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Sunday, April 22, 2018

422. On Writing


Sometimes you just have to get a little bemused over one of C.W.’s shapes. This morning was one of those times. Ye gods!

I think he was trying for Kurt Vonnegut Jr., but ended closer to Rasputin. Anyway, he was at the laptop typing furiously. He punched a key and said, “Good morning my son.” The printer whirred and a sheet slide forward. He took the sheet, glanced at it and placed it upside down on a pile.

Not having the heart to ask, I just watched. Without looking at me, he said “Sit down. I just need to finish this chapter." He continued to type.

"And what are we working on?" I asked.

“You are working on interrupting a genius at work. I’m working on writing a novel.”

“And what kind of novel are we writing?”

“Murder mystery.”

“May I take a look?” I motioned toward the stack of printed sheets.

“Knock yourself out. Just don’t get them out of order.”

I picked up the pile and took it to the couch. I set my coffee on a table and read from the beginning. It wasn’t long before I stopped. “Chump Williamson?” I said.

“What about him? “

“That’s the name you chose for your hero?”

“What’s wrong with ‘Chump’? We’ll brand him as an international star-detective. Simple name. Easy to remember.”

“Hmmm,” I said, as I continued to read. Then I stopped. “Wait,” I said.

“What?”

“You can’t have your hero making fun of a woman who’s just had a miscarriage.”

“Why not? She was getting on his nerves.”

“And he mocks her in her moment of distress?”

“Yeah. But he’s a good detective. Didn’t he say so when he told her to quit bothering him? That builds his character as a person who doesn’t get distracted. My fans love that.”

I read some more. I stopped. “This must be a misprint,” I said.

“What?”

“He tells the judge that he saw the suspect running from the scene of the crime.”

“So?”

“You had him across town at the time.”

“So?”

“He lies?”

“Wouldn’t you, in order to get what you want?”

“What kind of hero are you creating?”

“One that will get the job done. Read on. He says so. That is just one of his many gifts.” He motioned toward the stack I was holding. “Read.”

I started back. Two pages later, I stopped. “C.W.,” I said.

“What?”

“The hero of a novel can’t rape a witness he was questioning.”

"Why not? She was asking for it.”

“No she wasn’t.”

“Didn’t she come to the door in a tight tee-shirt and short dress?”

“Well yes, but ….”

He interrupted. “She might as well have said, ‘Take me,’ and he did. What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t think your more religious readers will like it.”

“Bullshit. Haven’t you gotten to the part where Chump meets Franklin Graham?”

“Don’t tell me Chump teams up with the evangelicals.”

“Yeah. Like Chump says, ‘You grab them by their Bibles and they’ll do anything you want.’ So you just mind your own business and read.”

I took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said. “Is ‘nasty’ spelled with a ‘y’ or ‘ie’ do think?”

“Nasty?”

He glanced at the passage he was writing. “Yeah, as in, ‘After he and Marge finished doing the big nasty, he jumped up and started dressing. She wasn’t quite finished but he didn’t act like he cared one way or the other. He had to go beat a confession out of a witness. He was wasting time.’ That’s some pretty nifty writing don’t you think?”

I was aghast, as one might imagine. “Who is Marge?”
The broads ... they really
love my books. - C.W.
 

“That’s the one woman Chump truly loves.”

“And you describe their lovemaking as ‘doing the big nasty?’ Isn’t that a little grossly put?”

“Nah. I originally had it as ‘making Mr. Two-Backs,’ but my fan base ain’t into Shakespeare.”

No, Dear Reader, you’re not imagining things. He was sounding more and more like a Mickey Spillane character.

“And your hero gets confessions by beating witnesses?”

“Yeah. It saves time, you know. He has this terrific conviction rate. They say his fans may even get tired of all the convictions.”

“You really think this may work, this ‘Chump Williamson’ thing?”

“Are you kidding me? Look at who the serial killer is whacking.”

“Public school teachers? Do you really think that will sell?”

“You shittin’ me? Walmart’s already pre-ordered a hundred thousand copies.”

