Yes, I was borrowed by aliens. Not abducted. Got that straight? Okay, I'll admit that this sounds preposterous. Even to me and I was there. Most likely this will be one of those stories only the rags will touch. Still, I feel that I have to tell it. Frankly, I still have trouble believing this myself.

I was just getting ready to go to work by attending some new movies. Oh! Almost forgot to tell you. I'm a critic. I review movies. No matter how good or how bad they are, I sit through them on those buttered popcorn stained seats with the chewing gum stuck under the armrests. Yeah, I take plenty of napkins with me because of that. Not that I haven't left a few buttered popcorn stains myself. Even I forget sometimes to wipe my hands when I grip the armrests . . . to get up. Certainly not out of fright at some of the hokie effects I've seen in my time. . . Okay, I'm getting away from what happened. Sorry.

There I was leaving my apartment on the lower side of town when a shadow fell over me. I didn't think anything about it until I realized a few moments later that my feet weren't touching the ground as I walked. Fact is, I wasn't walking anywhere. I was slowly being drawn up into the cause of the shadow. Yeah, that's when I first saw the ship.

Big?

Not on your life. If anything, I was disappointed at the small size even though it was creating a shadow over half the street. However, you get something in the right spot, you can throw a large shadow as well.

Did I holler?

Hell yes, I hollered. Not a soul even looked up at me to see what the problem was. All I got was the typical big city response to someone in trouble. Far as I could tell, everyone was waiting for a body before they were going to notice anything. Fact is, I'm glad that didn't happen since it would have been my body.

So there I was. Being drawn up into an alien space ship. I was certain that I was being abducted for dissection or something just as terrible. Then I'd be deposited back on the street. I sure didn't believe that I'd be some kind of leader or war hero they selected because of my genes. That happens in the movies I review, not in real life. Anyway, I figured I was in for a really bad time. Little did I know just what kind of bad time I was in for.

When I reached the ship, an opening closed behind me. At last the beam they used on me was switched off. I could finally feel something solid under my feet. I was grateful for that little bit of normalcy. It sure didn't last long.

An alien who later called himself Ferg X escorted me away from the teleporting room to what became my quarters for the journey. Frankly, I was aghast at the sight of them. The quarters looked like they had copied my bedroom and the middle seats from the Bijou Theater. While Ferg X showed me my quarters, other things were happening that I wouldn't have suspected at the time. Little did I know that they were trying to actually make me feel comfortable as if I was either at home or at work.

Ferg X went about giving me a device that clipped onto my ear. At first I tried to refuse it. I felt sure that it was something that was meant to drill into my skull and let my brains drip out after they were pureed by some hidden blender blades. After a few more moments of persuasion, namely holding down my arms and placing it on my left ear against my will, I realized then that I wasn't to be deprived of my brain. That's when Ferg X and I talked at last.

"Mr. Critic, I am Ferg X."

"Critic? That's my newspaper column name. Actually my name is . . ."

"Doesn't matter. Ferg X isn't my real name, either. It's my artistic name. It's the one you should use when you review my art work."

I said, "Sorry, but I only review films. Not art."

Ferg said, "It will be a film. A most worthy film to say the least. You will be the first to see it. Not even I will ever see my work."

"You don't like to view your own work? How do you know if it turns out the way you want?" I asked.

Ferg said, "This is a once in a lifetime film that can't be repeated. You'll understand later."

"I'd rather understand now. Otherwise, why should I even view this film?

"It's not been made yet. You'll actually see it being made."

I said, "Really, Mr. X., that's not the way it's done."

"This is an exception. It can't be done any other way. You must agree to view it. I've staked everything on it," he said.

"Sounds like you've staked your entire career on this one film," I said.

Ferg said, "More than that."

"What more is there?"

Ferg answered, "My life."

"Really, people don't kill themselves if they get a bad review. Just make another film and move on with life."

Ferg said, "Okay, it's clear you don't understand. In the film you see being made, I'll be killed. I can't make another film."

