Who is Fruma Goldstein?

It didn’t take Fruma long to stop returning my calls. When it became apparent to me that she had moved on, I put in some effort finding out what she was up to. Finally, she called me and told me to come over to the sound stage where she was working.

“Do you know what aliens do to stalkers?” she said.

“Just give me a couple of minutes,” I said. “Let’s go get coffee.”

We sat in the canteen. Joel McHale and Gillian Jacobs were laughing together at the next table.

“You’re on a seventy-year vacation,” I said. “I’m not asking for committment. I just want a couple more turns around the track. Is that asking too much?”


“So what do aliens do to stalkers?”

“There are a lot of choices. Most of them, you’d hate.”

“Yikes. Listen, the other night you made me fall in love with you. Is it right for a superior being like yourself to just tear out my heart and walk away counting your change? You knew what you were doing to me.”

“You’re not in love. You just want another shtup or two. I don’t blame you but I’m not in the mood.”

“When will you be in the mood?”

“Soon. Unfortunately for you, I’ll be on another planet. Look, you had a pleasant experience with a supreme being, you and fifty million other humans this week. Don’t get crazy about it.”

“What? Fifty million others had sex with aliens too? How is that possible?”

“It’s mostly the do-gooder aliens in those Indian and African villages, trying to make the poor and down-trodden feel a little better. In your case, Amos said to be good to you, so I was. As a favor to him.”

“What the heck are you doing here, anyway?” I asked her. “You’re not really vacationing. You’re not a do-gooder. You’re not a collector. You’re not government. So what are you, besides Amos’ sister?”

“I can’t explain it to you,” Fruma said. “There is this…this thing that superior galactic races like to do together, to each other, you know, but it requires a little warm up. You helped me. I was getting my groove on. But another night with you would take the edge off, no offense.”

“None taken, but Fruma, it wouldn’t take the edge off. I’ll hone you. Let’s go take a whack at it right now.”

“My friend, if you bug me once more after I get up and walk out of here, you’re going to wake up in the morning to find big chunks of your memory missing. Only warning.”

I sighed.

“All right,” I said. “I understand. If that’s the way it’s got to be, then I promise you, I won’t bug you again. No more stalking. Swiper, no swiping.”

Next morning: Huh? What was that all about?

4 Responses

  1. […] written previously about Amos and his sister Fruma. They’re aliens from another planet who work on contract at Universal. I forget how I know.

  2. You aren’t a reincarnation of Philip K. Dick are you?

  3. I am presuming that Dick was trying to reproduce by budding, and you popped off his shoulders once you were fully formed. In any case, I am glad you are happier than Dick was. He was apparently one tormented son of a bitch.

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