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, April 15, 2018

421. Conversations at Walmart


I’m always good on a promise. Even to C.W. So when he went a week without making my wife’s head explode, I made good.

It’s one of his favorite things. We go Walmart. He shapes up like a lumberjack or something pretty close to it. We wander the aisles slowly and wait unit we hear a loud conversation, a one-way one. Not by just anybody. It has to be a certain type, a woman with a hoarse voice from a two-pack a day habit, wearing a baseball hat with a ponytail hanging out the back with a tight t-shirt emblazoned with something along the lines of “These Boobs Protected By Barretta.”

Yeah, I wasn’t going to say it, but you can. We have a lot of them around there and, yes, most necks are quite crimson.

So, what C.W. likes to do is sidle up to them as they yell into the phone, lean forward, and listen to the one side of the conversation.

No, it doesn’t work like you would think, not around here anyway. I've never seen one become angry. Occasionally they ignore him. More often, they nod, smile and welcome him into the conversation. We live in a friendly state, after all.

So yesterday was a fun trip, for him. We hadn’t been in the store for five minutes when we heard a sound like a corn-sheller going off, and words emerging from the noise. “Naw, I don’t care. Last time he let me use his pickup after we got done.”

Off we went. We got as near as we could, I pretended to look for Feta Cheese, which is a good way to waste time in Walmart. C.W. moved in alongside a tallish woman with dingy blond hair wearing a shirt with “Think Twice Before You Pat It,” in red spread across the back.” A drawing of two crossed baseball bats emphasized the point.

“Heck no,” she said into the phone. “Hit was for what we done Saturday night. He preaches on Sunday and uses his wife’s car. Only took two minutes, and I got a lot of things hauled off next day.”

She noticed C.W. then, smiled at him and nodded. She tipped the phone in his direction and motioned for him to listen.

“Hell yeah, it was a good swap,” she said. Then she and C.W. both laughed. He moved a little closer.

“Am I what?” Her eyes grew wide. She looked at C.W. and said. “Do I look like I’m ashamed of myself?”

He shook his head in a display of solemnity. “He agrees,” she said. “I got me a witness.”

She and C.W. both nodded and laughed.

“What?” She continued the conversation. “No,” she said into the phone. “Hit came regular as clockwork.” She winked at C.W. “So I reckon ever-thang was okay.” She listened for a moment. “You got that right, Hon,” she said. “I shore don’t need no new crumb-grabber slowing me down.” She looked at C.W. and he nodded. “Bet your sweet ass, though,” she said. “I ain’t using that brand no more.” He nodded in agreement.           

It went on like this for maybe ten minutes. People eased their carts by slowly, enjoying the snippets. I pulled my hat down as far as it would go and pretended to be invisible.

I love making new friends
among the Earthlings. - C.W.
We learned of her latest choice of laxatives. C.W. agreed.

We learned why she cut her old boyfriend off. C.W. agreed.

We learned that she wasn’t going let her daughter “git on them goddam pills until she was at least 14.” C.W. disagreed.

We learned of her plans to get a prescription for what she called “MM.” C.W. looked confused.

We learned that she considered “pollacks” the best lovers. C.W. took this in.

We learned that she wasn’t above one of “them two-on-ones” if she found the right two. C.W. smiled.

At long last, she said into the phone, “We gotta go, Hon.” After listening for a moment, she said, “Hell, I don’t know.” She turned to C.W. “What is your name, Hon?”

“Caspar Wolinski,” he said.

She nodded toward me, “He with you?”

C.W. nodded. I shook my head. Just at that moment, a neighbor I know walked by with one of the Walmart workers.

“Hey,” C.W.’s new friend shouted at the store worker, in her hoarse voice that I’m sure carried onto the parking lot, “Can you point me toward the condoms? And I want the kind that don’t break.”

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, April 8, 2018

420. Friends


 Brief post this morning. C.W. has gone missing. No reason for alarm, or joy, or relief. I suspect he is with my wife. Almost certainly.

Now don’t let your imagination run wild. I may be guilty of having mislead you in the past. I may have implied that C.W. and my wife may never get along too well. That’s not exactly true. He does annoy her at times, but she is not above using him for escort services when I’m not available.

