It’s not very often that a civilian is invited into Groom Lake, which is the official title of Area 51. It’s the most restricted area in America. The only civilians allowed on base are those who have had an alien encounter or someone who had single-handedly thwarted an alien invasion.

When this reporter’s phone rang, he heard the voice of his old pal, Major Russell Paine, U.S.A.F. now stationed at Groom Lake. The call was important to this WWN employee in two ways: one, it was good to hear from Russ; two, it was good someone recognized this scribe’s humble efforts at kicking evil aliens’ nads.

Within hours, this journalist was whisked to the Nevada desert. Paine was located in Area 50 ½, a small cluster of barracks and two airplane hangars on the base. His office was located in the smaller hangar. It was there that UFO abductees were interviewed.


We exchanged greetings and he put me in a room with a two-way mirror overlooking the interrogation room. “This one is big,” he said. “And bizarre. I think WEEKLY WORLD NEWS is the perfect publication to cover this.”

A minute later, Paine was in the interrogation room with a middle-aged couple – Chaz and Ginger Bappf from Rootjar, Iowa. Chaz wore a bad buzz cut and boasted a “heart-attack” red complexion. Ginger was simply radiant, her auburn hair glistening, her freckled face warm and, somehow, spiritual. After introductions, the Major proceeded.

“So,” he began. “You say you were abducted by a UFO.”

Chaz nodded vigorously. “It was a flying saucer! Ginger and me thought it would be fun to go star watch in the car in the middle of nowhere; which is pretty much everywhere around town. We watched the stars and were just about to do the nasty when the whole car lit up!”

“These guys were friggin’ grasshoppers!”

“Was it a bright, white light?”

“Hell, no. It looked like phlegm, a real latrine green ray. But it pulled us off the ground and sucked us into the saucer.”

Ginger giggled. “It was the first time I’d ever flown. It was awesome.”

And, inside the saucer, Chaz found himself shocked. “I was expecting your usual bug-eyed aliens but these guys were friggin’ grasshoppers! In suits! They strapped us down on tables and, then, extended their friggin’ insect hands and waved them over our heads. And I could hear them speaking. In my friggin’ head.”

“They communicated through telepathy,” Ginger explained. “They wanted us to reveal our deepest fantasy.”

“Yeah!” Chaz snorted. “So, I gave him my usual one: a hot tub filled with chocolate and four naked cheerleaders, a slip ‘n’ slide session and, then, a second hot tub filled with beer. They didn’t understand, I guess. And they reacted pretty bad.”

“They vomited,” Ginger snapped. “I guess it grossed them out.”


“Well,” Chaz sneered. “What about your grasshopper. His mandibles started chittering when he read your mind. He picked you up and ran out of the room.”

Ginger blushed. “He wanted to go deeper.”

“Probing, right? So, I’m left alone with these ‘hoppers’ and I’m thinking ‘They’re gonna probe you.’ Might as well make it something they’ll remember. So, I took off my pants and briefs and lay down on the table so they could have their way with me. They just stood there, all confused-like. So, I leaned over the table and shook my butt at them.

“Still nothing. So I started slapping my cheeks and encouraging them. ‘Aren’t these nice cheeks? Ever seen ham as tight as my butt?’ Nothing. So, I started waving my butt back and forth. ‘Wouldn’t you like something like this to probe? Hot ‘n’ nasty.’ Nothing. I somehow felt insulted, disappointed. So I really started shaking my booty. ‘Probe me, you bastards.’ The grasshoppers started acting weird again.”

“He probed my mind.”

“They were vomiting, again, Chaz. You grossed them out, again,” corrected Ginger.

“Yeah? Well, when you came back in, you didn’t seem to be yourself. Did that insect probe you? You can tell Daddy.”

Ginger stood up and looked down upon her husband. “He probed my mind. We found many similar values and we just melded. We had cerebral connections that were beyond sex. And ‘my’ insect’s name is Kreekree and he is of the Kralakian race. All of the Kralakian aboard the ship thought that you were dumber than mud.

“To reward me for not being a bombastic piece of bellowing beef, Kreekree imbedded in my brain the history of his race and all their scientific achievements.”

Major Paine became animated. “You know alien technology?!”

Ginger nodded. “And, the way they left it, if you try to harm me extracting it, they’ll blow up the Earth.”

The Major nodded. “Understood. Now, why don’t you follow me down the hall?”

The Major and Ginger left Chaz in the room. He started to rant. “Oh, sure, she gets the secrets of the universe and I don’t even get an alien probe? I mean, I was abducted. I’m supposed to get something shoved up my butt!”

Klaatu Barbados Fructose?

He sat down, alone. At that point, a janitor carrying a long broom entered the room. He started to back off, apologizing. Chaz stood up. “One hundred dollars for an alien probe!”

He turned to the janitor. “Are you an alien?”

The janitor looked up. “One hundred dollars cash?”

Chaz nodded. The janitor raised Vulcan “live long and prosper sign” and said “Klaatu Barbados Fructose.”

“I knew it!” Chaz exclaimed.

The janitor grinned and nodded. The two left the room together with the big broom. At that point, this reporter realized that he’d tasted vomit in his mouth for at least two minutes.

Ginger and the Major passed by the glass door leading to the hallway and she grinned at me.

And, suddenly, I felt chipper again.

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