Miranda, Joe, and the Little Green Man
by Michael Haynes
Miranda waddled into our cabin, something green and many-limbed squirming in her arms.
"Dammit, Randy!" I grabbed my sidearm. "What have I told you about bringing critters into the house?"
She dropped the thing on the floor and closed the door behind her.
"But, Pa! This one talks!"
I looked at the thing. It didn't really look like any of the mutants we've seen running around since The Big One fell back after JFK got elected for a second term and got Brezhnev all heated up.
Its limbs--eight, I thought I counted--wriggled around in the air and on the floor of the cabin. Whatever the hell it was, it sure wasn't something native to the good ol' US of A.
"Talks, eh? Ask it what you put over a house."
Miranda scrunched up her face. Well, of course she wouldn't get it. That joke was old back when I was her age.
"I believe, good sir, the answer is a roof."
I nearly shot the damn thing out of pure surprise.
"You do talk?"
"Think I oughta have said DiMaggio?"
I sat down.