Giga alien hyena of those outer spaces

Last week Rigby was screwing off instead of working at the park, as usual, when he was suddenly aware of an enormous giga alien hyena from those outer spaces. Two meters plus as the shoulder and seething with intergalactic rage, the sapient beast identified itself to Rigby as "Thermaculon the Adorable, Pantheistic Warrior Queen". A pair of long and slender nosed cabbies stood in the corner, smoking and grunting conspiratorially, glancing at the interloper from beyond the stars between paragraphs. Philosopher-kings phoned it in, internet style. Their gaudy outfits, adorned with feathers and PVC piping, painted an orderly collage of fruity parrots on the great wall, 2 feet above the mantlepiece and 4 metres above the chair rail.

Servants whiffled about precariously, administering to parched lips, empty bellies and rancid farts. The Circumpriapist called the room to order, invoking a favorable outcome for the Uzbek polo teams and wire walkers, muttering in an Ainu dialect about trees and foreign influence. Slowly at first, mastiff doggies began to saunter about the gathering, sniffing here and there and exchanging secret looks. Homer stood on the sanitary pedestal, as awe was in play for the first time that evening.

Rigby tried to ignore the growing cacophony, marshalling his martial training inward towards his ki. Thermaculon made the first move, invoking the room with a moose. "Moose in play, white featureless room setting," proclaimed the toothy brute with undisguised malice.

"What about your space ship? Where's your space ship?" queried Rigby.

"A lass, a lack of lasses", said Thermaculon sharply. Still, he showed discomfort in his eyes and wax in his ears. Rigby smelled victory.

"Pratt and Whitney pratfalls", the clever little raccoon parried, then thrust with, "and a member of the peerage would know better."

There would be no pencils sharpened on this day.