Just for the Halibut

The sun bore into the arctic ice, melting and cracking it,
chipping off junks to become flotsam in an iceberg parade. If
someone had witnessed the alien ice cube, plopping from its final
resting place of the last one hundred thousand years, to land amidst
the polar bear carcasses, they would have made the single most
important discovery in human history. Proof of extraterrestrial life
floated into the Chukchi Sea to the Bering Sea where it finally sank,
much to the delight of a young halibut that discovered a fondness for
foreign foods. Had the halibut of known a Pacific Kittiwake would
drop by unannounced to pick him up for breakfast, he would not have
eaten quite so much. The Pacific Kittiwake almost made it to the
Juneau International airport, but internal complications forced a
sudden crash landing. There were no survivors.

Eskie, American Eskimo on patrol, followed closely by his
partner, Darren Miller, discovered the crash site. The canine
sleuth sniffed out the site thoroughly. While discovering no black
box, he did offer up a one legged salute in honor of the pilot who
had lost his life. Eskie wagged his tongue all day about his
discovery and even kissed Darren several times in his excitement.
(It's just a best friend thing.)

Had he not developed a nosebleed, Darren might have shown
more enthusiasm. Unfortunately, his fiancé of the last three
months, Ellen Trimble, was flying in her parents. When he arrived
at her place, they had just enough time for a quick romp, (It's a sex
thing), before picking up Charlotte and Jonathon Trimble, and making
dinner.

"My Ellen tells me that you're a teacher," Mr. Trimble said,
while forking the remains of his cheesecake. "What grade? How do
you like it?"

"Well, Mr. Trimble ..." Darren replied through a mouth full
of creamed spinach.

"Please, call me Dad."

"Well … Dad … I have some good students -- at least a few
that aren't as retarded as the rest." Darren jerked his head
down , unable to believe he had let that slip.

"Kids these days," Mrs. Trimble interrupted.

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Darren
interjected. "I'm sorry Mrs. Trimble; I don't know why I said
that. It's just … I … blame society. I think the kids have
always been the same. Totally retarded."

"Uh-huh," Mrs. Trimble replied, looking to her daughter.

Darren wasn't lost on the fact that she didn't ask him to
call her Mom.

"Daddy … Darren likes to play golf. Maybe you guys can get a
game in while you're here." Ellen offered, trying to melt Darren
with her eyes.

Mr. Trimble cleared his throat. "I bet being a teacher is
nice in the summer … lots of time. Do you play often?"

"Not as much as I like. Ellen keeps me busy with boring
wedding plans most of the time. But, I make excuses to get away,
mostly when she's too bitchy. Oh, I can't believe I just said
that. I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well at all. I think it might be
re-called spinach."

Darren stood up and walked out, announcing as he left. "Yep,
I'm pretty sure I'm a free man now."

Ellen, left to make amends as best as she could, cried and
apologized profusely, feeling almost grateful when a nosebleed gave
her an excuse to get out of the room. The next day, she blamed the
night before when she lost her job at the airport after asking an
elderly man if he planned to check his toupee with his luggage.
It's not as if she singled him out alone. After all, she had asked
another man if he had another ticket for his butt, asked a woman, "why
the hell she didn't slap that kid across the room," and when another
woman told her it was the wrong time of the month to mess with her,
didn't she cheerily say, "I didn't realize menopause ran in monthly
cycles." (It's a female thing.)

By mid-day the following day, Ellen snuggled onto her couch
while her parents shopped and ate mint-chip ice cream straight from
the carton, while watching Soaps like a good un-employee, when the
president interrupted the life-threatening brain surgery being
performed by the male impersonating dwarf that everyone thought died
in a sky-diving accident after she shot Luke, who she now tried to
save …

"My fellow Americans. In light of this viral outbreak, I am
forced to declare a state of emergency at home as well as abroad. I
can assure you that all measures are being taken and the situation is
close to being under control. My God, do you think they're buying
this? Oh no! Quick, blame the liberal media, bring up the gays.
No, terrorists." (It's a political thing.)

Men in black escorted the president off the stage as the
spokesperson announced to the press, "You sharks aren't getting any
more."

The commentator for CBN turned it over to Scott Reynolds,
political correspondent, who announced, "I hope I don't sound like as
big of a jack ass as the president."

From there it went Jack Roberts with CDC, who said, "It's
seems to be a virus with a Terret's effect that we're trying to
isolate." He smiled and nodded assuredly then followed up with, "at
least I didn't tell them that we don't have a fubleeping clue."

The network now returned Ellen to her regularly scheduled
programming, but by then the surgery was over and they had lost Luke,
or so they thought, not realizing that he was really in a coma on the
bottom floor of the hospital where his nemesis Michael Sanders stood
over him laughing. The shows were not interrupted again, instead
news bulletins streamed across the bottom of the screen ticker style.

"Huh, tough day to be a lawyer," Ellen said to the empty room.

By evening, when the news program was just anchor pictures
with the same ticker feed, Ellen needed to make a run to the grocery
for Pringles and Cool Whip. Just like she would three months later,
only for sugar, not snacky treats -- snacky treats didn`t take the
edge of like it used to, forcing her to go straight to the source.
That is when she ran into Darren walking Eskie.

Darren typed into a key pad and a digitized voice said, "EL LEN,
WHAT A NICE SUR PRICE HOW ARE UE. YOU ARE LOOK ING WELL."

"THANK UE," she typed back. "I THOUGHT AB OUT CAL HING UE."

One week later, the three of them curled up in bed. (It's a happy
ending thing.)