So…
Trog’s gone and as I tend to do while he’s here, I lay low. But I finally did get to go and see Watchmen while he was visiting my brain. I didn’t take my girlfriend Lacey because she’s too not into “outer space stuff,” which I told her there wasn’t any “outer space stuff,” but I would have been lying had I known Dr. Manhattan went to Mars.
I didn’t read the comic book, or I mean the comic novel or whatever they call it, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was going to sit in the back of the theater so my discussions with Trog wouldn’t bother anyone, but there was already another man back there, and I have a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Here’s some highlights from my conversation with Trog while watching Watchmen. (Trog’s words are in italics.)
In regard to the murder of the Comedian in the opening scenes:
Why did they kill that guy? Why didn’t he fight back?
I don’t know. I’m sure there’s a good reason later. Just watch the movie.
In regard to Dan visiting the old man, Hollis (Nite Owl II visiting Nite Owl I):
Does that old man have anything to do with anything?
I’m sure he does. Just wait and see.
In regard to Rorschach’s changing mask:
Why does his face keep changing?
Well, his name is the official name for the famous blot test. But I’m sure they’ll explain it.
In regard to everyone’s superstrength, in light of Dr. Manhattan’s origin story, and a little “bit” about the Doc’s “stethoscope:”
So did everyone have some kind of accident? Is that how they are able to fall through ceilings and break unbreakable things.
I’m not sure that’s, um, important anymore.
And why does the blue guy wear clothes sometimes, and other times not?
He’s… uncomfortable?
And Mars looks nothing like that.
Shut up!
In regard to the purple lynx with antennae:
What is that–?
Let’s just finish the movie.
Shortly after viewing the film, Trog headed home. Coincidence?
So…
Trog’s here with me. I showed him the blog, and he’s a bit nervous about the public finding out about him. I showed him the number of readers and his mind, which is technically my mind, was set to ease.
That’s when he 180′d on me.
“You mean to tell me people are not curious about the cohabitation of an interstellar species in your mind?”
He just asked that. I’m not saying things aloud to him. He has to wait to read what I write. (I paused for the proper amount of time to aggravate him, but since he’s better at being annoying than me, I’ll now answer him/you.)
Blogs take time to find an audience.
“Is there a way to accelerate this process?”
Just a moment ago, you were worried that people would find out about you.
“Us.”
Yes, us. You and me.
“No. Not us. Not solely us. I am not the only visitor.”
I had to type what Trog just said. It took me awhile to get to it because the revelation floored me. So then I asked Trog if he knew who else had visitors. I had someone in mind. This time I’m not talking about Trog.
“No,” he told me. “Though perhaps this outlet can assist me in locating others.” Then he warned me, “But we must be careful. If any authority figures discover this truth about you, I, and any others…”
He trailed off. I tried to get him to finish his sentence, but then I realized I had the TV on in the other room. Gilligan’s Island just started. Trog loves that show.
“Okay, we’ll go watch,” I told him, even though I knew he no longer was listening to me.
If anyone out there has an alien that visits your brain every month – let me know!
So…
I should have mentioned this earlier, but Trog should be arriving any day now. I don’t know if I should tell him about this blog, or if I should do a live session with him, or should I let this be my escape. I guess I’ll decide when he gets here.
Oh well, where was I? I was talking about how I met Trog, and then Lacey, and about how my brother Leonard is a jerk. Perhaps I should explain how I lost all my friends when I told them.
Geez, when I say “all my friends” it seems to imply that I had tons. I had maybe ten people I associated with on a regular basis. Maybe associatesis a more accurate descriptor than friend anyway. I mean, they did pretty much abandon me when I confessed something very personal to them. And it wasn’t any kind of weird, kinky thing, either. It wasn’t like I, well, I guess I can’t even really think of anything offensive, or if do, I’m too embarrassed to type it.
Oh, I know. I could catch you up on my life. You know I had my house and my car paid for before I was let go, and it was at that point I met my girlfriend. She’s the reasokzdfv’ skpejp awefqjw]ef uq guu]uU
Gotta go. Be back soon.
