At precisely eight o'clock this morning, David Boyer, the notorious Vincennes, Indiana plagiarist poured himself a cup of fresh coffee, put his tin foil hat on his head and turned the TV on as he sat down to compose a trial list of imaginary ailments to excuse his crimes. He was in the middle of descibing his baffling allergy to Doritos as a medically documented cause of wanton plagiary, when a TV news flash caught his attention.
The astounding announcement that Gort, the most famous alien policeman of all time, was coming to Vincennes, Indiana to deliver to him an ultimatum so terrified the prevaricating plagiarist that he literally crawled across his kitchen table to get a closer look at the picture. Fear squeezed Boyer's heart and slowed his pulse to near Yogi levels.
Dean Koontz, he thought. Somebody must have told him that I ripped off Dean Koontz. They love Dean Koontz. Gort will lock me up in an asteroid until I turn into a mummy.
With his still nicotine stained fingers, Boyer turned up the volume.
"So," the announcer was asking the giant alien policeman, "is it true that you're walking to deliver a message to David Boyer on the first of April?"
"Gort, Klatu, Barada, Nikto, Boyer," said Gort.
"Is that all you know how to say?" asked the announcer.
The TV screen flashed bright red like a ruby on fire, and when the eerie radiance faded the announcer had disappeared and the visor that looked like Gort's alien eyebrows pulsed with a palpable anger as though it were ready to shoot out another terrible disintegration ray.
"Gort, Klatu, Barada, Nikto, Boyer," Gort said again.
Somebody must have told him I ripped off Clive Barker, too, thought Boyer.
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