Home > Flying Saucers Today! > Flying Saucers Today! The Bud Cups Photo

Flying Saucers Today! The Bud Cups Photo

November 18, 2014 Leave a comment Go to comments
By Graahaam Fosdick

By Graahaam Fosdick


The Lankville Daily News is lusciously delighted beyond measure to present articles from Graahaam Fosdick’s long-running periodical “Flying Saucers Today!”.  

On April of this past year, I was walking through the woods in the hills near Bud Cups (Outer Regions).  I was just hoping to enjoy some wildlife and, of course, I was sobbing hysterically and thought it best to be in the hills. Nevertheless, I took along my camera just for appearances’ sake.  As I came down the east side of a little hillock, the woods broke away into a delightful clearing.  “WHY THIS IS A FINE SPOT FOR A PICNIC,” I declared to no one (and a little too loudly).  My eyes were drawn to the utility lines which snaked their way across this lovely spot and on down the opposite hillside.

It was about then that I noticed that the clearing had suddenly become shaded.  I looked up.

Fosdick took this photograph while sobbing hysterically.

Fosdick took this photograph while sobbing hysterically.

I got the shock of my life.

Suspended at what seemed a height of no more than five feet directly over me, with no visible means of support, was a huge, round metallic disc.  It hung motionless in midair.  Although I would not dare to hazard a guess as to how big the thing was, it looked mildly gigantic.  Like the size of a swimming pool flotation device crafted into the shape of an amiable dragon or perhaps the undercarriage of a small automobile.

Very slowly, then, the disc began moving up and away from me, towards the North.  The bottom seemed convex and the upper surface reached up to form a glowing orange dome.  The object again hovered briefly over the hills.  I vomited immediately and then began crying again.  But just before it moved out of eyesight, I was able to snap the photograph which you see today.

Immediately, the thing took off.   It made no sound and elicited no exhaust or smoke of any kind.  It was simply gone in a brilliant flash beyond the horizon.  My body was trembling violently and I vomited again as I looked at my watch.  Although the sick covered the face of the watch (and ultimately made it unwearable), I was able to discern the time.  It was precisely 3:58 P.M.

It was about four o’clock of the same day in another part of Bud Cups.  A fat newsboy named Dronald Rutherford was, as usual, fatly peddling his bicycle down Lankville Rural Route 221- to make some deliveries in a distant part of town. He stopped before the Schantz residence, adjacent to the highway in the open countryside. Mrs. Schantz was puttering around senselessly in the yard beside the house. Mr. Schantz was up on the roof, removing an errant beach ball.  It was, in fact, noticing Mr. Schantz struggling with the beach ball that caused the newsboy to look up. In the blue sky above, he saw what he later described as looking like the bottom of a flying saucer.

“Hey,” he said in his lardass way of speaking.  “LOOK AT THAT!”

Puzzled, Mr. Schantz fell off the roof and died.

Puzzled, Mr. Schantz fell off the roof and died.

Puzzled, Mr. Schantz fell off the roof and died.  Mrs. Schantz followed the newsboy’s corpulent finger as it rose towards the sky. They caught sight of the thing as it remained in the air. After a short while, it took off, to quote the plump whale of a newsboy, “faster than any jet, straight for the Outlands!”

After a short while, it took off, to quote the plump whale of a newsboy, “faster than any jet, straight for the Outlands!”

Later (I was still ignorant of this incident), my photographic print proved that what I’d witnessed from the hillside had not been an outlandish hallucination, but an outlandish fact.

I was, of course, most enthusiastic about my flying saucer and I immediately stopped sobbing.  The first person with whom I shared my experience was an island friend, whom I shall call “Prance”, who came over to my apartment in East Lankville for dinner one evening. He was seated on the little green hassock, I on a chair.  After some small talk, which I angrily kept to a minimum, we sat in complete, frightening silence for a few seconds while I collected my thoughts. How should I tell him about the saucer?

At length I blurted out: “Do you believe in flying saucers?”

“Of course,” replied my island cohort in his booming foreign voice, as though I’d asked him whether he believed in the Sun or the shocking rise of “Challenges” in the Lankville area.   I was stunned. I had certainly never believed in flying saucers myself before this revelation and of all greasy islanders I have known,  I could not have visualized my friend as a “saucer enthusiast.”

“Stay here,” I commanded, leaving the room in an excited rush. I returned with my hill picture, shoved it violently into his palm and sat down on the hassock next to him before realizing that the hassock was really too small to contain the bodies of two men.  The hassock was, point of fact, really too small even for my friend but I liked offering it to people despite the fact that there was a perfectly comfortable sofa nearby.  I liked the power, I admit it.

“You don’t seem at all surprised,” I said after I related my account up in the hills.

“I’m not,” he said loudly. “I’ve seen hundreds of these things.”

“Hundreds?” I was astonished.

“Yes,” he said. “They come in many colors.  Plus, I’ve been shot with a ray gun.  That’s why I have trouble driving.”   He stared at me with a crazed look in his brown, normally empty island eyes.

We have not seen each other socially since.

Nevertheless, I present my story to you, dear reader, as pure unadulterated fact.  It was, indeed, a flying saucer that I saw.  It was a flying saucer that Dronald Rutherford and Mrs. Schantz saw.  And even my former friend “Prance”– he too saw a flying saucer although I certainly don’t believe that rubbish about the ray gun.

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