So…
My brother Leonard. He’s kind of an asshole. But he’s my big brother, and I think he believes being an asshole is like his job. As if he was born for it. But how could he be born for it? I was required to exist in order to make this happen. The question that remains is this – was he an asshole because of me, or despite me? Now I’m starting to sound like Trog with all the questions…
The fourth time Trog arrived I was helping Leonard move. I tried to get out of it, expecting Trog’s cranium slam at any moment, but as I mentioned -Leonard’s an asshole and he has even less friends than I. Well, since I told everyone about the alien that visits my brain, he might beat me in that department.
Well, being the good brother that I am, I helped him because no one else would.
“Do you have to be such a wuss?” This is his method of motivating me. We were trying to angle a couch up a narrow staircase. He was at the top. Guess where I was.
“I’m telling you this thing isn’t going to fit. Why don’t you just keep it in the spare room down here?”
“Because it’s the upstairs couch!”
Now you might also be wondering why I was at the bottom of the staircase if I was a wuss, as he often called me. It’s because I have at least 80 lbs. on him. I’m bigger. I’m stronger. And I still let him push me around.
“Let’s give it another go. On the count of three. One, two, three!”
We both grunted as I pushed. I don’t know what he was doing.
“Angle it! Angle it!” he chanted.
Trog arrived and gave me that extra oomph. The couch finally budged, you could say. I shoved it into the drywall behind Leonard. Oh, yeah. And it crushed my dear brother.
He screamed. “Pull it back! It’s crushing me!”
As I tried to, Trog started up his usual inquisition. “Is that an attacker?”
“No, Trog.” I pulled on the couch. “That’s my brother.” I ripped the armrest pillow off, and flew backwards.
“Are you the attacker?” Meanwhile, Leonard continued to wail,
“Why would I attack my brother?”
“Gah! Who are you talking to ass munch? Are you calling for an ambulance?”
“No, I’m–”
“My ribs are crushed!”
I hurried to his kitchen. His land line phone was still packed away. It’s funny that it wasn’t too long ago when home phones were still commonplace. Now I hear they’re considered a luxury.
Leonard called out again as if I forgot. “Ambulance!”
I shouted back to him in that sing-songy holler. Why do we do that weird voice in stressful situations? “I don’t have a cell phone. Do you have one?”
“Randall Gort, do you require assistance?”
“Not now Trog.”
Leonard moaned his response. “It’s in my pants pocket. It’s jammed in my leg!”
I hurried outside without grabbing my coat. It was still winter, and though most folks sidewalks were shovelled, my brother’s was coated in ice.
“Randall Gort, are you enlisting neighbor’s aid?”
“Not now Trog!”
That’s the last thing I remember. Until the hospital.
“Good, you have regained consciousness,” a voice said as I opened my eyes.
“Trog, is that you?”
“Who’s Trog?” The voice belonged to my doctor. I turned my head to find was sharing a hospital room with Leonard.
The doctor explained the scenario to me. Apparently, I slipped on the icy front walk and struck my head. The second such wound to the back of my skull, not counting Trog’s re-entries. A neighbor called for an ambulance, and upon arriving and finding the front door left open, they helped Leonard.
“Is my brother going to be okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He just passed out from exhaustion. He was screaming too much.”
I was pleased. At that point the doctor had this to say, “We can keep you both for further observation. But I’m going to need your insurance.”
“Leonard! Time to go!”
We had to call a taxi. I made Leonard pay.
On the ride home, Trog finally spoke up again. “I am pleased that you escaped your demise. Again.”
“Me too,” I answered.
Leonard looked at me shocked. “How did you know what I was thinking?” He patted my shoulder and smiled.
To this day, I still don’t know what he was thinking, but he was nice to me the remainder of that car ride. When we returned to his home and the hacked up couch and busted drywall, he lunged at me.
Trog chimed in once again. “Are you sure he is not an attacker?”
So…
Let me tell you about Lacey, the lady in this tale and the lady in my life. She’s pretty close to what I’ve been looking for. She’s pretty and she stays close. Haha.