"Look, I don't review snuff films. I don't want to be involved in encouraging such things."

Ferg replied, "This is no ordinary snuff film as you call it. I've been commissioned by my entire race to blow up our planet with everyone on it. We've got no more artistic peaks to climb. This is our challenge to the rest of the universe to top us in art. We shall die as the greatest artists ever."

I sat down with my mouth agape as I listened to Ferg X explain that the film would be made automatically by the ship with me on board as the only audience. Then it would return me back to Earth along with the film. As he explained all that, I realized that it didn't matter whether I wanted to view the ultimate in snuff films or not, I had no choice any longer. The countdown had already begun. There wasn't enough time to get another critic. I was it whether I liked it or not. Among the other things Ferg acquired for me was plenty of popcorn and soda. I guess he didn't do all his homework on what humans consumed. Apparently he guided himself by a quick peek on my life after finding me somehow. He didn't go into that. He talked more about his achievement as the top artist of his artistically-inclined race. God, could he talk! He was a one- alien marketing and public relations team. It was quickly apparent that he was doing his level best to influence me later in my review.

Anyway, we travelled through space for two days before we reached his world. By then, I was looking forward to seeing him blow himself and his world to bits. I desperately needed a rest from his motor mouth. When we reached the minimum safe distance . . . for me, he left after shaking my hand and wishing me a safe journey back to Earth. That's where I was to represent his film at our art festivals and make his work available to any other alien races who might show up later.

I guess it was kind of nice of him to mention that there were others though I didn't admit to him that I intended to stay as far away as possible from any other aliens. Being borrowed once was more than enough. I figured that the next time might not be so fortunate for me. The next aliens might only give me popcorn without anything to wash away the salty taste.

Like I said, he and his shipmates left. His shuttle left the main ship and headed for his world at top speed. I guess he reached it just as zero hour arrived. Just as I figured he was in his atmosphere, his whole planet blew up into bits that flew out in every direction! I mean, that was some explosion. For once, I gripped the armrests of the theater seat I was sitting in because I was actually scared. There wasn't anything hokie about the effects I was seeing at the time. Believe me, that planet became history!

The automatic timer finally reached its limit. Then the ship turned away from what was left of Ferg's world. I was headed back for Earth at last. Stained theater seats and all. The two days return trip gave me plenty of time to reflect on what happened to me and what I would say later. I realized then that Ferg made a big mistake in not getting more witnesses. Even his film would be considered bogus because Hollywood was capable of replicating everything I saw.

When the ship reached Earth and where it picked me up from, a film canister popped out at me before the beam switched on and the ship opened for me to disembark. Yeah, the ship wasn't remaining. I was being sent home basically the way I came except for the canister. Within a minute, I was back on the street with the canister in my arms.

Around me, not a soul seemed concerned that I had just descended into their midsts. City people are just so jaded now. They think they've seen everything. Maybe with that film canister in my hands they figured me for someone in a movie. They didn't even look around for the camera. I guess they've seen too many movies shot in the neighborhood as well.

Anyway, this is my last column as Mr. Critic. I start my new job tomorrow.

What is it?

Sorry, but I'm not going to tell. That's my secret. I'm certainly not going to spoil the plot of my life by telling you the ending.

However, I will tell you about the film Ferg X left to me. Right now it's on the desk I only used when I typed out my columns. It's there for my successor to do with as he wants. Or she. As well, I wrote my last review for it. I figure that Ferg X's last film was worth writing my last review. On a scale of one to ten, I gave it a one. Thank goodness, Ferg X isn't around to find out that I panned him but good. Were he still around, I'd have said, "Your film might have possessed spectacular effects and a cast of billions, but it had no plot, no dialogue, and no main characters. Not even a soundtrack. As art it was highly reproducible, though not recommended. I wouldn't waste my money going to see it and I'm grateful there won't be a sequel. Sorry, Ferg, but that's how it is. I'm sorry you wasted all your time trying to influence me. Just be glad I don't get to rate the accommodations."