I woke up one morning to find myself strapped to an operating table.

Not the most pleasant of experiences, I can assure you.

Standing over me were a couple of space aliens with scalpels. I knew they were space aliens because they were green and they each had three heads and six arms. Looking around, I realized I was on their spaceship.

I thought, My, what an interesting dream.

Then I thought about how unusual that was, to be aware that I was dreaming. I got really excited when I realized I could have a lot of fun with this. I could do anything I wanted!

I promptly decided that these were the type of aliens who wanted to run experiments on me by throwing a beautiful woman at me to see what I would do. No, wait – make that lots of beautiful women! As many as I wanted! And they would look like actresses and supermodels and (even better) Debrah Farentino!!!

So I decided that's what would happen. I cheerfully waited for the aliens to disappear and the gorgeous women to run into the room to worship me and adore me.

It didn't happen. (Well, you know, like it ever really did.)

A green thing towered over me with a knife and I began to realize that this was real, so I went from dreaming to screaming. Loudly.

The one with the scalpel stopped and spoke into a recorder. "The ape-primitive subject has regained consciousness and seems to be aware of the procedure. It is unknown at this time whether the reaction is a primordial instinct, or whether the higher brain functions of the subject are capable of feeling real fear."

"I'll give you higher brain functions!" I yelled, straining against the straps which held me down. "If you don't let me go and take me right back home, I'm gonna knock your brain so high it'll never function again!"

"The subject has denigrated into a pseudo-testosterone state, uttering what it thinks to be clever threats, no doubt gleaned from watching too many action films. Clearly, the ape-primitive has led a derogatory life of-"

"I have friends in powerful places!" I yelled. "Friends with spaceships, and nuclear weapons! They're gonna annihilate yooooooouuuuuuuuuuu!"

"-delusions of grandeur, no doubt as a result of-"

"My friends eat green blobs like you for lunch! They barbecue little rat-nosed aliens like you! And they enjoy it!"

"-subject has now launched into the dietary habits of other members of his species; it is not known whether these habits are common among his kind-"

"You're pathetic, and your mama's ugly!"

The alien stopped recording and looked at me. "He just called my mama ugly," it said into the recorder. Then it screamed and lunged for me.

It grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me up, which wasn't easy since I was strapped down. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. The strap across my chest dug about ten feet into my rib cage.

"Nobody calls my mama ugly!" it snarled into my face with all three of its heads. "Especially no two-bit, low-down, pathetic little primitive biped like you!"

"I think you've been watching too many action films," I gasped.

"AAAAAAARRGGHH!!!" was all I heard as he raised the knife high, preparing to plunge it into my chest.

"WAIT!" commanded a booming voice. The knife stopped a millimeter from my chest.

"...yes...wait..." I squeaked.

"We need him alive," the new voice said. It rumbled like rolling thunder.

"Well, that makes two of us!" I gasped.

"Release him."

"But he called my mama ugly!"

"That's because she was. Now release him."

The alien stood up and they released the straps. I got off the operating table and faced them all, nursing my almost-broken ribs and wondering if I could sue anyone for lots of money.

"Why do we need him alive?" the surgeon asked.

The newcomer with the deep voice was larger and was wearing a flashier uniform. I hoped that meant he was a commander. In fact, I hoped he had supreme command. He seemed to be my only friend at the moment. Even though he was an alien, I could tell he moved and spoke with the calm demeanor of people who are used to ruling.

He came up to me and said, "We extracted much information from your brain...human."

"Yeah?" My heart started pounding with fear. "Like what?"

"Many things that confuse us. We want to know how it is that one of the animals on your planet, known to you as a coyote, can repeatedly fail to catch the same bird every day, and also survive high-velocity impacts and large explosions without permanent injury."

"Huh?" I asked.

"We want to know how the A-Team fires millions of bullets in every glorious battle without killing anyone."

"Um...are you sure you've been reading my brain?"

"We want to know how that little chihuahua can talk."

"Are you sure you've been reading my brain?"

"We want to know how beer transports people into the interior workings of television sets, and how it gives men the ability to attract women like money attracts politicians."

"Definitely not my brain," I said. "I think there's been a terrible mistake."

"Tell us these things," the commander said. "We must know."

"Why?"

"There is more than one alien race studying your planet," he said. "We are the Furichi, and we will find out what we need to know. We must not let the Tissera find out the information first."

"The Tissera?"

"We have been at war with the Tissera since the dawn of time. Your planet has become strategic in our battle. We must know about the culture there, for future use. The Tissera will already be gathering data of their own. We must be first. We must know everything there is to know about your planet. We have already started with you, and we know much about you."

"Like what?"

"Like your name, your job, where you live. We know that your car keeps breaking down because you drive like a bat out of hell. We know about the candy you stole from the grocery store when you were four years old."

"Yeah, well, you know, I'm sorry about that-"

"We know that you rule at Minesweeper, with a score of 99 seconds on Expert level. We know you have a strange fixation with Debrah Farentino, and probably need to see someone about that. We know that you can't get a date to save your life-"

"Yeah, okay, I get the point Mr. Greenjeans!" I snapped. "What do you want?"

"But most of all, we know about these." He held up some paper, and I realized after a moment that he was holding up some of my stories.

"How did you get ahold of those?" I asked.

"Every word you have ever written is stored within your memory. We recreated the stories you have written, and we read them."

"You did?"

"Yes. We enjoyed them immensely. We want to know what happens next."

"Umm....what happens next is that you take me home, safe and sound."

"No."

The commander strode past me and looked out of the viewport. Below us, Earth hung in the blackness like a shining jewel on velvet. The stars all around were crystal clear.

"We are especially interested in your Doctor Who / Earth 2 crossovers. You left us hanging at the end of the second one, and my entire crew is demanding to know what happens next. They are threatening mutiny. This is unacceptable. You will write the third crossover."

"What, here?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"No. Look, I'm flattered and all, but I've got to go to work, I've got to go to school-"

"You will write, or we will aim our weapons at the world below and obliterate it from the heavens."

"What, the whole Earth?"

"Yes."

"Including all our trash and diseases?"

"Yes."

"And all the jerks who were mean to me at school?"

"Yes."

"And all the politicians?"

"Yes."

"And Universal Television?"

"Yes."

I smiled. "Fry the sucker!"

The commander turned to face me again. "You forget, DouglasLeeNeman, we can read your mind. We know that you are a caring man who would not want that to happen to anyone, and you are bluffing. If it helps any, you may think of us as your muse, forcing you to write even though it is a massively inconvenient time in your life for you to do so. Either way, we do not care. Now write."

I sighed. "I'll need a computer, some research materials, and lots of money for when I get back home, because I won't have a job any more. I'll also need a constant supply of hamburgers, coke, and pizzas."

"These things will be provided for you."

I asked hopefully, "And I suppose you'll be wanting to run a few mating experiments on me while I'm here, yes?"

"That is the way of the Tissera," he said. "Not us."

Damn! I couldn't even get kidnapped by the right kind of aliens.

So they locked me into a room on board their ship and brought me almost anything I asked for. They made trips to Earth every day for pizza, Chinese food and Happy Meals. (How they got them, I have no idea – perhaps they just went to California.)

So I proceeded to write for them, and I started with an introduction.