It was a clement summer afternoon in Djibouti... I was making my rounds as a travelling guitar salesman, hopping from freight train to freight train with my one-hundred and sixty Epiphones and Fenders, wandering the lively streets of Obock, looking for prospective patronage. I do love East Africa dearly, but lo, sales have been sparse; you see, everyone in this strange land is left-handed, and I only carry right-handed guitars. Actually, I lie. There is one right-handed man in Djibouti, and it was to his house that I was traipsing that fateful afternoon, with my 160 guitars strapped to my back. "Hopefully," i thought, "I can sell him that one that's jammed right into my kidneys." But, as I was turning from Ahmed avenue onto Kohr-Angar blvd, I felt a dirty finger tap my shoulder. I whirled around, and saw this man:
I'll never forget what he said to me...
It was featureless, but as I stared at it longer, what looked like eyes, and a mouth slowly began to form out of the disgusting blob. It started to speak, or rather slowly make harsh sounds, while spitting its rancid blue goo at me. I slowly backed farther into the room, hand resting on my weapon. All the while keeping a cautious eye on the creature. I watched in horror as its eyes became well defined, then brighter, and they started to glow. Then a flash, as it shoots me with twin eyball-laser beams. I freeze in terror as they rush towards me, and...