The Further Adventures Of The Ickle Green Men

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“What the hell are we doing wandering around a bloody supermarket, gaffer?” the Ickle Green Man known as Number Two, who was rather poorly disguised as a sweet old lady, said. “We only eat dogs and cats and horses and an occasional parrot. Mind you, I'm convinced that my sensitive Shlagassian nose is picking up a hefty dose of good old hoss DNA, and it's rarely wrong.”

“Part of our mission is to discover what the Earth people eat,” Number One replied. “I can't concentrate though, I don't like this Brummie prostitute's get-up, and I can't for the life of me understand why you suggested I should wear it, Number Two. The oranges in my bra are rubbing my nipples and the mini skirt is too tight for comfort; these open-crotch panties are squeezing my squirrel Nutkins something rotten, and the damned things keep slipping up the crack of my arse.”

“Suits you, ma'am, suits you,” Number Two snickered. “You look absolutely delightful, my dear, and that Primark skirt shows off your pert bottie beautifully - I'd slip you one myself if we were in a more private place.”

“I don't like that wicked glint in your eyes, Number Two, sweet old lady or not, if you come any closer I swear I'll lop your cock off with a potato peeler, grate your balls, stick the sorry mess on a tray in the reduced section and serve it to the hungry masses of Birmingham.”

“That sounds quite exhilirating.....”

“I've heard that the Earth people eat a great many of these,” Five-oh-five-nine, also known as Donk, said (he was called Donk because of his partiality for donkeys). He held up a potato, and though it had a vague resemblance to a cock and balls the resemblance wasn't particularly strong, so not even Esther Rantzen would have found it funny. Nevertheless all three Ickle Green Men erupted in a fit of laughter, because potatoes were the funniest subject ever on Shlagassia, their home planet. “They peel them with their metal knives,” Five-oh-five-nine continued, at which point the aliens all started giggling again. “Boil them for twenty of their minutes.” (Again they giggled uncontrollably). “Then they smash them all to bits!” The Ickle Green Men collapsed in the vegetable aisle, to the horror of a passing woman who scuttled off to report the strange shenanigan to security.

“Oh, shut up, you donkey bothering gimp!” Number Two said, somehow managing to control his laughter. He rose to his feet, brushing down the Japanese general's uniform that he had picked up for a song on Ebay. “Don't mention potatoes again, dick breath, and I bloody well mean it – we're supposed to be on a serious mission.”

“The fucker's cracked me up,” Number One spluttered, unable to stand because he was laughing so hard. “Tell him not to mention spuds again, Number Two, or I'll die right here and right now, I'm telling you. And I can't get over his disguise – a schoolboy in short trousies with his Gayfriars comprehensive cap on backwards and a catapult hanging out of his back pocket. Whose idea was that? Five-oh-five-nine is fifty seven years old, and he looks a proper twannock!”

“For mash get Smash,” Donk said, and once more the trio fell on the floor. This time they more or less simultaneously lost control of their bladders just as a six foot six black security guard built like a brick shit-house appeared from behind the toilet rolls at the end of the aisle.

“What's going on here then gents, ladies, boys?” the huge man said. “You can't roll around on the floor in here, it's strictly against company regulations. What is this, are you lot going to a fancy dress ball? Have you been drinking? Wha-da-fuck - you've piddled yourselves!”

“It's his fault!” Number One said, struggling to control his mirth. “The fucker keeps making potato jokes, and we can't take it. Throw him out onto the street, and kindly drag us into the cereals aisle, I really can't bear it here any more.....”

“It wasn't me, Sir,” Donk said, “honestly it wasn't, I wouldn't mention potatoes to a bunch of Shlagassians, to whom all things potato related are absolutely hilarious. It was Number Two, the slimy creep formerly known as Eight-one-seven-three, but he got his serial number upgraded to Two because he's a brown-nosed, penis-loving teacher's fucking pet!” At every mention of potatoes all three Ickle Green Men exploded in fresh bouts of laughter.

“I'm throwing you all out,” the security guard said. “And if you don't leave quietly without any fuss I'm phoning the police. I'm not against folk having a bit of a laugh, but this is ridiculous – you've weed all over our nice clean floor, and that's most unhygienic. Come on, on your feet, now!”

“I should check under Number One's hat if I were you,” Donk said. “He's pinched a frozen chicken. Why do you think so many pensioners get hypothermia?”

“Have you stolen a chicken, madam?” the security man sighed.

“Certainly not! It's just that this funny shaped fluffy old lady hat covered in tacky glass costume jewellery was the only one that fit me in sodding Oxfam.” The security man prodded the hat to reassure himself that there was no sign of stolen goods. “Donk swallowed an oven ready turkey not long ago, though, the greedy fat twat - look, you can see the lump in his belly.”

The security guard frisked Five-oh-five-nine there and then, though it was against the store's rules to do so in public. The alien's baggy shorts didn't contain a chicken, they concealed a whole fresh salmon, a great chunk of expensive Patagonian cheese from the delicatessen counter, three jars of instant coffee, a large block of milk chocolate, an economy pack of condoms and two hundred Benson and Hedges Superkings. “My my, what have you got to say for yourself, kid?”

“It wasn't my fault, these fuckers made me do it!” Donk squealed. “Don't call the pigs, please. I'm way too pretty and short and vulnerable to go to pris, especially in this gear - I'll be seriously sexually assaulted!”

“You can't arrest us, matey,” Number One said. “We're not shoplifting, we're just studying what humans eat before we invade and conquer your crapulous little planet. Before you know it there'll be millions of us swarming around, and there'll be nowhere for you puny humans to hide. Take me to your leader immediately, Earthling, I demand it!”

“You're all going down the police station to see what the coppers make of you,” the security guard said, calling his colleagues on his radio, who quickly blocked off both ends of the vegetable aisle. Just then an ill secured stolen potato dropped out of Number One's open-crotch knickers, and once more the Ickle Green Men collapsed in a fit of laughter. “I don't think they'll throw you in jail, my friends, more than likely they'll take you to a secure unit where you'll be staying for a very long time, you Cadbury's fruit and nut cases.”