Monday, July 30, 2012

C.W.'s Thought for the Week

"And I said unto them, woe be unto one who would denounce the design of the Spirit of the Universal Conscience. Have you created the the glory of a sunset? Have you held the beating heart of a sparrow? Can you thunder with a voice like mine, adorn yourself with majesty, splendor, glory and beauty, bring the proud down low? Then how can you doubt the type of love I have placed in a person’s heart?" - Book of Ludicrous: Chapter One, Verse 5

Sunday, July 29, 2012

107. Respect

C.W. and I were resting in a park across the street from where we live. We sat on a bench watching cars speed by in an exercise he calls “random observation.” He had assumed the form of a World War Two navy enlisted man. He was drawing more than a few stares as Americans are no longer used to seeing military personnel in dress uniforms.

I had, however, forbidden him from wearing most of the medals he had proposed, particularly a copy of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

“But your supreme court has ruled that my right to claim that honor, whether I received it or not, is a free speech right protected under Amendment One of the Constitution.” He was continuing the argument.

“One,” I said. “I don’t care what the Supreme Court said. Two, some amendments are more important to us than others.”

“You mean the first amendment is not as respected as the second, for example.”

“Not by a long shot,” I said, smiling at my weak pun. “The first is under attack because it protects us from religion, not a proper protection in the view of some.”

“That doesn’t make sense …” he began, but I interrupted.

“And three, the Constitutional provisions don’t always apply to aliens.”

“Well I’ll be keelhauled,” he said.

Two teenaged boys walking along the sidewalk stopped and stared at him.

“Man,” one said. “You sure dressed up. Who are you?”

“I’m a Bosun’s Mate, Third Class, United States Navy,” C.W. replied.

“For real?” the other youth said. “You in the Navy?”

“For real,” he said.”

“So why ain’t you on no ship?”

“I’m on leave,” he said. “I took some time to visit this museum,” he motioned to the historic building in the background. “It is featuring an exhibit on the Vietnam War.”

“The what?” one said.

“What do it pay to be in the Navy?” the other interrupted.

“I earn $78.00 per month,” C.W. said.

“Sheeeit,” the youth said. “F**k dat. I made twenty bucks this mornin’ in fifteen minutes just standin’ on the corner watchin’ for the police.”

With that, they moved on down the street. I turned to C.W.

“It’s actually a lot more than $78.00 a month now,” I said.

“You know,” he said, reverting to his character. “I remember standing on the foc'sle of our ship as it came through the Golden Gate in San Francisco after the war in the Pacific ended.”

“I imagine that was a welcome sight,” I said.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” he said. “The folks in Marin County had taken huge boulders, painted them white, and placed them on the hill on the port side so they spelled out the words ‘Welcome Home Boys.’”

We thought about this for a moment.

“They didn’t do anything like that for you fellers when you came back,” did they?”

Here's one of my favorite passages from
Matthew Arnold for you. - C.W.

I, on men’s impious uproar hurled,
Think often, as I hear them rave,
The peace has left the upper world,
And now keeps only in the grave.

I thought back. “No, about 30 minutes before our plane landed, they gave us a briefing on how to avoid confrontation with the war protesters at the gate of the airport.”

“Tell me something,” he said, effecting one of his classic changes of the subject.

“What?” I said.

“Why does your state honor the birthday of a man who murdered so many people in an attempt to keep the peculiar institution of slavery alive in your country?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “They say it has something to do with honor.”

“Sheeeit,” he said.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

106. Beliefs

For two days, I hadn’t been able to find C.W. anywhere. That’s not odd, for he has to make reports to his home planet periodically. And, to be honest, sometimes I find the separation refreshing. This time was different, though. We had been working on a fan letter to Stephen Hawking that had stopped at the sentence “I would trade my Capsullian Particle Disseminator for your ability to conceptualize reality.”

I think I had offended him by my editing recommendations. He went off to sulk and I hadn’t seen him since. Usually he reappears in a better humor, but not this time.

Well, one obviously cannot file a “missing alien” report with the authorities, so I waited. When he didn’t show to watch “The Big Bang Theory,” I knew something was up. I even left his favorite dish, mango and anchovy pizza, at his favorite spot overlooking the Arkansas River. Nothing. With a foreboding of sadness building inside me, I continued my morning walks alone, sometimes catching myself singing a song from the 1960s about a boy and his dragon friend.