Not that kind of escort services.

It’s this way. My wife likes to screw with the heads of people in Arkansas. It’s her way of getting back at them for electing the two people we have to call our Senators these days. It may be a little cruel, but, if it brings her joy, I’ll not deny her the pleasure.

Besides, said senators are a couple of reprehensible lemmings. But that’s for another day.

Today, just let me explain that her periodic urges for fellowship have to do with C.W.’s ability to shift shapes at will. And if he is in trouble for some malfeasance or other, he’ll agree to do it for her.

Here’s the deal and how it includes C.W. Let’s just say that he's not above shaping to please, and

This shape pains me considerably.
But I'll do it for Mrs. Big Dope. - C.W.
- She would walk down any Main Street in America with Steven Tyler,

- She would walk into any sleazy bar in the South with Billy Gibbons, and

- She would walk through Times Square in New York City with her head held high if Matthew McConaughey walked by her side.

So, I’m not sure where either my wife or C.W. are this morning, but if you see a cute little number walking through your local Walmart alongside Harrison Ford, just nod and walk on by.



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, April 1, 2018

419. Fear

If you could only see C.W. in his actual form, it would … it would … well it would put you off your feed, really ruin your appetite. I’ve seen him. Trust me.

Sometimes we go walking early. Real early. Before sunrise. We decided to give it a shot today. Left Head had heard that a lot of people were getting up way before sunrise and he wanted to see what they were doing.

“I think it has something to do,” Right Head said, “with all those male enhancement ads we’ve seen posted in front yards.”

We all looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Middle Head said.

It dawned on me. “I don’t think that is the context indicated by the word ‘arisen’ on those signs,” I said. I explained it to them.

“Oh,” said Right Head.

“Let me ask you something,” Middle Head said.

“Not too complicated,” I said. “Nothing about politics. It’s too early. I can’t even begin to explain current evens this early in the morning.”

Middle Head went silent. “Go ahead and ask him,” Left Head said. “We’re supposed to report on it.”

“Yeah,” Right Head said. “Remember the last time we failed an assignment?”

I remembered. The Falloonian Elders had cut off their supply of a favorite magazine-type transmittal that they love so well. “You,” I said, “didn’t get your feeds of ‘Naughty Triple-Heads,’ for several months.”

“Ask him,” Left Head said to Middle Head. “I need to finish this week’s report.”

“Well,” Middle Head said,” swiveling toward me, “it has to do with this thing so many of your species has about threatening your young children so horribly.”

“We don’t do that,” I said.

All three heads snapped toward me. It scared me a bit. “We love our children,” I said. Then, on further thought I said, “Some individuals love them a little too much, and in the wrong way, but we punish those if we catch them.”

Left Head, shook back and forth, Middle head rolled three of his eyes, and Right Head chuckled in amazement.

“What?” I said.

Middle Head spoke. “Why are all these people getting up so early today?”

“You mean besides us?”

“Precisely.”

“For a religious service,” I said.

“And that service celebrates what?” Left Head said.

“I’ve told you before,” I said. “They celebrate the death and resurrection of a beloved religious figure.”

“Who did what?” Left Head bore down on me.

“Who died for their sins, arose from the dead, and ascended into glory to wait for the true believers.”

“True believers,” Left Head said. Middle Head leaned out toward me. Right Head smirked the way he does when he senses mental carnage about to erupt.

“Yes,” I said, “the true believers will join their leader in a place called ‘paradise.’ They will be with that leader forever, you know: the Galilean. Don’t tell me you don’t know who the Galilean is.”

“We’re not talking about the Galilean,” Middle Head said. “We’re talking about those who claim that they speak directly to him.”

“Yes,” Right Head said, “the Chetedidcherltans,” using a Falloonian term I can’t translate in a family-oriented blog.

“Think about it,” Left Head said. “What do those folks promise to young children who don’t necessarily accept the concept of a person dying, then arising three days later, and wafting away in a cloud? Those kids that might analyze things a bit differently? Those who believe thinking is a free gift and should be enjoyed? What’s in store for them?”

