Mostly Potluck T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s mosTlY P oTlUCK Thanos Kalamidas Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Mostly Potluck Mostly Potluck Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Mostly Potluck S amantha Wilkinson had long accepted that she was peculiar . Not in a “wears socks on her hands” way, nor in the “collects celebrity toe- nails” sort of fashion (though she’d once met a Glim- phorian who did both). No, Samantha’s brand of pe- culiarity stemmed from her singular ability to spot aliens masquerading as humans, lamp posts, accoun- tants, or, once a particularly aggressive baguette ven- dor in Camden Market. Today, she was arguing with a toothbrush. “I’m telling you, Arglax, if you want to disguise yourself on Earth, pick something less... minty.” The toothbrush, visibly bristling, replied in a low static hum that translated roughly as, “I am in exile, Samantha. I go where the fluoride flows.” Thanos Kalamidas She sighed and dropped him back into the sink. “Suit yourself. Just don’t try to unionize the other bristles again, the last time you started a revolution, I couldn’t brush my teeth for a month.” Just then, her phone buzzed. She checked it, raising an eyebrow. The message read: 🌌 You are cordially invite d to the 349th Zydonian Inte rgalactic Potluck. BYOD (Bring Your Own Di- ge stible ). Dre ss code : Slightly Shimme ring. Don’t be late . – Gre e bnok She stared at the screen. “Greebnok?” she muttered. “Wasn’t he the one who tried to marry a lamppost in Euston?” Still, it wasn’t like she had plans. Or a job. Or a grasp on reality most days. So, she grabbed her shimmery top, the one that looked like it had lost a fight with a glitter factory and won on technicality, and set off. * * * * * The potluck was being held in what appeared to be an abandoned Woolworths, but on closer inspec- tion—and a sharp poke to her optic nerve via a re- wired shopping trolley, revealed itself to be an invisi- ble interstellar community center orbiting twelve feet above the Thames. Mostly Potluck The air smelled like warm curry and ionized dread. Samantha stepped in to a room bustling with aliens: some with twelve elbows, others with exactly one giant eyeball and a Tupperware of devilled eggs. A band of sentient harmonicas played soft jazz in the corner, and somewhere in the back, a Gelatinous Varg was trying to seduce a toaster. A Zydonian, identifiable by his elongated cranium and a very stylish vest, approached. “Samantha! You came! And on time! Only three dimensions late!” She offered a hesitant smile. “Greebnok, lovely to see you. I didn’t know I was invited to intergalactic events now.” He beamed, quite literally, his teeth emitted a low light usually reserved for reading in bed. “Of course! You’re our guest of honour!” “I am?” She frowned. “Why?” “Because,” he said cheerfully, guiding her toward a long buffet table, “you’re ‘Mostly Harmless!’” He gestured proudly to a large silver tray with a cloche. “Tonight’s main course!” “Oh no...” Samantha whispered. Thanos Kalamidas With a dramatic flourish, he lifted the lid to re- veal... A worm. More precisely, an Earthworm with tiny spectacles, a pipe, and the kind of expression that said, I’ve seen things, and none of them were properly composted. “Excuse me,” the worm said in a perfectly up- per-crust English accent, “but I most certainly did not agree to be entrée.” Greebnok’s smile faltered. “Wait... You’re not the tribute?” “No,” Samantha said firmly, arms crossed. “He’s not. And neither am I!” “But the invitation said ‘Mostly Harmless’! That’s the required dish for the Zydonian Feast of Forget- fulness!” “That’s a book description, you absolute tentacle!” Samantha snapped. “It’s from the Hitchhiker’s Guide ! Earth’s entry!” “Ohhhh,” Greebnok blinked, then turned to the worm. “Are you the Guide?” Mostly Potluck The worm puffed on his pipe. “I once had a sub- scription, if that counts.” The band of harmonicas abruptly shifted into a suspenseful sting. The lights dimmed. The room hushed. A door slammed. In walked a being covered in scrolls and glittering with lawfulness. “Oh no,” someone whispered, “it’s the Bureaucra- tians.” They were led by a rigid, clipboard-wielding being known only as Form 17-B . Its voice was like two sta- plers arguing over a parking spot. “There has been a violation,” it intoned. “Section 98-Z: No non-sanctioned Terran life forms may be consumed without planetary majority consent and a two-week cooling off period.” Greebnok raised a trembling finger. “But... pot- luck?” Samantha nudged the worm protectively behind her. “I demand asylum. For me and Reginald.” Thanos Kalamidas “You named the worm Reginald?” asked Greeb- nok. Reginald bristled. “ He named himself, thank you. I was once a professor.” Form 17-B scribbled furiously with a pen that growled every time it touched paper. “Fine,” it droned. “Sanctuary granted. On one condition.” Everyone leaned in. “Someone... must perform the sacred clean-up.” The entire room groaned. An Andromedan fainted into the hummus. The Gelatinous Varg turned to the toaster and whispered, “This is why I never RSVP.” Samantha sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Reginald saluted with his tail. “You are a noble warrior.” As the aliens departed, some teleporting, others using what looked like public transportation but shimmered in and out of existence, Samantha found herself surrounded by mountains of alien Tupper- ware, half-eaten space flan, and something hissing ominously in a vat labelled “DO NOT TASTE.” Mostly Potluck “I gave up a perfectly good evening of watching re- runs of Farscape for this,” she muttered. Behind her, Reginald adjusted his spectacles. “Well, I suppose we could always just... accidentally jettison the leftovers into a wormhole.” Samantha looked up at the glowing ceiling. “You know what? You’re not bad for a worm.” He puffed. “You’re not bad for a bipedal disaster with chronic unemployment.” And together, they pushed the vat toward the near- est open airlock. * * * * * And that was the last recorded potluck of Sector 9-H7-Gamma. The Zydonians never invited Earth- lings again. Reginald went on to host a controversial podcast titled “Worms with Opinions,” and Saman- tha? She finally got a job. As a translator for interspecies food safety regula- tions. Her toothbrush was thrilled. Thanos Kalamidas The vat, incidentally, was never found again. But somewhere, on the other side of a black hole, some- thing burped ominously and dreamed of devouring a planet shaped suspiciously like Belgium. END. Mostly Potluck Mostly Potluck Thanos Kalamidas Ovi eBook Publishing 2025 Ovi magazine Design: Thanos Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Thanos Kalamidas T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s mosTlY P oTlUCK Thanos Kalamidas , a multipublished writer, cartoonist and illustrator; born and grew up in a picturesque neighbourhood on the moun- tainside of Hymettus in Athens, Greece. Then his life took him to Berlin, Germany and to London, UK for studies. After a brief stay in Yorkshire he moved his life to Paris, France while working in Tokyo, Japan and in Cape Town, South Africa. In the last 25 years he became a permanent Scandinavian resident and recently, in his glorious sixth de- cade, he moved to a scenic village in the Växjö area.