Peppered Beefsteak, a man whose name was as unlikely as his current predicament, sat slumped in a chair that looked suspiciously like a giant, metallic toilet bowl. His hands were bound behind his back, his mouth dry from yelling, ‘I’ve told you, I haven’t seen it! It’s not in my pocket!’ He wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, but it was clearly something of great importance to the two beings currently probing him with what appeared to be psychic screwdrivers.
‘Please, gentlemen, I’m a simple man. I live on ramen, dreams of a better life, and the occasional dream of a better life that involves a decent steak.’ Peppered sighed, his stomach groaning in confirmation. ‘I haven’t seen the…thing…since the meteor shower. I think it may have been a bit…ecstatic.’
The beings, clad in silver jumpsuits that seemed to have been designed by a child with a fascination for tinfoil, exchanged glances.
‘Ecstatic?’ one of them chirped, its voice a high-pitched whine that seemed to bounce off the metallic walls. It had a head shaped suspiciously like a giant, green pear, with two glowing blue eyes that seemed to be judging him harshly.
‘I mean, it was a pretty intense meteor shower,’ Peppered defended, trying to sound nonchalant, ‘the kind that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Though I must confess,’ he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘it did make me crave…Suboxone…more than usual. But that’s beside the point.’
‘Suboxone,’ the pear-headed being repeated, its eyes widening. ‘That is the very substance we seek! Tell us, human, where is it?’
‘Well, it’s not in my pocket, as I’ve already said. I’m not a drug dealer, I’m a man of simple pleasures. You know, the occasional beer, a good book…the occasional slice of pizza. ‘ He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. ‘I’m really more of a pasta guy, though, to be honest.”
The pear-headed being chuckled, a sound like a rusty gate swinging in a stiff wind. ‘Pasta? Delicious! Tell us, human, have you seen these pasta shapes?’ It pulled out a holographic image of various pasta shapes, from the familiar spaghetti to the more esoteric orecchiette.
‘I mean, I know what they are, but, really, what’s the point of all this?’ Peppered asked, his voice laced with exasperation. ‘I’m just trying to enjoy my life, my coffee, my…’ He noticed the pear-headed being was staring at him intently, its eyes fixed on his coffee mug.
‘Ah, coffee! What brand, human?’
‘Just…regular coffee,” Peppered replied, feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe they were just really, really into coffee. He’d heard stories about the intergalactic coffee trade. Maybe he could barter his way out of this.
‘Regular coffee?’ the pear-headed being rasped, its face contorting in a display of utter disgust. ‘How…unrefined.’
‘Well, it’s cheap,’ Peppered admitted, ‘and I like it. I’m not much for fancy stuff, you know?’
‘Unrefined!’ the pear-headed being repeated, its eyes now glowing a venomous red. ‘You…you…’ it started sputtering, unable to finish the sentence.
He saw a flash of recognition in the other being’s eyes, the one shaped like a giant, metallic spoon. It made a series of clicking noises and the pear-headed alien slumped forward, tears of laughter streaming down its cheeks.
‘He…he…’ it choked, ‘He said he likes regular coffee! And pasta!’
The clicking sounds intensified, and the metallic spoon being started to wobble uncontrollably, its head shaking from side to side.
Peppered saw his chance. He felt a flicker of hope, a spark of rebellion.
‘Up your bums!’ he shouted with all his remaining strength.
The alien laughter filled the room, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of their metallic prison. The pear-headed being, now convulsing with laughter, was unable to keep its psychic screwdrivers steady. The metallic spoon being, its body now vibrating with the force of its laughter, shot off like a rocket, crashing into a wall with a loud clang.
Peppered, taking advantage of the distraction, swiftly untied his hands and bolted from the room. He knew he was supposed to be the captive, but in this bizarre, hilarious scenario, he was the victor, his simple, unrefined ways having inexplicably disarmed the alien invaders. As he sprinted through the corridors of their spaceship, he knew one thing: he’d never look at regular coffee the same way again. He was a hero, a champion of unrefined pleasures, and he would forever be known as the man who made the aliens laugh themselves into oblivion.
Lasagna Life 
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