Take Me to Your Agent

"You think this is going in your ass, don't you?" the small grey alien said as he waved around an electronic gizmo in his hand. 

At the other end of this conversation was Peter, a befuddled and petrified human. He stood, mouth agape, staring at the gizmo. This was Peter Snelling, an internationally renown author. He even dressed the part: blue jeans, a black turtleneck shirt, a herringbone jacket, and a black mariner cap.

'I knew I should have gone sailing today,' Peter thought. 'Nothing bad ever happens when I go sailing.' Today had started off nicely. He wrote well today. And, to celebrate, he treated himself to an evening stroll through the local park. Then this happened. 

"Hellllllo? Can you talk?" the alien asked telepathically. The alien looked like what Peter always thought an alien would look like. He was grey, with thin appendages, black almond-shaped eyes, and a comically-large head. 

Peter just stood there stunned. He heard the alien's voice in his head and nodded nervously, saying softly, "We're not alone." 

"There it is!" the alien said, laughing. "You humans always say that."

Peter just continued to stare at the gizmo.

"Seriously, Peter," the alien continued, waving the gizmo around. "We're not sticking this 'up there.'" 

Peter felt a sense of relief and finally found the courage to speak. "Are you really talking to me?" he asked.

"Yes," the alien replied telepathically. "Well... not talking, like you talk. I don't possess an organ that can manipulate air particles like you do. So we have to rely on telepathy. But I can hear you just fine." 

Peter continued to eye the gizmo suspiciously.

"Listen," the alien continued, looking at Peter and then at the gizmo. "You are obsessed with this thing, aren't you?"

Peter didn't reply. He gulped nervously, sure it was an anal probe. 

"Listen, we don't do that 'anal stuff' much anymore," the alien said.

"Much?" Peter asked.

"Not really. Not since the closing of the Intergalactic Bureau of Anal Exploration."

"Wait... bureau? There was a bureau..." Peter started.

The alien ignored Peter and looked wistfully into the distance. "Yeah, a few of my colleagues still go rogue once in a while. But it isn't the same."

Peter tilted his head, puzzled. 

The alien paused for a moment, reminiscing the good ole days. He raised his alien hand in the air and shouted, "STAN! YOU WERE A LEGEND!" 

"Stan? The anal-probing alien's name was Stan?"

"Oh, that's the name you hear in your head. I'm transmitting the real name, but the telepathic transmitter changes it to something you can understand." 

"Okay. So Stan is the anal guy?"

"'Was," the alien corrected. "Stan WAS the anal guy. Now those days are all behind us." With this, the alien dropped his head and sighed a sad alien sigh.

Peter shivered momentarily at the thought and tried to change the subject. "So uhh... why are you here?"

The alien snapped out of his trance. "Oh, right. We need your help. And... well, you all need our help." 

"Okaaaaaay?" Peter said skeptically. "So why me?"

"Simple, Peter. You are the most respected and prolific author on the planet. Your books sell millions of copies. Even the shitty ones..."

"Wait," Peter interrupted. "What shitty ones?" 

The alien ignored this. "When you write a book, Peter, it sells. And it sells millions of copies. What if I told you I could help you sell billions of copies?"

"Billions? Something I write will sell billions?" Peter asked.

"Not exactly," the alien replied. "It is something I wrote. And it is damn good. So good, in fact, that it will bring the world together, and love will blossom."

"Bring the world together? Have you met... us? We're a pretty awful species. We're hyper-polarized and generally can't stand each other." 

"Exactly!" the alien said. "That's why your civilization needs this book... MY BOOK! Which will be your book. You will get the credit for bringing humanity together! And you need to because, right now, you humans are despised all around the galaxy." 

"Yeah, I'd expect that," Peter said, nodding.

"There are a lot of bad apples among you human types. If guys ever do join the Intergalactic Council, some of you will be charged with 'crimes against sentient lifeforms.' I'm just sayin'..."

"Nazis, I bet." 

"Well, of course, all the Nazis. But also the student-loan creditors."

"Oh, well, that does make a lot of sense."

"Anyway..." continued the alien. "So I wrote this book..." 

"So why don't you publish it yourself?" Peter interrupted.

"I don't have an agent," the alien said, embarrassed.

"Oh."

The alien scratched his alien chin in thought. "Say... You don't think your agent would be interested in a meeting with..."

"No," Peter interrupted. "No, he wouldn't."

"Of course not," said the alien. "Silly of me to think so. So instead, we just need to have you pass off this book as your own. If this book bears your name, people all over the planet will read it. And human civilization will finally start to advance again." 

"We're not advancing?" Peter asked.

