelcretuche had gone, tobaganing across the lawn, scattering swans and coasting under the lilified arch, nearly toppling the punch bowl table before skidding to a stop just as Ms. Rabbit’s stiletoed toe hit the bottom step.
Clasping his outstreched limb, she batted her perfectly drawn on green eyes at him and smiled alluringly.
“I see there are still some gentlemen with manners.” Her husky voice sent shivers through him.
The Xanax was finally kicking in.

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