Sunday, July 24, 2016

331. Fear

“Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

I woke to the sound. It took several seconds to focus. I had been sitting in an easy chair reading a book on the Battle of Little Big Horn and had fallen asleep. I thought I was alone, since the rest of the family had gone grocery shopping. The voice had come from nowhere. “Be afraid,” it said again.

When I could focus, I saw what seemed to be a replica of Gandalf from the movies made of the Tolkien books—a wizard. “Close your eyes,” it said, “and be very afraid.”

“C.W.” I said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Sush,” the voice said. “You are asleep, and you are very afraid. Go ahead. Give in. You are very afraid.”

Crap. There go a peaceful few moments. I straightened in the chair, closed the book, and stared at this apparition. “What the hell are you doing?” I said again.

“Now you’ve gone and ruined everything,” it said.

“Ruined what?”

“My practice.”

“And just what are you practicing?”

“Mind control. I have this new job.”

“Jumping Jehoshaphat.” I said. “What kind of job do you have now?”

“A political one.”

“A political one doing what?”

“Scaring people,” he said. He raised a hand in front of my face and rotated it. “Now close your eyes and be very afraid.”

“But I’m not afraid,” I said.

“You have to be,” he said. “My job depends on it. Do you want me to hear those dreaded words?”

“What dreaded words?”

“You’re fired! Now close your eyes and be very afraid. The French are coming to take your daughters.”

“I don’t have any daughters.”

“Oh?” he said. “Have they already been here, those fearsome French?”

“The French don’t come for peoples’ daughters in this country.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “they will. So be very afraid. And I must take your guns.”

“I don’t have any guns,” I said.

“So be very afraid when they come for your job.”

“I don’t have a job. I’m retired … comfortably retired.

“They will come and make you go back to work,” he said. “So be very afraid.”

“Afraid of what, exactly?” This seemed to catch him off-guard and stopped him for a moment.

“Just afraid,” he said. “You accept the emotion and we’ll fill in the blanks. Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

“You might be the one who should be afraid, if my wife comes back and catches you like this.”

“Be very afraid of her,” he said. This seemed to inspire him. “Women are our biggest fear. A strong woman is the work of the Dark One and she will lead him to you. Be very afraid.”

Be afraid. Be very afraid.
But not for the reasons you have heard. - C.W.
“A strong woman?”

“A strong woman is more fearsome that demons,” he said. “But we will save you from her.”

“You will?”

“We will. So be very afraid, but know that we can save you and make your home happy again.”

“My home is already very happy.”

“Be afraid,” he said. “Be very afraid. We are the strong ones. Be very afraid and trust us. Be afraid of the strong woman, but trust in us to save you from her.”

Just then, I heard a car returning. It stopped in front and I heard the sound of a car door opening.

“Got to go,” he said. He waved a hand and disappeared with a loud bang. I looked for him but there was nothing there. Just smoke.

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Thursday, July 21, 2016

Morning Thoughts

Oh no. C.W. swears that he has gone into the future and seen Donald Trump's acceptance speech. So I'll let him post whatever he wants this morning.

Thanks Big Dope:
Here it is friends ... get ready.

See also:

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Morning Thoughts: July 19, 2016

Dear Friends:

The Falloonian Elders have given me a tough job and Big Dope refuses to help. I’m supposed to demonstrate to them how your election process evolved from a supposedly intelligent (by our “Third-Planet Classification”) species. They are, of course talking about the present election and not past ones. The assignment is certainly proving to be an objection or query as to the truth of something, often with an implicit demand for proof. (Editor’s note: He means “a challenge.”

The only way I can explain is by sending them examples of your popular media to illustrate the various forces shaping the way your species is about to elect a president of the most powerful country on your planet.

1. Masculine Mythology: I sent them movie clips illustrating the character whom actor John Wayne played in movie after movie: the strong, ultra-patriotic, manly icon. Actually, I understand that the real man was a bully, an alcoholic, and one who wouldn’t even take part, as other actors did, in War Bond drives during your second world war. But, the myth  has buried the man and so some candidates seek to "channel John Wayne," as you say.

The original "Loathsome Braggart," pro
wrestler George George. I won't say he
reminds me of a current candidate, but
you are free to if you wish. - C.W.
2. Unsupported Braggadocio: I’ve sent clips of your TV obsession called "professional wrestling." They seem to provide the best guidance for many of the current candidates.

3. Uneducated Bigotry: Clips of All In The Family. Who represents prejudice toward strangers better than Archie Bunker?

4. Fear: Of course it is The Day the Earth Stood Still, the original, not the shoddy remake. It was already well known on Falloonia. It is actually used in our education system there to teach our young how substandard species operate through distrust and hatred of those outside their own tribes.

