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Sunday, April 20, 2014

198. Crimes

We were fishing, C.W. and I. That man. Uh, that thing. That … whatever … loves to fish. He says they have nothing like it on Falloonia. He tends to take on the appearance of a character straight out of a Steinbeck novel when we go, slouch hat, grizzled beard, patched work clothes—the full image. He once even tried to smoke a cigarette, with disastrous results.

On this day, he was ecstatic. “Just read,” he said as he watched his bobber intensely, “that a state in your country is doing something extremely wise.”

“Oh really,” I said. “Which one?”

“The one just south of here. The one where they like to party so much and make hot sauce. Loo, Loozi …”

“Louisiana?”

“That’s the one.”

I said, “They did something wise?”

“Yes. Real sensible, in my rough calculation of the value, number, quantity, or extent of something.”

“Just what, in your estimation, did they do that was so wise?”

“They voted on a law to prohibit crimes against nature.”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Seems I read something about that.”

“That’s one of the first sensible things I’ve seen in a long time.” He raised his line, checked the bait, and swung it to a new location.

I was intrigued. “Why do you say that?

He looked at me as if I had just asked him if the sun came up that morning. “Your species spends so much time enacting laws protecting things like the wealthy, fertilized eggs, and mythology cults, don’t you think it is time nature deserved some protection?”

“Uh ...”

He interrupted. “Just think,” he said. “No more clear cutting of forests, removal of mountaintops, polluting of rivers, exhaustion of sea life, … it could be the start of what you call ‘governing by the rational model.’”

“Uh, C.W.”

“No more extinction of other species.”

“C.W.,” I said forcefully.

“Burning of fossil fuels …” He stopped. “What?”

“That’s not what they meant.”

“What who meant?”

“The legislators in Louisiana.”

“What they meant by what?”

“Crimes against nature.”

He looked at me in disbelief. “Of course it is.”

“No. Afraid not.”

“What then?”

I told him. At least I began to tell him before he broke in. “You mean like they do in those …, I mean like I’ve heard they do on those internet videos?”

“Yes. Afraid so.

Your methods of governing are best considered
during moments of peace and solitude. - C.W.
I now know what is meant by the description “stunned disbelief.”

“That’s insane,” he said. “completely contrary to nature, reason, or common sense.”

“I think you mean ‘preposterous,’” I said, “and I suspect the folks in Louisiana would be quite proud to hear you say it.”

He looked me in the eyes. “How on earth,” he said, “would you enforce such law?”

“That, my friend, is something you will have to talk to them about,” I said.

“I’d rather talk to a mountain goat,” he said as his bobber began to bounce.
 
 

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Wish List

Evidently C.W. is into making lists. I found this in his files on my computer.

10 .Wish that I could become as good a salesperson as the one who convinced young girls that putting a jewel stud through their nose is sexy.

 9. Wish that I could exact a toll on the use of the word “awesome.”

 8. Wish I had a cute cat.

7. Wish I could afford all the things TV says I must have on a minimum wage salary.

And I wish I understood the obsession
American's have with vampires, car chases,
and Britain's Royal Deadbeats. - C.W.
6. Wish pot worked on Falloonians.

5. Wish I could play the banjo but didn’t so I could contribute to western civilization.

4. Wish I could design a tattoo than would make a 300 pound, pot-bellied moron into a hunk.

3. Wish Big Dope would let me wear my saggy trousers in public.

2. Wish “all you can eat” buffets didn’t make you fat.

 And …

 1. Wish I could buy Ted Cruz a Whoopee Cushion.


Of course:
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Monday, April 14, 2014

Monday News

Dear Friends and Followers:
I found this on Big Dope's Computer Journal this morning and stole it.

What’s happening on Monday?
 