Last night he returned.

My wife had gone to bed early and I was reading alone when I heard a thumping sound and looked up to see a middle-aged man in striped pants and a checkered shirt, the sort of attire that we used to frown upon before our great eschewing of taste in personal attire.

He was on crutches. Heavy bandages swathed his feet and he appeared to be in a great deal of pain. I didn’t say anything, just allowed him to ease into a chair and assume a comfortable position.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. I handed him the TV remote and resumed my reading.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”


“I’ve been to California.”

“That’s nice, how was the weather?”

He eased one of his feet into a different position and grimaced. “I got hurt,” he said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“You’ll write it up in that stupid thing you put on the Internet.”


“Can’t I have any secrets?”


He studied me for a moment. “I went to a motivational seminar.”

“Did you walk there?” I asked, looking at his feet.

“No, Big Dope, I didn’t walk to get there.” He can be mocking at times.

“Then what happened?”

“I walked on hot coals once I got there.”

“You what?”

“I went to see this guy named Tony Robbins.”


“He told me that if I truly believed, I could walk on a bed of hot coals and not be burned.”

Now. Big Dope, trust me. Just jam
your finger into that light socket.
If your belief is strong,
you have no reason to worry. - C.W.
“And you believed him?”

“When I assume the appearance of one of your species, I believe a great number of things.”

“So if I told you that you could grab a rattlesnake and kiss it without harm, you would believe it?”

“Well, maybe not that.” He paused. “Unless the snake told me it was okay.”

“So you do believe snakes can talk?”

“Can we see if there are any “Big Bang” reruns on TV? I know Penny misses me.”

Sunday, July 15, 2012

105. Matches

“Intergalactic travel. Should I put that under ‘hobbies’ or ‘job description’ I wonder?”

I considered it. “It might sound less intimidating as a hobby.”

“No, wait, I already listed ‘making crop circles’ as a preferred passing of durations.”

While he pondered the most appropriate pastime, I fixed us a couple of Mexican Martinis. I love the way they affect him and he tends to forget until it is too late.

C.W. was spending Saturday evening filling out a questionnaire for an on-line dating service. It’s one of his favorite, well … ‘pass durations’ if you will. So far, his respondents were all English Majors except for the owner of a Christian bookstore in Seattle who was passing himself off as the widow of a Nobel Prize – winning physicist. (Readers will have to wait until the statute of limitations has run out on that one.}

Anyway, he was trying to broaden his constituency, so to speak. You should have seen him. He resembled a model in a men’s magazine, without that constipated look they tend to assume.

I handed him his drink and he sipped. “Marvelous,” he said.

“Just wait,” I thought. “Enjoy it,” I said.

“Cute puppies, CĂ©line Dion music, and long walks in the spring rain,” he said as he wrote.

“That is so awful.”


“Why don’t you put the truth down?” I said.

“Such as?”

“Analyzing String Theory literature, making homemade pasta, and buzzing around town on your Vespa.”

“I did that once.”


“Don’t you remember driving her back to the bus terminal?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, shuddering. “But seriously, how can you expect a meaningful relationship to develop from such an orchestrated scenario?”

“As opposed to what?” he said.

“Chance encounters,” I said. “So spontaneous and romantic. Don’t you pay attention to any of the movies we watch? Consider the happy little accidents of life.”

He thought for a moment. “Such as yours?”

It was my turn to think. “Exactly,” I said.

“So you happened to meet your wife on the parking lot of your apartment complex.”

“That’s correct,” I said.

“Nearly 40 years ago?”

“Seems like the blink of an eye,” I said.

“Purely by accident?” he said.

“Purely.” I saw him cock an eye. “What are you getting at?” I said.

“She just happened to walk by?” he said.

“Just happened to,” I said. “I was working on my car.”

“And it was parked by the door of her apartment?”

I thought back. “No, I had parked it in a far corner, out of the way.”

“And she just walked by dressed in jeans and a sweater.”

“No, she was dressed for a date,” I said. “Really dolled up.”

“And just happened to walk by.”

“Just happened to,” I said, with less confidence.

I can't understand why I don't get
better matches on E-Harmony with this great photo - C.W.
“Did she stroll by, or did she do that ‘Lauren Bacall’ thing.”