"Uh, hello? Your planet just endured a major pandemic. Most civilizations would put all their resources into researching antivirals. But you guys? Your pharmaceutical companies never stopped researching erectile dysfunction pills." 

"Well, you have a point," Peter said, eyeing the cylindrical gizmo again. "I have to ask. What is that thing?"

"Oh yeah, back to this thing," the alien said. "I told you, I'm a writer. This is what I write on." He ran his alien finger along the side of the cylinder. It beeped a few times, and then a holographic screen and keyboard appeared around it. Then he let go of it, and it hovered in midair. 

"Oh, that's nifty!" Peter said. "So it is like a computer, then?"

"Oh, god no," the alien replied. "This doesn't connect to anything. It is a distraction-free writing device. Expensive as hell, but it really helps me get my first draft done."

"I've heard of those..."

The alien punched a few keys on the keyboard, and it ejected a large, flat device into the alien's hand, which he handed to Peter.

"What is thi..." Peter started but then stopped mid-sentence. "This is a floppy disk from the 1980s."

"Yeah, it contains the manuscript."

"Um, sorry. But none of our computers use this technology anymore." 

"Oh shit," the alien said, putting his face into his palms. "I forget about the whole speed-of-light thing and time-warp thing. So what storage era is this? Are you guys using the USB flash drives, or have you already advanced to using koala paws?"

"Koala... paws?" Peter asked, horrified at the thought. "Like from real koala bears?

The alien nodded.

"We are truly awful, awful people..."

"Forget I said anything about the koalas," the alien said. "I don't want to spoil the big discovery."

The alien punched a few keys on his distraction-free writing device, and this time a Hello Kitty USB flash drive was ejected into his hand. "Here you go," the alien said as he handed it to Peter.

"Hello Kitty, huh?" Peter said, eying the flash drive.

"Yeah, that's the default setting. Ninety-nine percent of humans love Hello Kitty."

"What? Wow. If that's true, it is worse than the koalas," Peter said, shaking his head. "So what do I do now?"

"This next step is critical. You must give the flash drive directly to your agent. Do not try to access it yourself. If you do, it will self-destruct. And you will be out billions of dollars. This requires trust, Peter. I trust you, and you trust me."

"Wow, billions. You really think so?"

"Yeah, it is a damn good book," the alien said. 

"Okay," Peter said. "I'll do it. We do need serious help as a species. So I hope this does the trick." 

"Excellent!" the alien exclaimed. "Congratulations in advance for another bestseller, Peter!" 

"If you say so," Peter said, watching the alien turn back toward his saucer.

"Okay, I'm outta here." the alien said, walking away. "You enjoy your impending major success." 

Peter stood there momentarily, looking at the Hello Kitty USB drive, and pondered its contents. When he looked back at the alien, he standing under the center of the craft and turned and faced Peter again. He lifted one hand to wave goodbye and was immediately sucked into the saucer with a loud slurping noise. 

Peter tucked the flash drive into his pocket and began to walk home. The rest of his walk was peaceful. When he arrived at his place, he poured himself some bourbon and sat in his study. He wondered if the whole thing really happened to him. He reached into his pocket, and there it was. The flash drive. It had happened.

He placed the flash drive on his desk and looked at it for several minutes. The temptation to plug it into his PC was tremendous. But then he remembered the alien's warning and resisted. So instead, he got drunk and passed out.

That night he dreamt about sailing. Nothing bad ever happened when he was sailing.

The following day he drove into the city to meet with his agent, Morty. Morty had been with him from the start, and the two had a close, trusting relationship.

Peter burst into Morty's office and shouted, "Morty, have I got something for you!"

"Oh, good morning, Petey, my boy!" Morty replied in his gravelly voice. Morty was an obese fellow with a greasy combover. "That's what I like to hear." 

"You trust me, right Morty?" Peter asked.

"Are you kidding? Peter, you are the best. Numero uno..."

"Great!" Peter interrupted. "So I have a book for you that will surpass everything I have ever written. I promise you, Morty. This book will set humanity on the right course." 

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, I suspect, but okay! Have a seat and tell me about it!" Morty motioned for Peter to sit in a chair across his desk.

"That's just it, Morty," Peter said, pacing and refusing the offer to sit. "Morty, here's the deal..."

"I'm listening," Morty said eagerly.

"You know everything I write sells. And it sells big."

"Of course."

"My books sell... ALL! OVER! THE! WORLD!"

"Yes, yes!" Morty nodded. "Even the shitty ones!"

Peter frowned and decided to ignore that statement.

"Here's the thing, Morty," Peter began. "The book on this drive is 100% finished. It is perfect. It has been edited, proofread, re-edited, and re-proofread. Morty, it is a best seller. We're going to change the world, Morty. You and me. Ethically. Spiritually. All that bullshit."