- Mike Huckabee says there is sometimes more freedom in North Korea than in America.
- Sean Hannity, the Koch Brothers, Fox News, and the Teabaggers are encouraging open rebellion against the United States in defense of a man who doesn’t recognize the validity of our country.
- Television stations in Oklahoma are editing out portions of Cosmos because “it is causing demonic possession of young children.”
- The Waltons, their rich friends, Jeb Bush, and the editorial staff of the Arkansas Democrat Gazette want to do away with public schools.
- A white supremacist nut job murders three Jewish people and nobody makes the connection with hate radio. 
I am very afraid, not for myselffor my “use module” is nearing the end of its depreciation cycle—but for the children and grandchildren of my friends. And for my country that I took an oath to defend.
I am also confused. The current agitations are being fomented by those who already have everything. What else could they need? Or want?
Finally, I am bemused by the adage that life imitates art. We are well into George Orwell’s "1984" and are heading, it seems to me, for H.G.Well’s “The Time Machine” in which the world is occupied by the the dark Morlocks and guileless Eloi. There is also Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaiden’s Tale” in which women exist only for service.
Of course, TV news has become exactly as depicted in the 1976 movie “Network.”
I don’t think it will all come to pass for I believe, as David Simon does, that the bricks will start flying before then.
I just hope that too many innocents aren’t harmed or killed by them.
 
The time to be afraid is when the dancing stops. - C.W.
 

Sunday, April 13, 2014

197. Prayer Lists

C.W. has always been intrigued by our obsession with religion. This time it went too far, as you will see.

The first to call was the oldest Thorton girl, the nosey one.

“It’s Carlota,” she said though it wasn’t necessary. She has this snorting sound that she makes when she breathes. I would have recognized it anywhere. I told her my wife wasn’t home.

“It’s you I wanted,” she said. “I called to talk to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me?” she said.

“Sure I heard you. What’s up?”

“You tell me,” she said, just like that. “You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why I need to pray for you.”

“I don’t you to pray for me.”

“Then why, tell me, is your name on a prayer list? I need to know what kind of troubles you got.”

“I don’t have any troubles.”

“Are you two having problems?” She snorted again.

“What?”

“Trouble. Are you two having, you know, marital problems?”

“Goddamn it, who told you that?”

“If you are going to blaspheme the Savior, I shall refuse to pray for you.”

“Well don’t then.” I hung up.

“C.W.! I instinctively knew he was behind this. Before I could think, the phone rang again. It was Ida Covington.

“Is it cancer?”

“Is what cancer?” Then I remembered.

“My cousin had it and he didn’t live but six months. And he had two churches praying for him.”

“Your cousin?”

“Uncle Fred’s oldest son, Chester—the one that was in prison for killing his wife. But it was the most wonderful thing. He surrendered his soul to Jesus right before he died and he’s in Heaven right now. Not a doubt in my mind but what he is praying for you.”

“Ida,” I explained, “Get off this damn telephone.” She did but it rang again.

“Hello.”

“If you need money, our bank ..., a voice said. After that a neighborhood kid called to ask if he could have my woodworking tools when I was gone.

I went outside to find C.W. He was sitting peacefully watching the geese play around the pond at our farm.

“Do you know anything about a prayer list?”

He turned. “A what?”

“A prayer list. Don’t lie to me?”

“Oh,” he said. “Now I remember. Yours was the only name I knew.” This is his idea of an explanation.

“Knew for what?”

He fidgeted. “Remember when I wanted to visit some churches for research and you wouldn’t go with me?”

“I remember it well.”

“There is this small church not far from here and they insisted that I give them a name for their prayer list.”

I exhaled a long breath and looked at the sky. “And you gave them ..”

“Your name. I figured that, even if it didn’t help, it couldn’t hurt.” He stopped and thought. “They seemed to place a lot of importance on that sort of thing.”

“I suppose so,” I said, and sat beside him.

“Anyway,” he said. “I was afraid if I didn’t give them a name, they would start praying for me.”

“Perhaps they would.” My thoughts drifted.

“Does it work?”

I snapped back to the present. “Does what work?”

Big Dope has a long list and my name is on every line. - C.W.
“Prayer.”

“I’m thinking of trying it,” I said. “We will find out.”

“How will we find out?”

“You will be called home.”

Inside, the phone was ringing.


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Saturday, April 12, 2014

Dear Friends and Followers:

Big Dope has been making me work lately so I can only offer this quick poster I made.

 
 
I promise more later. In the meantime, check out www.wattensawpress.com