Larry and Mick are Abducted by Aliens

'Larry?' said Larry.
'I'm Mick,' said Mick. 'You're Larry.'
'Sorry, I mean... Mick?' said Larry.
'But why would you confused me with you?' said Mick. 'It doesn't make sense.'
'Yes it does,' said Larry.
'No it doesn't,' said Mick.
'It's an easy mistake to make,' said Larry.
'No it isn't,' said Mick.
'Yes it is,' said Larry.
'Unless...' said Mick.
'Unless what?' said Larry.
'Unless you aren't who you say you are,' said Mick.
'Who else would I be?' said Larry.
'Well let me see...' said Mick. 'You look like Larry and you sound like Larry.'
'And I smell like Larry,' said Larry.
Mick sniffed Larry. 'Yes you do,' said he.
'So I must be Larry,' said Larry.
'Unless...' said Mick again.
'Unless what?' said Larry once more.
'Unless...' said Mick for a third time.
'Enough unless-es already!' 'Sorry.'
'Unless...'
'!'
...you're Larry's long lost twin brother!'
'That, I am not.'
'Larry's clone?'
'Nope.'
'An android of Larry?'
'Nyet.'
'A space alien disguised as Larry, who has come to whisk me off to his flying saucer and perform unspeakable and intrusive surgical procedures on me in the name of science?'
'Correct!' said the-one-who-had-called-himself-Larry, as he peeled off his face, thus revealing a decidedly unpleasant and inhuman countenance. 'Well more or less...'
'Pomegranates and pulchritude,' said Mick.
'Let's be off then,' said the space alien.
'I'll just get my coat,' said Mick.
And off to the flying saucer they went.

'Greetings, friend Mick.'
'Greetings, friend Larry.'
'So they got you too?'
'It would appear so.'
'Unfortunate.'
'Indeed.'
'I managed to smuggle in tiddlywinks.'
'That should pass the time in between the unspeakable and intrusive surgical procedures.'
'Not to mention the electro-shock treatment.'
'Thanks for mentioning that.'
'That's okay.'
'I was being sarcastic.'
'Oh.'
'Get the tiddlywinks out then.'
'Okay.'
Larry & Mick played tiddlywinks.
And waited.
And played tiddlywinks.
And waited some more.
After several hundred games of tiddlywinks, they examined the features of the room they were in. Which were precisely none. No Victorian wrought iron fireplaces, no stylishly modern dado rails, no brass Art Deco light sconces... nothing. Bare white walls, a cube five metres on each side; not even any doors, a single lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling, old drawing pin holes or Blue-Tac stains.
'This room,' said Larry, 'takes Minimalism to the extreme.'
'I fear,' said Mick, 'that, even though it would appear their design intention was Minimalism, they actually just forgot to put anything in it.'
'Forgot?' said Larry. 'Or intentionally rescinded from doing so, in order to elicit a particular psychological response from its occupants?'
'Is "rescinded the right word?' said Mick.
'It sounds good,' said Larry.
'So,' said Mick, 'what would be the specific nature of this required psychological response to which you refer?'
'How would I know?' said Larry. 'The bastards are aliens.'

'Most impolite,' said the alien who materialised in the room before them. 'Honestly, you humans can be so disrespectful of your captors.'
'Well I'm sorry,' said Larry, 'if the prospect of having a large probe stuck up my bottom doesn't fill me with gratitude.'
' "Large probe?' said the alien. 'That's just so 1950's. I think you'll find things have moved on somewhat since then.'
'Can I just ask,' interjected Mick, 'why you have a head like a cow?'
'You may indeed ask,' said the cow-headed alien. 'But I shall respond by asking in return why you have a head like a hairless chimpanzee?'
'My head is not hairless,' said Mick (suddenly feeling very self-conscious re the bald spot a small child in a train station had pointed out to him the other day).
'It is,' said the alien, 'compared to that of a chimpanzee.'
'Fair point,' said Mick.
'Now where was I?' said the alien.
'I believe,' said Larry, 'you were explaining the anachronistic nature of anal probes.'
'Not explaining, merely mentioning,' said the alien. 'As a point of fact, anal probes have been decommissioned since 1959, due to the health and safety concerns which were raised as a result of the implementation thereof.'
'Health and safety concerns?' said Mick.
'You really don't want to know,' said the alien.
'Returning to the matter in hand,' said Larry, returning to the matter in hand; 'if you aren't going to use anal probes...'
'...due to the health and safety concerns...' said the alien.
'...due to the health and safety concerns...' said Larry; 'then what do you intend to do with us?'
'Oh, you know, a few questionnaires, psychometric testing, things of that nature.'
'That doesn't sound so bad.'
'And we thought we'd try out the new Genital Stretching Technique.'
'That sounds unpleasant.'
'Oh I don't know,' said Mick.
'We'll talk about this later,' said Larry to Mick.
'Dinner's in half an hour,' said the cow-headed alien, who then dematerialised in a puff (if that's the right word) of dematerialisation.

