Dear Friends and Followers: Big Dope is taking care of family business today and left me in charge. So many people have asked how we met that I repeat the very first posting in which he provided his version. I don't quite remember it that way, but I'll let it pass. Following is his version. Enjoy.
His name, phonetically expressed, is Chawawaclickclick. I use the phonetic expression for the simple reason that stating it his language in print requires imagery that looks like a lot like bird spatter on a new Cadillac. The clicks resemble those used by African Bushmen but it is easier to spell them than to develop symbols. So, Chawawclickclick it is. Or at least it was until he went into a redneck bar across the river. Now he insists on the simpler C.W.
How he arrived here from his native planet, and how I became his American escort are interesting, but unessential matters. Let’s just say that he is from deep space, a place he calls, again phonetically, Falloonia. Sometimes with a click at the end and sometimes not. I think he jacks me around some. Falloonians seem to have a sense of humor and aren’t a bit reluctant to torture you with their intergalactic wit.
Anyhow. His original destination was Hannibal Missouri, the reason being that earlier expeditions had determined that Mark Twain was the most interesting American who ever lived. Due to some changes in the atmospheric conditions, he descended early and chanced upon me while I was walking around the City of Little Rock, Arkansas.
I can’t describe his appearance since he is what is commonly known as a “shape shifter.” This particular day, he took the shape of a middle-aged tourist, complete with straw hat, knee britches and a camera swinging from around his neck. He wanted to know if I was interesting.
“Not particularly,” I admitted.
“Are you curious, then?”
“About what?” I checked out the width of his stance and looked around to who might be watching.
“The world, you know…things.”
I reckoned I was as much as the next guy and hastened to tell him that my wife always said I was. I put some emphasis on the word “wife.”
The answer must have sufficed, for then he interviewed me and said that I had been selected to be the Falloonians’ North American contact.
I had no idea what the hell he was talking about then, but I had just signed up for a quite a ride.
Before providing me with any additional information, he asked why we had changed the chemical makeup of our atmosphere, causing his premature descent into our country.
“Uh, we didn’t intend it. It just happened over time,” I managed to explain.
“Could you summarize the efforts your species (I would learn that he used the term species when he intended the question to be global in nature) is taking to restore its condition?” he asked.
“Nothing really,” I said.
“Nothing?” He paused. “Really?”
“Well we cut back on our use of Freon.”
“Your method of dealing with your planet sounds like a contacuraclickclick to me.”
I found out later that a contacuraclickclick was an Faloonian expression indicating the act of sitting on a baby’s face, i.e. a foolish course of action.
Anyway, that's how we met and now I seem to be stuck with him.
How he arrived here from his native planet, and how I became his American escort are interesting, but unessential matters. Let’s just say that he is from deep space, a place he calls, again phonetically, Falloonia. Sometimes with a click at the end and sometimes not. I think he jacks me around some. Falloonians seem to have a sense of humor and aren’t a bit reluctant to torture you with their intergalactic wit.
Anyhow. His original destination was Hannibal Missouri, the reason being that earlier expeditions had determined that Mark Twain was the most interesting American who ever lived. Due to some changes in the atmospheric conditions, he descended early and chanced upon me while I was walking around the City of Little Rock, Arkansas.
I can’t describe his appearance since he is what is commonly known as a “shape shifter.” This particular day, he took the shape of a middle-aged tourist, complete with straw hat, knee britches and a camera swinging from around his neck. He wanted to know if I was interesting.
“Not particularly,” I admitted.
“Are you curious, then?”
“About what?” I checked out the width of his stance and looked around to who might be watching.
“The world, you know…things.”
I reckoned I was as much as the next guy and hastened to tell him that my wife always said I was. I put some emphasis on the word “wife.”
The answer must have sufficed, for then he interviewed me and said that I had been selected to be the Falloonians’ North American contact.
I had no idea what the hell he was talking about then, but I had just signed up for a quite a ride.
Before providing me with any additional information, he asked why we had changed the chemical makeup of our atmosphere, causing his premature descent into our country.
“Uh, we didn’t intend it. It just happened over time,” I managed to explain.
“Could you summarize the efforts your species (I would learn that he used the term species when he intended the question to be global in nature) is taking to restore its condition?” he asked.
“Nothing really,” I said.
“Nothing?” He paused. “Really?”
“Well we cut back on our use of Freon.”
“Your method of dealing with your planet sounds like a contacuraclickclick to me.”
I found out later that a contacuraclickclick was an Faloonian expression indicating the act of sitting on a baby’s face, i.e. a foolish course of action.
Anyway, that's how we met and now I seem to be stuck with him.
I love it, Jim. Such dry wit!
ReplyDelete--Sonny