Author's note: "Morons From Outer Space" is one of my favorite movies. This is my take on the end of the movie, from Bernard's point of view.
So they've gone off and left me again. On my own, all alone, in a strange place, this time for good. There's no hope for me now. No last-minute rescues for old Bernard, oh, no. They don't even want to know me! Whose idea was renting a space podule in the first place? Who put up the money for it? And this is the thanks I get!
The crowd's all gone home now. All 85,000 of them. You wouldn't think that many people could spared $2,000 a ticket, but there you are. Anyway, the show's over. They've had their brilliant light show, their flash, their bit of excitement. If only they knew that spaceship was real, what a laugh that would be.
Not that I'm in a laughing mood.
What am I going to do now? I've got no home, no money, no friends . . .
And suddenly there's a hand on my shoulder.
I look over. A bloke in a flashy suit and glasses is smiling at me. Hey, isn't he that manager of theirs? Sweethelm or Sweetness or something? What's he still doing here?
"You don't know me, but I know who you are . . ."
He knows I snuck in. He's going to throw me out again, himself this time instead of getting that big goon to do it.
"Bernard."
I open my mouth to ask him how he knows, and he shoves a cigar in it.
"Now then, I'd like to make you a proposal I think you're going to—oh, sorry, Sweetly. Graham Sweetly."
He takes my hand and shakes it. "You see, I am now minus my talent—"
I spit out the cigar. "TALENT? THOSE THREE BRAINLESS IDIOTS? Talented in WHAT, exactly? Being a drunken layabout? No, I'M the one with the brains! That's why they left me behind! I'll show you bloody talent!"
"That's good!" Sweetly says. "That makes my job so much easier. Who needs those three ingrates?"
My thoughts exactly. "I can see," I tell Sweetly, "this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Blob? Who needs it? I've got a great future in show business!
I just hope he doesn't put me in lime-colored Lurex.