5. Ignorance: I had many sources for your present slandering of education and the premise that ignorant, uneducated, and clueless masses could actually run things best. I chose The Beverly Hillbillies as the characters were supposed to come from my present host state.

So … that’s my start. Feel free to offer suggestions. I have gotten one response back, a short one. It just said, “That’s a hell of a way to elect a leader.”

Your Friend

The Alien C.W.

See also:

Sunday, July 17, 2016

330. Confusion

We were having a nice stroll, the Galilean and I. That’s becoming one of C.W.’s favorite shapes. He’s now shortened both the length of his robe and his hair, but he is still eminently recognizable. At my request, he lightened his skin tones. It’s not advisable out in “fly over country” to be seen in public as a dark-skinned middle-easterner. Other than that, he was in his normal character.

We were walking in a landscaped area at our country place, a quiet spot we call “The Grove.” They made molasses there back in the day and there is a legend that a civil war unit once camped there before burning the farm for some malfeasance or other. It is a peaceful spot now and he likes it.

He was smoking one of my cigars and about to finish a Dos Equis beer. He took a long swig and began looking around. “Don’t throw that bottle down out here,” I said. “Remember what happened last time.”

“She thought you did it,” he said. “And besides, it didn’t hurt her lawnmower.”

“No, but it ruined a tire.”

“Collateral damage,” he said. “Can’t be helped.”

I said nothing.

“There’s going to be a lot of that if your species continues on its current path.”

“Why is that?”

He looked around. “I need another beer,” he said. “You want one?”

“Sure,” I said, and sat on a piece of antique farm equipment until he returned with two bottles.

“She’s rebuking me again, Mrs. Big Dope is,” he said.

I ignored him and he sat beside me. He said, “She doesn’t like cigar smoke in her kitchen.”

“I could have told you that had you asked.”

“On the topic of rebuking,” he said, “wasn’t I pretty clear about divorces, when I visited earth the first time?”

“You were against them as I remember.” It's best to play along when he is like this.

“Explain this fascination your voters seem to have to have with someone who’s had two,” he said.

 “I can’t.”

“Loving money,” he said. “I told Paulie to be real specific about the dangers of that. Why wasn’t he?”

“I think he was.”

“He warned about coveting riches?”

“Best I can recall.”

“Did he include the part about piercing themselves through with many sorrows if they erred.”

“In all the versions that I have read.”

“Good,” he said. “Paulie tended to get distracted when Timothy was around. ‘Pierced with many sorrows.’ I made that up myself.” He paused, took a sip of beer, puffed his cigar and blew smoke rings into the grove.  “Many sorrows,” he repeated, savoring the phrase. “There,” he said. “Is your collateral damage. It seems that too many of you are set to vote for a man to run your country whose only qualification is that he loves money.”

“They also say they like him because he speaks this mind.”

When he spoke his mind ...
the conservatives crucified him. - C.W.
He rolled his eyes and sighted. “Oh please,” he said. “That last visit, I spent half my time driving demons out of people who spoke their minds.”

I thought on this. He continued. “You know I cared a great deal for the poor and meek,” he said, “and the peacemakers.” He tilted his beer up and took a swig. “And those who mourn, the merciful, and some others. I think I specified eight in all. I have trouble remembering. It was hot as hell they day I spelled those out.” He drank more beer. “Eight, I believe.”

“I think you have it right,” I said.

“This guy, the one with the orange face and yellow hair … he and his bunch hate all eight, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “But they don’t stop there.”

“Well,” he said. “At least the followers I have left here among your species will denounce him soundly.”

That got my attention. “Uh,” I said. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“I have some bad news for you.”

“Crap,” he said. He stuck his cigar in the corner of his mouth. “You might as well tell me.” He stopped and held an empty bottle before me. He spoke around the cigar. “But it’s your time to get the beer. You go fetch us a couple of cold ones and I’ll sit here in the garden alone.”

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Saturday, July 16, 2016

Morning Thoughts: July 16, 2016

Hello Friends. Big Dope and I are swapping thoughts this week. Today is his turn, so give him a read.
- Your Pal,

Guess I shouldn’t comment on D. Trump’s many bankruptcies. I’m from a family that endured one. When a tornado ripped through our community south of Pine Bluff, AR in 1947, killing more than 30 people, my father opened his little country grocery store, which had been mercifully spared, and said, “If you need it, come and get it, whether you can pay for it or not."

People came and he fed them until the groceries ran out.

He went broke and had to start over.

The local newspaper, in a nice article, said there should have been a monument erected to him.

The little town of Lonsdale, Arkansas saw the newspaper article, took a collection, and sent my father $45.00, all the money he ever received for his act of humanity.

Gee, that reminds me of The Galilean. Does anything about D. Trump suggest The Galilean? For some unfathomable reason, the evangelicals think so. They have announced plans to support him and his third wife for President and First Lady of the United States of America.

What has happened to us?