Onwards, forwards, their rocket ship cruised. Higher, higher, faster. Climbing further, away from the Earth. Gliding closer to the Universe above. The bright white Moon hovered in the evening skies like a thin disk spiraling across a Frisbee golf course. A looming, lingering patch of illumination hanging by the threads of stars strewn across the Milky Way Galaxy.
The white cheese ball was suspended in the dark evening air, high above the Earth and far below the Sun. Far beneath the planets, and the stars, and Exoplanets, where Harold, the Exo-Skeleton, did not come from. It was like the three astronauts were trapped within a dark room, looking through the top of a lampshade, staring into the glaring light as it oscillated. Flickered on and off in rapid succession. Too quick for the buck naked eye to see.
“Beautiful... ain't she fellers?” Cletus mumbled, his mouth full of delicious sliced turkey sandwich on a loaf of jalapeño and cheddar cheese bread.
“Yeah, but yours ain't more beautiful than mine,” Jimmy John said. He bit down on his veggie sandwich on sourdough bread.
“Whatchu' talking 'bout, Jimmy John?” Cletus asked. “You ain't got your own Moon as far as I know.”
“Huh? What about the Moon? I thought we was talking about our beautiful sandwiches here,” Jimmy John said.
“If anyone's sandwich is beautiful, it's mine,” Billy Bob said, hoisting his meatball and provolone cheese sandwich on wheat bread into the air like he was King Arthur after yanking sword from stone, heaving the hunk of bread up for the entire Universe to see in all of its glory.
“Whoa, Billy Bob! You're losing a meatball!” Jimmy John shouted.
Billy Bob peaked beneath his right arm as a juicy, sauce-covered meatball squeezed out of the wheat bread and fell through the air. He cupped his left hand and swiped up at the meatball, catching it on his fingertips. Sending it hurling straight into Jimmy John's forehead. The ball of meat made a mushy, squish sound and plopped onto the deck of the rocket ship.
“Oops,” Billy Bob said. “My apologies there, Jimmy John.”
“Yuck,” Jimmy John said. “Just my luck taking a meatball to the face.”
“Didn't mean to intrude on your vegetarian sensibilities,” Billy Bob said.
“How you even be a vegetarian in the first place?” Cletus asked. He crumbled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it back towards the wooden milk crate in the corner. It dinged off of the front edge and tumbled across the deck, joining the meatball beneath their lower division bumper car racing chairs.
“It's easy,” Jimmy John said. He swiped a white napkin across his forehead, erasing the trail of sauce that had collected from the meatball. “I just don't eat meat.”
“But why?” Cletus asked.
“You seen what they do to those poor animals in those factory farms back home on Earth?” Jimmy John asked. “Not an inch short of pure, wicked evil.”
“You right. I seen it,” Cletus said. “Depraved shit,” bowing his head. “But it ain’t worse than those sick, demon politicians and celebrities drinking blood and sacrificing children to the pigeon,” Cletus said.
“Moloch,” Billy Bob said
“Yes, that sombitch. Thank yuh, Billy Bob,” Cletus said. “Ain’t worse than those dancing dorks worshipping Moloch the pigeon.”
“Course not. Them pigeon and devil worshippers will face the Lord Almighty for what they have done. What I’m sayin’ is that eatin’ a factory farmed animal ain’t for me. Ain't sustainable neither. Chickens will soon come home to roost, literally. Them animals is sacred like each and every human being. They should be honored and respected with the greatest reverence as spiritual beings wrapped in fur and feathers.”
“What about hunting?” Cletus asked.
“Sure, fine,” Jimmy John said. “Hunting invasive species for survival and local consumption. And for sustainability of the Earth. None'a that trophy hunting of endangered species crap.”
“How come?” Cletus asked.
“Well, Mother Earth is an intelligent, conscious ecosystem. Can't let no flaccid, impotent homosapiens interrupt the life process,” Jimmy John said. “How'd you like it if some naked Ken doll looking gray alien started swiping our neighbors off'a the streets?”
“Them ones with the skinny limbs and big black eyes?” Cletus asked.
“The same,” Jimmy John said.
“Shoot, I already seen'em scooping up humans,” Cletus said.
Billy Bob turned around and stared at Cletus. “You've seen the naked Ken doll looking gray aliens with the big black eyes?” he asked.
“Sure have. Seen'em zip down in those saucer, disk-like spacecraft. Those suckers can move. One second they there, and the next second,” Cletus said, snapping his fingers, “they gone.”
“You seen'em snatch up our fellow humans?” Billy Bob asked.
“Well… no. But they sure do love them some cows. They suck up six and seven'a them at a time. Zap’em straight up a beam of light just like you see in the movies. Sometimes one’a them cows will kick loose from the beam and fly through the air like Rudolph. ‘Cept it has utters and black spots and no antlers or red nose,” Cletus said.
“And you seen all this?” Billy Bob asked.
“Yup. Sure as the Moon looks like a big ball of cheese,” Cletus said.
“Ain't none of that rye whiskey involved in any of these sightings?” Billy Bob asked.
“Oh there sure is some rye whiskey involved,” Cletus said. “Why else you think I'd be around cows in the middle of the night?”
“I don't know, Cletus,” Billy Bob said. “Why are you hanging around cows in the middle of the night when you got rye whiskey flowing through your bones?”
“You fellers ever try cow tipping?” Cletus asked.
“A’course,” Jimmy John said.
“Sure have,” Billy Bob said.
“You fellers ever try cow tipping... on rye whiskey?” Cletus asked, leaning in.
Billy Bob and Jimmy John shook their heads side to side.
“Well, there you go! A far superior method of cow tipping. You just gotta stay alert on your feet. Cause if them naked Ken doll looking gray aliens don't get ya, them cows’ stinking mounds of manure will,” Cletus said.
“Gee, Cletus,” Billy Bob said, “thank yuh for your expert advice on cow tipping and averting them naked Ken doll looking gray aliens.”
“Don't mention it, Billy Bob,” Cletus said. “One’a muh many specialties.”
A faint beep emanated from the control panel. Billy Bob swiveled around in his lower division bumper car racing chair and leaned over the monitor. His eyes scanned the flashing buttons and blinking lights. On the top right section of the control panel, the green radar screen flashed. A long solid object in the shape of a rainbow appeared on the outer edge of the screen. Creeping closer, growing larger with each second.
“That the Moon already?” Cletus asked.
“Nah,” Billy Bob said. “It's something else.”