But really, I couldn’t ask for a better gal. Especially since she didn’t leave me when this scene went down.
It was our four week anniversary. She kept better track of such things back then. I’ve only learned to do so out of necessity. I made arrangements for our first date a few days after we met. That way I knew Trog would be out of my head. Or at least I hoped. And it worked out for the most part. Aside from his constant pestering to call her, our second mind-meld, or whatever, was rather pleasant. He still had an interest in watching TV, and politely waited for commercials to ask questions.
Back to our four week anniversary, and here’s the thing about it. I thought it was the four week anniversary of our first date. For her, it was the four week anniversary of when we met. I should have realized I hadn’t heard from Trog, so I should have expected him, but then again, I probably wished that he wasn’t returning at all.
We were eating dinner at a fancy restaurant… I think it was the Outback Steakhouse… when bonk! Hello, can of corn!
(I should mention why I refer to it as feeling like a can of corn hit me in the head. When I was about eight, and my older brother Leonard was eleven, we got along about as well as toothpaste and orange juice. During the course of one of our fights, he chucked a can of corn at me, of course. Put me in the hospital for stitches and an evaluation. I volunteer this story freely, now. Trog already pestered me all about it.)
So back to the delicious steak platter and Awesome Blossom, and bam! I flung forward onto my delicious steak platter and my hand launched the Awesome Blossom across… wait. I think Chili’s had the Awesome Blossom and Outback had the Bloomin’ Onion. Yeah, that sounds more Aussie. Unless it was Aussome Blossom? But I digress.
Lacey thought I had a heart attack. She sat me upright.
“I thought you had a heart attack!”
I shook my head in response to her response, but also in response to Trog’s initial, um, response. Trog said, “Hot dog! Is this a date?” He got the Hot dog! from watching It’s a Wonderful Life! with me. Twice. Okay, three times.
As Lacey cleaned my shirt, the staff cleared my widespread mess. I rubbed my head and tried to ignore Trog.
Lacey said, “I thought I saw this happen the day I met you, in the store, but you seemed to be okay. Are you epileptic?”
Trog said, “This looks like a date. She seems to think you both are on a date my the manner of her actions. Will you be copulating tonight?”
I shook my head no to both of their questions. “Excuse me for a moment,” I told Lacey and the waiter staring at me, jaw dropped.
“Are you going to be okay?” The biggest heart in the world belongs to this girl, I tell you.
In the men’s room… wait, Outback has a clever name for it. Is it Jack, as in Jack and Jill? Or, oh! Is it Blokes and Lasses? Yeah, it can’t be Jack because of the implications. Imagine – the Jack room. Sorry. Off topic again.
I started yelling at Trog. “If this thing is going to work between us, we’re going to have to act like a team. You need to give me a heads up when you’re going to be breaking into my head.”
“The time frame is a shifting window. I cannot be more specific than once every month.”
“But do you understand the concept of team?”
“To behave as one cohesive unit. Understood and duly noted.” He remained silent as I rinsed my face off in the sink. But not long enough. “What sport will we be partaking in?”
I lost it, and I roared in frustration. At that moment, a flush was heard from one of the stalls. I froze like I was in Jurassic Park and there was a T-rex breathing down my spine. A woman emerged, clinging to her purse. She beelined toward the exit. As the door slowly closed, I read the sign on its front: Lass. Like I said, I think it was Lass, but I’m not going into this again.
Not too long after, Lacey came looking for me. I was sitting on the floor beneath the counter, my arms wrapped around my head.
“You can go, if you want to,” I told her.
She laughed. “Isn’t it a little early in our relationship for me to go in front of you?”
She’s such a doof. I laughed. Even Trog joined in.
So…
Now you can see how Trog can get on my nerves. I guess that’s easy to do when you’re located at the main station running all the nerves.
At the time of his first visit, almost four years ago, I was on the verge of rock bottom. I lost my job. I banged up my car’s radiator when I crashed into my garage. Luckily, all things had been paid for. I had my little piece of suburbia paid for in 15 yrs. My car was paid off in three. So when I started to collect unemployment, the bulk of it went toward food and cable television.
