Space Aliens Hate Their Jobs, Too

"Okay, sir," said the voice over the odd looking communication device, "I'd like to confirm your order, just to make sure I have it correctly."

"Go ahead," the tall gray man with the purple eyes and blue beard said.

"Yes, sir. You'd like 100 kilos of fish and ten gallons of diet root beer available for your gathering at 6 pm next Tuesday. Is that correct?"

"Yes it is," the gray man said, "Please make sure the fish are extra raw."

"Extra raw. Got it. What's the name for this order?"

END OF FIVE MINUTES

"Ralph Garblinkswhoopwhoopbleepert."

"Okay, Mr. Garblinkswhoopwhoopbleepert. We look forward to seeing you Tuesday night at the Ritz Hotel. Thank you for calling us to fill your catering needs."

"Goodbye," the tall gray man said.

"Goodbye."

"Well done," the green woman in the orange dress and flowing red hair said. "Your Terran accent is excellent."

"I've been practicing. Do you think I sounded desperate enough?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, good. Why we had to choose a backwater planet like Earth to hold this intergalactic arms dealing convention, I'll never know." The gray man adjusted his monocle with one tentacle while waving the other.

"I'm sure it's all the fault of that wretched Mephorian Five delegation. They aren't happy unless they have copious quantities of Carbon Dioxide to breathe." The green woman wrinkled her snout.

"I suppose so. At least they're not as bad as the Ziddlerandlissssssss."

"Why? Because they're so poor they think every thing they attend should be some kind of free event?"

The gray man nodded and the two burst out into hideous chortling.

"I suppose we should continue on with the preparations," the green woman said with a final gurgling giggle. "They're not going to make themselves, I'm afraid."

"What's next on the list?" the gray man asked.

"The convention center. We need one big enough to test the weapons in."

"Who knew organizing these things could be so tedious," the gray man said.

"Maybe next time they'll bump us up to the Findlestink Fairy Festival," the green woman said with a faraway look.

"One can always dream."

_{Images source—Pixabay.}

This post is part of the daily five minute freewrite hosted by @mariannewest. Six previously unused prompts were used to make this post and can be found in italics sprinkled throughout. If you're interested in participating in the daily five minute freewrite, please click here.