102. Diets

Where C.W. gets his inspiration I don’t know. Maybe it’s a Falloonian thing. Maybe our culture has him in its thralls. Maybe he picked the wrong earthling as his liaison. One thing I will say, though. He’s a persistent little critter.

For example, his latest caper is a venture into the publishing business. I caught him typing away in the guise of the late Orson Welles this morning. He “shushed” me as I walked into the room so I stood drinking my coffee as he pounded away.

With a flourish, he hit “save” and looked up at me.

“Just about done,” he said.

I couldn’t resist, though I knew better. “At what?”

“My new book,” he said. This is going to get me the Fallooniaskregreb++.

”The what?”

“Falloonian Voyager of the Year Award.”

“And it is?”

“A book on how to lose weight. They sell like hot breadlike pastries in your country.”

“And why, exactly, will yours sell like hotcakes?”

He looked at me as if I had just asked why women wear makeup.

“Because it will be easy.”

“Easy?”

“No effort or sacrifice whatsoever.”

I pondered this. “Don’t you have to reduce your caloric intake to lose weight?”

He laughed, and his great belly shook derisively.

“And exercise?”

He laughed again, a huge rolling response that shook his jowls in merriment.

“You are so evidenceless,” he said. “With my system, you won’t even need a pedophile.

“I think you may mean ‘pedometer’ and I may be clueless,” I said. “But I have been to college.”

“Just my point,” he interrupted. “Most of my readers haven’t, or if they have, they worked hard at not learning anything.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You have a magic powder to sprinkle on one’s food.”

“Too expensive,” he said.

“You have a secret combination of ingesting particular types of food that creates a magical chemical reaction that produces weight loss.”

“Too complicated,” he said. “Remember our audience.”

“You just ingest carbohydrates,” I said. “And some process buried deep in our evolutionary past reacts by burning fat.”

“We might get sued for that one.”

“So,” I said. “What is your secret?”

“You won’t let it out, will you?”

Was he kidding? “I promise.”

He looked around with a flourish that suggested some deep conspiracy. “You eat your food standing up,” he said.

“Standing up?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sh… uh, kidding.”

“A secret discovered by the ancient Mayans. Doesn’t add a single calorie. Have you ever seen a fat Mayan?”

I was speechless. Finally, I managed to respond. “You are crazy.”

“Not as crazy as people who believe you can talk to the dead.”

He had a point.

“With your understanding of science,” I said. “Wouldn’t you rather publish a fact-based treatise on healthy living?”

“Tried that,” he said. “Didn’t sell a copy.”

As I thought about it, he waved me away.

“Go read or something,” he said. “I’m already working on my sequel.

Your species loves to try anything
that doesnt' require thought, work, or
taxes to pay for it. - C.W.

“Your sequel? How are you going to top this one?”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s a book on how to have sex without contraceptives and not get pregnant.”

It dawned on me then. “Let me guess,” I said, “You do it …”

“Out,” he said.