After Trog’s first visit, which lasted less than a day, I thought he had been a figment of my stress, shock, imagination, or hunger. His “why’s” were rubbing me the wrong way, and I think when I snapped at him, he took it personal.
If you remember, I asked if he was my mother, since he was acting like her by telling me to change the trash. From then on, he remained quiet while I gathered up my bag of pretzels and nacho cheese and plopped in front of the boob tube. I assumed he’d left or faded away, until his return the following month.
I was at the party store when it felt like a can of corn struck me in the back of the head. I was checking out the bags of chips when it happened and my entire body thrust forward. I crushed and popped more than a few packages open. Good thing I wasn’t by the coolers or in the large candy aisle.
“Arrival. Success.”
“Damn it. You again!” A couple in the store looked at me strangely. Well, they didn’t look strangely, as in making their hands into binoculars to look at me. I mean they thought I was strange, and I could see it in their faces. I tried thinking what I wanted to say, but as it turns out, Trog takes over my inner-monologue. So I had to speak what I so desperately tried to not say. “I thought you were gone for good when I called you my mother.”
“No. I understood you were upset. I regarded the visionary glass you were studying for the remainder of my stay.”
“You mean TV?” The strangers were avoiding me at all costs. This was before I got my Bluetooth earpiece. Saves me mucho embarrassment.
Out of nowhere, Trog spilled his heart. “I like you Randall. I enjoy your simple structure.”
Out of being complimented, I was gracious. “Well, thanks Trog. Say, uh, you’re going to be leaving again right?”
“Yes. That is true.”
“Like tomorrow, like last time?”
“No. Like last time, I will be staying for one week.”
“But I thought… But you remained quiet.”
“Television.”
“Will you be doing that this time?”
“We are merely at the start, Randall Gort. See that female ahead of you. In the queue at the transaction post.”
I nodded. Then I answered, “Yes.”
“I can feel nods. Please do not nod.”
I nodded, then said, “Okay.”
“You must engage her in conversation, and invite her to partake in a meal with you.”
“What makes you think that?”
Trog did not answer. So for whatever reason, I listened to the little alien, and I walked up to the woman. She was about my age. She held two bottles of wine in her hands. I asked her if she was planning to juggle. She said to do that she’d need three bottles. We laughed. I got her phone number.
Back in the car, I called out to Trog. “Did you have anything to do with that? How did you know she would accept a date with me?”
Trog finally answered. “I did not. But fantastic job.”
And that’s how I met Lacey. We’ve been going together ever since. But more on her next time.
So suffice it to say, Trog basically saved my life. He probably saved his life by saving mine, so it wasn’t entirely noble, but still, it was kind of him. And okay, maybe you could argue that if he wasn’t in my head in the first place, the garage door opener wouldn’t have shorted out my motor functions and rendered me consciousness. It still remains a problem when he visits, but luckily, it’s isolated to openers and not other types of remotes.
Once I escaped the toxic fumes gathering in the garage, I sprawled out on my living room couch. Trog started up again. “What was that device that rendered you unconscious?” That’s how I learned that phrase, as opposed to saying “knocked out.”
I rubbed my temples and rolled my eyes beneath my eyelids. “It was a death beam.”
“A death beam, you say? In such proximity to your person? I arrived at an appropriate time, then.”
“Your timing is impeccable.”
I got up and headed to the kitchen. I was thirsty and craving some milk. I finished off the carton within two glass fulls, and noticing the trash can had reached its limit and was overflowing, I put the empty container back in the fridge.
“Why did you do that?”
“I don’t want it to stink up the kitchen from sitting out.”
“Why not empty the receptacle and start over?”
“What are you… my mother?”
I was talking about the first time Trog and I met. I guess by saying how we met implies that it was the first time. I never would have thought twice about that sentence before Trog, but now, in a way when he’s here, I do think twice.
