I don’t sleep enough, I know. I work long and hard, and I just can’t go to bed knowing that a story is just out there floating around that I could snatch like Mr. Miyagi does to flies with his chopsticks. So it was a Thursday night around 4:00AM, and I hadn’t slept in three days. I was driving up and down the Midwest following a hunch that wasn’t being quite clear enough.

On a lonely road in some state that no one cares about, I fell asleep, and my car did a somersault into a ditch. When I regained consciousness, blood oozed down my face, and my everything ached. I stumbled around looking for a hospital or an auto shop. I found myself wandering off the main road, and as I teetered on the concussive brink, I noticed that I was surrounded. These tall, lanky green creatures stood straight all around me. They were silent and spooky, and there was a freaking army of them.

I said, "I’m just passing through, fellas. Let me by, okay?"

They didn’t answer.

So I ran for it, just gunning it between two of these long creepy things. But they grabbed a hold of me and threw me down. I fell down among their legs, squirming and fighting. I managed to grab one of those bastards by his head and ripped off his stoic face. I expected to see exposed flesh, bone, blood. But instead a corn on the cob was lodged in there. Whole, uneaten, just trapped in this weirdo’s mouth. What kind of strange creature would swallow a corn on the cob and not do anything with it?

I tore open some of the others’ faces. Corn on the cob, every… single… time. Insane. I knew that these weren’t earthly creatures. Skinny, stalkly aliens were here to take over. Thinking back, I remember seeing them in Nebraska, Iowa, along farm roads, waiting, hiding, plotting. I knew they were not to be taken lightly. I escaped their clutches, but I’m not a typical human being. I darted past them, hopped into the back of a pick-up full of chickens, and was off. Not everyone would have been able to do that.

As the truck sped further and further away from these monsters, I saw someone who mustn’t have been as deft and cunning as yours truly.

The poor s.o.b. had been strung up by these corn-sucking freaks. He looked like a farmer. I saw his straw hat and overalls and the look of absolute horror on his dead face. They had killed this man and nailed up his arms like they did to good ol’ Jesus.

What do these aliens want? Why are they here? Why corn on the cob? Why Nebraska? All these questions were not nearly as important as the one I discovered an answer for.

What is their weakness? I found that out, folks. No need to worry, no need for panicking through the streets and trampling old ladies. These punks can’t stand fire. Just plain old fire. So I’ve purchased a flame-thrower, gotten my combat boots all shined up, and am ready to go.

Tomorrow morning I’m headed back to the ditch where my car crashed, and I’m going to burn down every last one of them. I don’t need help, back up, or even a pat on the back when I’m done. I just need for everyone to get out of my way as I blast the hell out of those farmer-killing, corn-wasting weirdoes.

No way skinny, little aliens are going to come into my country and put our hardworking farmers up on hooks like a slab of raw meat.