[A/N] This isn’t my favorite story by any means. But I did finish writing it so I figured I might as well post it. I apologize for the lack of anything by me that is worth reading and I promise you will get something that is interesting soon. I promise. In the mean time, review this!

Chapter Three: Foiled Again

            Back when I was an ignorant fool and had no idea my wife’s “overtime” involved her boss and a motel room, I didn’t care much for soap operas. I found them annoying, poorly written, and a waster of perfectly good airtime. Now it seems as though these tales of whimsical fantasy are a page ripped out of my crumpled and coffee stained book.

            As I ran for the television, risking my life to see the end of someone else’s I realized something. I am a bigger and more pathetic excuse for a human than I originally thought. Let’s look at the facts. I can’t keep a wife (at least one that can keep her pants on), I get paid minimum wage at a job I hate, I live for soap operas, and I was willing to die for a half eaten bag of potato chips! I don’t even have enough money to buy dip!

            If that doesn’t tell you something then you need to pay closer attention. I’m only going to say this once. When I finally reached the T.V. and I realized it was a commercial for next week’s NYPD Blue I could have kicked myself in the butt. But, that blue thing from my bathroom did it first. (Actually he hit me in the calf. His little leg couldn’t reach the goods.)

            I thought catching my wife at play with another man hurt but, boy, I was sorely mistaken. The kick from that blue meanie gave me a Charlie horse like you would not believe. “What did you do that for?” I asked, hoping on one foot.

            “Oh, sorry.” He kicked me again. This time in the knee. “That’s better.”

            I fell to the floor crying out in pain. It’s not until you become one with your surroundings that you reali…ah…who am I kidding…the floor was a horrible horrible mess. It looked worse than my wife’s boss’ face when I got done with him.

            Granted, that is only a mental image. If I were to confront him with anything other a compliment he could obliterate me and I’d be the stuffing in my own dilapidated sofa.

            “I’m really beginning to think you are a…a…a really mean…blue…person!” I threw a discarded Burger King bag at him.

            The brown paper, reeking of grease and mayonnaise whizzed past his head at an annoyingly slow pace. Then, the little guy started to tear up. Yellow drops of…well tears I guess fell from his sunken-in eyes. Slowly at first but then, as I began to stand up, sobbing began and the tears fell like rain. Very strange yellow rain.

            “That’s not a very nice thing to say!” He said through the tears. “I have feelings too.”

            That actually did catch me by surprise. In my frantic hating spree I had failed to take time out to actually consider the freak.

            “I…” I couldn’t think of anything to say. “I…I certainly hope those thing falling from your eyes don’t stain my carpet.”

            For about two hours after that event, me and Flargetom, as he came to be named, sat on my sofa and discussed our problems.

            That clearly didn’t work because I write this to you from inside one of the little rat bastard’s cages. It’s been ten years and the Zenter aliens have indeed taken over the world.

            Most people were killed off, others, like me, where put in cages, and the rest…well…let’s just say us Zenter’s have to eat something. That’s right. They turn the people in cages into Zenters. It’s not that bad actually. I have a full head of hair, no one hates me, I’m not forced to work, and I’m asexual. Life is great!

The En…

            Wait. I forgot one thing. John from work ended up in the cage next to me and he told me that they found more cancer in his wife. Yeah, tough break. Then, we ate mine for lunch.

…d

{A/N} Ok…so I have to give credit where credit is due right? So the name FLARGETOM…yeah…I stole that from my friend Jim. He got a little pissy when he found out I used it…so there…there is your credit Jim. Happy now?! Ok…now you can review the story.