You're driving down the road late at night back through all the corn fields by old Mr. Jenkin's farm. The sky is clear and you can see the moon shining bright, like a strange lunar sun shining down onto the rows and rows of corn stalk. You've got the alt rock station on and they're playing some Pearl Jam, the good stuff. You're singing to yourself, letting loose a little, cause, you know, you're all alone and the music is just moving you. "Don't call me daughter," you croon, rounding your lips to get that real Eddie Vedder depth. Then, out of nowhere, some big truck comes barreling down the road. Did it come from out of the cornfield? Was there a service road you didn't see? It looks like it's going to run you right off the little country lane, you're flooring it, sweating, nervous for what's going to happen next. Right at the last second, the truck pulls into the left lane, passing you. And what do you see when it passes you? Flapping in the wind is a mudflap that looks familiar yet strange. For instead of a chrome lady's silhouette, there is a little green alien in the same position, just like on this vintage tee shirt in great condition.