"Again, with the exaggeration, I suppose, but okay!"

"Morty, I've made you a wealthy man, have I not?"

"Yes, you have! Indeed you have!"

"I need you to publish this as-is. Site unseen. Don't edit. Don't change a thing. Morty, just send it to the printers and be done with it."

"That's a big ask, Peter., You know I can't..."

Peter interrupted, "Morty, I can take this book down the street to another agent and make them very rich..."

"Okay, okay, okay," Morty interrupted. "Don't do that. I will do it... this time. Only because you sell so many damn books for us!"

"Perfect. Thank you, Morty! You won't regret this!"

Peter dropped the Hello Kitty USB drive on Morty's desk and began to walk away.

"Hello Kitty, huh?" Morty asked.

"Did you know ninety-nine percent of the human population loves Hello Kitty?"

"That can't be right," Morty said, shaking his head. "Anyway, okay, Peter. I'll send it out. What are you going to do?"

"The past 24 hours have been... well..." Peter couldn't think of the words. "Morty, I'm going sailing. Nothing bad ever happens when I go sailing. I'm leaving my phone and laptop behind. I just want to disappear for a while."

"But what if I have questions?" Morty asked.

"There are no questions!" Peter exclaimed. "Just like there is no editing! Send it! It is done! Or we're done, Morty!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Morty said.  

Peter turned and walked out. "See you in a few months, Morty." 

"Uh, okay, Peter. See you in a few months. Happy sailing." 

The next few months for Peter were beautiful. Indeed, nothing terrible ever happened while he was sailing. Peter was happiest when there were no signs of land in any direction. He just watched the horizon and pondered his future. What would he do with the billions the alien promised him?  

The months at sea passed blissfully, but Peter was starting to run out of provisions. So he decided it was time to head back to shore, if only for a few days. And while ashore, he could check up on his book and see if his bank account had indeed moved him into the billionaire category.  

He finally docked and was back on solid ground. In the evening, he took a stroll to stretch his legs. In the distance, he eyed a sidewalk newsstand that was still open. Excited, he did a slight jog to it and immediately grabbed a copy of the New York Times. He was curious if he was on their best sellers list.

He didn't have to go past page one before he saw his name in the headline: "Has Peter Snelling Lost His Mind?"

'What the...' Peter thought to himself as he started to mumble the story aloud. That's when he saw it: the name of the book he had just published: Cuddles McRemington: Canine Detective.

"What the actual f..." Peter said, trailing off as he continued to read aloud.

The vendor at the newsstand heard Peter and immediately recognized him. "Hey!" he shouted excitedly. "You're Peter Snelling! I love all your books. Even the shitty ones!"

Peter ignored this and kept reading, horrified. 

The vendor walked over. "What's with this latest one? Were you drunk or what, man?"

Peter continued ignoring him.  

"Yeah," the vendor said. "A detective... that is a canine... It started off charming and kind of cute. But man, then it got dark. Real dark. All that humping shit showed up, and well... it never stopped. Page after horrible page. It was awful. And the graphic detail, Mr. Snelling. Just Wow!"

Peter was turning red. He wanted to have words with the alien that did that to him.

"Oh bro, did you hear about Elon Musk?" the vendor asked. 

Peter snapped out of his rage for a moment. "No, what about Mr. Musk?" Peter asked.

"Oh, bro... get this. Elon read your book and lost his shit! Apparently, he dismembered a koala bear in one of his labs. It sounded brutal, man! But apparently, he made some wacky discovery in the process..."

Peter stopped at looked at the vendor. "Strangely, that makes sense." 

"No, that's sick, bro!"

"Excuse me, I have to go," Peter said as he threw the newspaper at the vendor and started running down the street to clear his head.

"You have a nice night, Mr. Snelling!" the vendor yelled after him.

Peter just ran for several minutes straight. He needed a bar. Badly. As he turned down an empty street, it happened again. He stopped dead in his tracks as he watched the saucer land in front of him And again, he heard the slurping noise. And again, he was approached by the alien.

"Hello, Peter!" the alien said telepathically, waving enthusiastically.

"YOU... ASSHOLE!" Peter shouted, out of breath.

"What? Meeeee?" the alien said sarcastically.

"YOU... YOU... YOU SCREWED ME!! YOU DRILLED ME RIGHT IN THE ASS, YOU LITTLE PRICK!" Peter yelled.

"I did do that, didn't I? Well... Metaphorically speaking, anyway. Still, it isn't as satisfying as the old method, but it will have to do."  

"YOU SHIT!" Peter yelled.

The alien grinned an evil grin with his tiny, alien mouth. "Please... call me Stan."