I could say you’re like a warm day in June,

But that’s not right, for all summers must end.

The air gets cold, the sunlight fades past noon,

And before long, school lurks around the bend.

When I look at the sun, it hurts my eyes,

Until it disappears behind a cloud,

And golden beauty turns to stormy skies,

The heavens screaming all their woes aloud.

But your bright sky never becomes too dark,

And your twin oceans never lose their shine;

Three knocks may come, the hounds of hell may bark,

But Fate can never truly cut your line.

These words I write are plain for all to view,

Forever singing what I think of you.

I never know what to say when someone asks me if a stranger is attractive. I mean, you can’t know that just from looking at someone, right? You have to spend time with them, get a sense of their personality. Their likes and dislikes, you know? I was at a bar the other night with a few buddies of mine, and one of ’em asks me, he says, “See that lady over at the bar? She’s hot, right?” 

I mean, sure, she has a nice face, I guess, but can she hold a conversation? What does she do for fun? Does she ever just stop and think about dinosaurs? You gotta ask these questions first. That's how you know.

Oh, perfect example. Last week, I’m walking through my cornfield, right, like I often do. Suddenly, wham! I’m sitting at a table in the middle of this empty white void, and across from me is this lady. Thin, blonde, probably thirty-something, from the looks of her. Hard to tell, especially ’cause she’s got this visor thing covering her eyes, like that Cyclops guy from X-Men. She’s also wearing a full-body silver jumpsuit. 

I think, whatever, you know? Free country.

We exchange small talk for a minute, you know, the normal “Hello,” “How are you,” “I am an emissary from the distant planet Merculon IV,” all that. Then she pulls out this ear of corn, sets it on the table, all casual-like. Stares at it for a good long minute.

Long story short, her people over on Merculon IV (real nice place, from the sounds of it), have been observing us for a while. She says – get this – they’ve been checking out our “seed pods,” says they’re not “up to par” or whatever. “The individual seedlets are a sickly yellow,” she says, all formal, “and the protective sheet is dangerously frail. Your gene pool will require serious intervention in order to ensure continued survival of the species.”

It takes me a few minutes more of her explaining to figure out what she means. But oh man, then I get it! Seed pods must be how they reproduce or whatever, over on Merculon IV, and they must look a lot like our corn here on Earth! And what she was, um…proposing, I guess, was to, uh…add some genetic material. Direct-like. With yours truly! Crazy, right? Feels crazy just talking about it. Little old Phil, savior of the species. 

Anyway, I explain the whole thing, she looks embarrassed, I tell her no worries, it happens to everyone. We have a good long laugh about the whole thing, and she drops me off at home. 

Anyway, I’m with my buddies, same ones, over at the bar that night, and I tell ’em the whole story. Greg’s going crazy the whole time, just losing it. Asking me all kinds of questions. But meanwhile, Jim’s real quiet through the whole thing, which is kinda weird, and when I finish, he just stares off into space, looking a little green.

“If I was you, I woulda done it,” says Greg, goofy drunk grin plastered across his face.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, she was pretty, right?” says Greg. “I woulda just gone along with it. Add to the gene pool, if you know what I mean.” He guffaws, and elbows Jim. Jim doesn’t laugh.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You mean just lie to her?”

Greg burps, and grins again. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. She sounds hot. Was she hot?”

I mean, what did I tell you, man? Some people. That’s all they care about. I don’t even think Greg’s met any cornfield aliens before, and that’s the first question he asks. Just embarrassing.

“How should I know if she was?” I ask, feeling kinda irritated. “Couldn’t’ve been up there for more than five minutes. We didn’t even get to the whole dinosaur thing. “Was she hot?” I mean…man. That’s a real shallow way of looking at things, Greg. I’m disappointed.”

“Mine was,” says Jim.

Me and Greg go all quiet for a minute.

“Your what was, Jim?” asks Greg.

“I don’t feel so good, fellas,” says Jim.

I haven’t seen Jim in a few days. He rushed home after he said that, and no one I know’s heard from him since. You fellas wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I know, you’re all official and stuff, you’re asking the questions, I know. I’m just wondering. He’s just my friend, you know, and I’m kinda worried about him, is all. 

But you wouldn’t know about that. You’re here about the noises and lights in the woods. Don’t even know why I asked.

Man, I hope Jim’s alright.

What was the question again?