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Thursday, November 14, 2019

Excitement


Did I have a great time yesterday or what? I shapeshifted myself into a replica of your politician Hillary Clinton, dressed myself in a tight pantsuit and walked down the main street of a small town near Little Rock. I caused two automobile wrecks and several pedestrian collisions. One man ran out on his lawn yelling so hard that his face turned red and he fainted. Another man came out of a church and called me “the, the, the … the Antichristess.” Parents were yanking their kids out of the front yard and dragging them indoors. When the first guns appeared, I ducked behind a building and  shifted into a Nazi General. Things calmed down and I finished my walk without further incident. I can’t wait to tell those back in Falloonia about it. But don’t tell Big Dope. He made me promise not to upset people unnecessarily.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Urban Planning


Been going around with Big Dope on some trips to your cities. If you see someone who looks like Stephen Miller, don’t let it scare you. Of course, I’m confused by your urban revitalization plans. Isn’t doing streetscapes for dying cities a bit like trying to save someone dying of malnutrition by giving them a facelift?

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Brains

My old friend stopped by today. Said he would visit often and drop a gem or two. From today's news:

Reports say former President Jimmy Carter is having brain surgery to relieve pressure. Interesting. It seems that a former president needs surgery to relieve pressure developing from an overactive brain while a sitting president needs relief from pressure developing from a missing brain.
- C.W.

Sunday, November 4, 2018

449. Beliefs

It was my time to ask C.W. questions. For once, he cooperated. I must have caught him on good day. He had assumed the shape of a learned professor after all. A few minutes before, I had been talking to what seemed like a reincarnation of Liberace. He left for few minutes and returned as a Carl Sagan clone. I was confused, and said so to him.

“How do you manage all this shape-shifting? Can all Falloonians do it so seamlessly? How do you make the changes?”

“You must have fallen asleep in your psychology and anatomy classes,” he said.

That hurt my feelings. “No,” I said, “I paid attention.”

“To what?” he said, making a mocking smile. “Was Mrs. Big Dope in your class?”

“Are you going to taunt me or teach me?”

“You probably think,” he said, “that you are seeing my shape now, right? You think that little rays shoot out from your eyes … little emissions so to speak … land on me and send back what they find.”

I tried to think back. “Not really,” I said. I think my eyes are just receptors, or something like that.”

“Maybe you’re not totally stupid,” he said.

That was a relief.

“Suppose,” he said, “that I don’t change shapes at all.”

“But I see you.”

“Shut up and listen,” he explained.

“Okay.”

“Suppose that, because we are a superior species in so many ways, we Falloonians have perfected the relationship between our beings as senders and your beings as receptors. For sight, that would involve how we control information that strikes your retinas, triggering the signals that are sent to a region in the back of your brain. There, they are translated, in the words of your scientist James E. Alcock, into “colors, textures, and forms that are then compared with past experience.”

“And?”
 
Left a copy for Big
Dope to read.  You may
like it too. - C.W.
“Then the process constructs an image.”

“An image”

“Actually, a construction. Does that explain how you see me in different forms?”

“But I can touch you.”

“Same question.”

“And hear you.”

“Same question.”

“I guess I could taste you if necessity demanded it.”

“Same question.”

“And smell you. Lord I can smell you sometimes.”

“Same question. Do you want to learn or be cute?”

“Do you mean to tell me that your shapes are merely constructions that you signal?”

“Keep trying. You are on the right path but walking wobbly.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“You could signal something evil or non-productive.”

“Only for weaker minds. I may be programmed for periodic mischief but not for creating evil. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Remember, I’m a mental construction designed to promulgate belief, and various belief systems demand specific levels of cognizance.”

“You mean belief systems exist in a hierarchy of sorts?”

“I mean, in the parlance of your species, that dumb is as dumb does.”

“But what if a renegade from your planet came to earth with evil plans to energize the masses in revolt against a stable society?”

“That could cause a cause a problem. Won’t happen though.”

“Why not?”

“The shapes involved would be so strange and weird that even the most perceptively challenged among you would find them repellent.”

“Wait,” I said, “Didn’t you imply that our creation of these so-called constructions depends on preciously held beliefs?”

He looked at me sharply, thought, and said. “I’m tired. Have you learned enough for today? I think I’ll go watch the news.”

See also:
Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.




Sunday, October 28, 2018

448. Victimhood

“What do you mean? And stop whining.”

Jeez. C.W. was in a dreadful state. Remember how Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker looked when they got caught? Put their faces on Steve Buscemi’s body and you would have it. We were out on the patio and he had just interrupted my evening reading.

“It’s not my fault,” he said, wiping his nose.

“What is not your fault?” I said.

“What Mrs. Big Dope is going to tell you about.”

Oh dear.

I put my book down. “What have you done now?”

“I didn’t do it.”

I cocked my head like I do when I know he’s lying, which is most of the time when he is in this shape. “You didn’t do it?”

“Well, maybe I did but it’s not my fault.”

“You are confusing me.”

“She trapped me into an innocent mistake. I would never think to do something like that on my own.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll buy her a new one, won’t you?”

“A new what?”

“Microwave.”

“Oh no, C.W. What have you done now?”

“I was taking care of things. Cleaning the kitchen like you told me to.”

“And?”

“She laid this trap for me. It’s her fault.”

“What kind of trap?”

“Recipes. Food. You know, ingredients. How could I resist? I just happened to walk by.”

“And?”

“She obviously wanted me to learn to cook Earthling food.”

“She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to. She just left all the things out like she wanted me to.”

“And?”

“I knew she would get angry if I didn’t try. I was just following orders.”

“Like written or oral orders?”

“More like implied orders. She’s good at those.”

“What happened to the microwave?”

“Just a small incident. The controls weren’t working properly. The unit must have been bad from the factory.”

“A small incident?”

“And not my fault at all. I’m blameless. I’m the best person on Earth at operating machinery. It couldn’t have been my fault.”

“But you were involved.”

“I was a victim. Pure and simple.” He started with the crying again. We heard a scream from inside the house.

“She’ll be coming out here now,” he said. “Quick. Let’s decide how we’ll punish her for the awful thing she did to me.”

“Are you serious?”
 
Bad people are always trying to
make victims of good ones. - C.W.
“She needs to be taught a lesson.”

“She is to blame because you destroyed something?”

“She should have known better. I’d lock her in her room for a day or two.”

“And what reason would I give?”

“Making me a victim. Poor innocent me.” He resumed whining and crying.

We heard footsteps.

“Got to run,” he said. “Lock her up. Please. Lock her up.”

And he was gone. Where does he learn such things?



See also:
Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.