'We're doomed,' said Mick.
'I'm hungry,' said Larry.
'You should have eaten your kneecap soup.'
'I'm vegetarian.'
'Since when?'
'Since the cow-headed alien told us about that Genital Stretching Technique.'
Mick's eyes misted over and a hint of a wistful smile appeared on his lips.
'You're weird,' said Larry.
'I am merely in touch with my Shadow.'
'With your what?'
'The dark side of personality.'
'Who are you, Darth Mick?'
Before this conversation could continue, the cow-headed alien appeared once more.
'You ready?' said the bovine-bonced, non-Earth-based being.
'Not really,' said Larry.
'Tough titties,' said the alien, as he zapped both Larry & Mick with a raygun.

They woke, naked, strapped to an operating table. Like you do. When abducted by aliens. They were less than pleased with this state of affairs. Particularly Larry, who had recently developed a large, unsightly skinflap just to the left of his belly button, which he had hitherto kept hidden from the world (including his best friend Mick).
'What's that weird bit of skin by your belly button?' said Mick.
'Never mind that, here come the aliens.'
And they did.
Including the cow-headed one.
And a sheep-headed one.
And a llama-headed one.
And half a dozen or so very small gerbil-headed ones.
'How,' said the cow-headed one, 'am I supposed to perform unspeakable procedures on these two humans, with gerbils running around the place?'
'Sorry,' said the llama-headed one, as he gathered them into a cage he just happened to have upon his person.
'Now then,' said Cow-Head; 'where did I leave that Genital Stretching equipment?'
'Here it is, Doctor Xnrftz,' said Sheep-Head, in a sultry female voice.
'Thank you, Nurse Wblfsnk,' said Doctor Thingy.
It was big and it was shiny, and it had lots of sharp bits and bits that looked like they attached to things in a very painful manner.
Larry gulped and contemplated unconsciousness.
Mick thought thoughts he really shouldn't have been thinking. He remembered a specialist website he had looked at recently.
Then all Hell broke loose.
Well not so much 'Hell,' more a sort of virtual version of Hell created by an X-Files fan who had very basic programming skills. Well actually, not that basic, as it did involve realistic 3D graphics, impressive particle-based lighting effects, motion capture animation and suchlike. Or would have done of it was computer generated. Which it wasn't. Being real'n'all. But I digress...
All 'Hell' (sort of) broke loose.
Explosions occurred; shots were fired; shouting and screaming was heard; things broke; more things broke; glass, gerbils and other gubbins flew about the place; and all whilst Larry & Mick lay there in the nuddy on their respective operating tables, fearing for the safety of their wobbly parts.
Then there was silence.
Then the smoke cleared (I didn't mention the smoke, did I? Well there you go, I just did...). And out of the smoke emerged a man in a dark suit, dark glasses and an uzi in each hand.
'It's Barry Burgerbap!' said Mick.
'Agent Pascoe, MIB, to you,' said the dark-suited fellow, as he holstered his uzis.
'Thank God you came!' said Larry.
'Yes, I can see you're pleased,' said Agent Pascoe, as he tossed a tea towel in the direction of each of the men's centrally-located happiness-indicators; 'but that's the last thing I want to see after blowing away alien scum.'
Agent Pascoe, aka Barry Burgerbap, rescued Larry & Mick, and they all went back to Barry's mum's for a cup of tea and a celebratory slice of Battenburg.

[ FIN ]