“Hint, hint,” Right Head said, “torment, pain, suffering, flames, fire … am I getting warm?”

Left Head continued. “Why would a civilized and benevolent society implant such primal fear into young minds … images of their little bodies burning in a place called ‘hell’ for thinking about things on their own?”

“Yeah. Why?” Right head said.
 
The true believers have chosen some
strange figures to lead their religion. - C.W.
“Now just stop it,” I said. “We love our young folks. We would never, as a society, wish danger, disparagement, or punishment on them for what they believe or don’t believe.”

The three heads looked at one another in turn. Finally, two of them nodded at Middle Head, and he spoke.

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention to things lately.”

 I stopped and listened. I swear that, far off in the distance, along Wattensaw Bayou near a place they used to call "the baptizin' hole," I could hear the soft strains of Softly and Tenderly.


Sunday, March 25, 2018

418. Showtime


I wondered into the living room this morning after daylight, and heavens, what a scene. My favorite chair was ready for something. What, I didn’t know. Near the feet of the chair was a small ice chest. On either side were tables full of snacks and a large bowl that we use to serve popcorn. Someone was in the midst of deep preparation.

That’s when he walked in carrying a full sack of “On the Borders.” He sat them on one of the side tables, and said, “Good Morning Mr. Big Dope.”

Yeah, you guessed it. There stood our resident alien, or should I say there stood the apparition known as “Arnold Awesome" the 18-year-old teen. The one so full of wonder. If you remember from the past, Arnold is a little slow on the uptake, but makes up for it in enthusiasm.

“C.W.,” I said, “What is this?”

“Getting set up,” said.

“For what?”

“The big show. Don’t you remember?”

Something struck a chord.

“It’s the night for that movie star Stormy Daniels to talk about her friendship with what’s his name?”

“I think his name is Donald Trump and I’m not sure that you would call her a ‘movie star.’”

“That’s what ‘Scratchy’ Coleclasure calls her. He says she specializes in promos.”

“No, that’s what the president specializes in. Hers is called ‘porno’ and it’s a bit, well, not much but a bit, different from what he does.”

“Scratchy says she’s gonna talk about giving him a head. Do think it would have been a real one or just a plastic model?”
 
She gives him a head. Then what? - C.W.
“I think we need to talk.”

“She’s also gonna describe giving him a ‘doggie style.’ That should be fun. Can you imagine all that orange hair done up like a Pomeranian’s? I hope she had enough hair spray when she styled him.”

“Have you and Scratchy been into his daddy’s stash again?”

“What does she mean by ‘an all’ and what does it have to do with a back door. Wouldn’t the President of the United States come in the front door?”

My knees began to get a little weak. “I think that’s a little too earthy for a teenager to know about,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, brightening noticeably. “Don’t worry, she says she always gave him a shower afterwards. She called it gol …,”

“Let’s let it go at that,” I said. “Now look,” I’m not sure this would be the best use of your time. Don’t you have some studying to do?”

“That’s just it,” he said. “This will be educational. She’s going to share with us the President’s views on missionaries, their style and everything. It may not last long. She’s said something about him being a one-minute man.”

“Have you mentioned this to my wife?”
 
I'm confused. She says one dull minute.
He says two, and they're great ones.
The show is called Sixty Minutes.
But she keeps mentioning 69. - C.W.
“I tried,” he said, “but she like went off on something about global warming.”

“Global warming?”

“Yeah, like hell freezing over and all that.”

“Oh,”

“You’ll watch it with me, won’t you?”

A voice pretty much roared from the next room, “Yeah, he will … the day Franklin Graham starts reading the Bible.”

I spoke clearly and firmly enough to be heard in the next room. “I’d never stoop so low as to watch a show about two creeps wallowing in filth.” I listened, and relaxed when I heard the baseball bat being returned to its holder.

C.W. raised his eyebrows, made a circle with one hand and pretended to hold a clicker in the other. He nodded a question.

I shrugged an okay. What the hell?


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.