So let me take you back to my mental state at that time. And believe me, I’m with the masses when I think back to those early days. In simply retelling the story now, I would think I was going crazy, too. At times, I wish that’s what it was.
I had just been “let go” from my factory job I’d held for 18 years. Half of my life I’d given to that company, and they didn’t bother refunding any bit of it. As I was cleaning the snow off my car, it felt like I had been hit in the head with a can of corn. It turns out, that was only Trog breaking the astral plane barrier into my mind, and that’s how it feels.
After I gave up searching for an unseen attacker, and thinking I was only hearing voices, I got into my car to get away from it all. That’s when Trog asked, “Are we leaving soon?”
“Who’s there?” I shouted in maximum frustration.
“Is your memory sufficient or are you being rhetorical?”
“I don’t even know what you just said.”
“This is your native tongue. Every word choice I gather derives from your lexicon.”
I put the car in drive and crunched through the snow gathering in the parking lot. “I must be going crazy.”
“Is that where we are heading?”
“Listen… Trog. I don’t know if you’re in my head or not.”
“I am in your head.”
“I mean in my imagination, doof. I’d like you to leave me alone immediately.”
“Duly noted.”
For the remainder of the ride home, there wasn’t a peep. I didn’t even turn on the radio. I checked my skull from time to time to see if there was any wound, bump, or blood, because it still hurt.
Upon reaching my driveway, I pressed the garage door opener. However the remote worked, whether it’s radio signals, microwaves, infrared, it affected Trog which in turn affected me. We both shrieked in unison. I passed out, only to be waken maybe an hour later by Trog.
“Randall Gort. Randall Gort. Return to consciousness, Randall Gort.”
As I sat up out of my driver’s seat, I realized that my car had coasted into the back of the garage, and had been idling while I was out.
“I thought you left me alone like I said.”
“I did. I was merely observing. For the last hour, I have been trying to awaken you. Carbon monoxide has been filling this chamber. We must escape to fresher air.”
Trog was right. The garage door had closed behind me. I turned off the engine and readied to hit the opener again, when Trog reminded me, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The first time Trog made his appearance known to me, I was leaving work during a snow storm. It was the last time I’d be doing so, since I had just been fired from my job. Or as my boss succinctly put it - I was “let go.”
As I shoved the snow piles off the windshield using my forearm like a plow, it might be fair to say I was crying. I don’t know why I was crying when I couldn’t have cared less about my position on the factory line, but it happened nonetheless.
That’s when it hit me. Trog, that is. Whether it’s his spaceship or himself, I don’t know. However Trog gets through my skull feels like a can of corn was chucked at you. It knocked me over the hood of my car.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “The first visit opens the channel. The remainder of the visits will have no such effect on you.”
I braced myself to stand up and turn around. Not a soul in sight. The heavy flakes bounced the parking lot lamp light further than it would normally go, and all I saw were more snow coated vehicles.
“The liquid leaking from your optical inputs is not comprised of the same chemical makeup on the remainder of your display.” Trog has broken his language down to much simpler terms since that first visit.
The voice was as clear as someone standing next to me, yet there was no one. “You mean my tears?”
“Tears. Duly noted.”
I started to realize the voice was coming from within my head my the slight echo it made. And I know I hadn’t thought that thought. I don’t think about most things. I didn’t then and I don’t now. I didn’t think about the flakes melting against my cheeks, and the salty streams running alongside them.
“What causes these tears?”
“Getting hit in the head with a can of corn, for starters.” I looked around my car for any signs of a weapon, still unwilling to believe it was all in my head.
“Duly noted.”
“Say, who are you?” I asked.
“Trog Llad-nar. From Otherplace.”
“You’re lying. There is no place called Otherplace.”
“You are incorrect. There is Noplace, and there is Otherplace, but they are not in the same place. Nor are they Sameplace.”
Just about then, a major headache started kicking in. “I need to sit down.” I retreated to the interior of my ride. I started the engine and let the wipers do the remaining cleaning. For a few moments, the warming engine was all I heard. Then Trog started up again.
“Are we leaving soon?”
