The old man stood a little less than 6 feet tall. He would have easily topped that mark were it not for the considerable stoop in his posture. I guessed the years of hard work on his farm had bent him over like that. But it was certain that not much of anything had gotten the best of him. He was definitely a tough old character. Grizzled would be an apt description.
He cleared his throat and said, "I ain't never met no aliens nor ETs. I reckon theys the same thing. I dunno. Seen pitchurs of em. Strange lookin' little fellers with them skinny arms and legs and necks and whopper big eyeballs. Downright spooky lookin' outfits. I reckon if I seen one round here I'd be hotfootin' it in the opposite direction.
"Seen a few of them so called flyin' saucers though. Don't see why them little fellers would be mixed up with those thangs though. What would be the point of zippin' round the sky cooped-up in somethin' that looks like one big dinner plate tumped-over on top of another one. Ain't got no wings nor motors. Don't make a lick of sense."
Then he stepped closer to me and whispered, "You know what I think?"
I shook my head.
"I think the whole mess is a lot of hooey made up by them pitchur show makers in Hollywood to try and sell more tickets to the city folk. Yep, it's all bout makin’ more of that almighty dollar. They don't care if they scare the pants offun them people as long as they can line their nest with more money. Course, if them city folks is dumb enough to believe all that hogwash and end up havin’ the willies and wettin’ their drawers then maybe they deserve what they git."
Then, without saying goodby or anything else, he turned and disappeared into his barn.