Realization struck me like summer lightening, and my mouth dropped. “Why that little …”

“Hold on, pal,” he said, finishing his drink. “That’s your life-partner you’re talking about and she’s in the next room.” Then he banged his glass on the table.

“Put some music on, Big Dope. I’m ready to do the Merengue.”

Sunday, July 8, 2012

104. Television

My wife was off on an adventure with her mother, so C.W. and I decided to spend some time watching television. Want to guess his favorite show? Yep, you are correct. It’s the “Big Bang Theory.” In fact, he was using his multi-tasking skills to write a fan letter to the show’s female character, Penny. Appropriately, he had assumed a shape closely resembling the big brother on the old series “Leave it to Beaver.”

“How’s this sound?” he said, looking up from his writing. “You certainly have a carcass capable of generating heat.”

I thought for a moment. “I think you probably mean, ‘hot body.’”


“That might be a little strong for the first letter,” I said. But he didn’t hear me. The character in question walked across a room in the scene we were watching and it caught his attention.

“Would you look at that …, “ he began.

“I can see it,” I said, interrupting him. “May I ask you something?”

“Wait a minute,” he said. Then, after Penny had left the scene, he turned to me. “Are you sure it makes you go blind?”

Ignoring him, I continued, “I would easily understand why you like a show about four young physicists,” I said. “But you seem fixated on the only non-scientist on the show.”

“Shut up,” he said. “I just had a thought.” He returned to his letter, speaking the words as he wrote. “Physicists are a dime-for-twelve but your body is a solitary splendor that would fetch top dollar.” He paused. “How does that sound?”

“I’m sure she will be overwhelmed.”

“I think television is one of your species’ more interesting phenomenon,” he said, sticking the pencil lead to his tongue and then to the paper.

“Then why is a sitcom your favorite? Why not one of the more educational shows?”

“Such as?” he said, turning to me with a questioning look.

The question took me by surprise, and I couldn’t come up with a quick answer.

“Your so-called ‘History Channel?’”

“Well, maybe not that one.”

“Not unless one really believes that Leonardo de Vinci was an alien.”

“Well …”

“I’ve told you over and over again,” he said. “We have only planted one alien unit on Earth in all our panspermian efforts.”

“I know. I know.”

“And you know that we placed it in a remote spot to minimize the chance of catastrophe.”

“I know.”


Dear Penny: If you would only give me
the chance, I couild teach you a thing or two
about physics that those four guys
never dreamed of. - Your fan, C.W.
“She ended up running for Vice-President,” I said.


“You had to come here to keep tabs.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Now leave me alone. He started to write, “I want so badly to stick my tongue in …”

“C.W.,” I said.

“A dish of Falloonian Congomeracity Pudding, when I see your sweet smile.”

Then he stopped and looked at me.


Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Mid-week Thought

From your friend C.W.: "And also in that day were those of weak spirit who venerated the land above honor and called real estate holy but denied succor to those who dwelt therein and I did not bless them." - Book of Ludicrous, Chapter 1, Verse 2.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

103. Jokes

“There once was a man from Falloonia … let’s see, petunia, cartoonia? Hmmm. Oh hi, Big Dope, come to see my new act?”

It goes without saying that I was stunned. It seems that C.W.’s latest career effort is that of a standup comedian. He wanted my opinion. Sure.

“How’s this for an opener?” he said, waving an arm draped in a blue silk shirt. His form was somewhere between Dick Cheney on steroids and Elvis on carbohydrates. Before I could respond, he began.

“It’s good to see you folks,” he said. “I know it’s tough being away from your cousins for a night to come see the show, but I see some of you just brung them along.” Then he paused in case someone laughed. “In case one gets restless, the ushers are standing by to toss them a treat.”

He grinned.

Until that point, I don’t think I had ever judged his recklessness, and told him so.

“Wait ‘till we get to the political segment,” he said. Then he lit out.

“What is it with these conservatives and job creation? Talk about obsessions. Why, you could be the devil’s own stepbrother but say ‘I create jobs, yeah jobs, whores, pimps, and drug dealers’ and they would say ‘sign right here brother. You’re okay.’”

He waited for effect and then continued.

And these pledges not to vote for Texas. What’s with that? Those people can’t help it. Why pick on …”

I interrupted at this point. “C.W., I think the pledge is not to vote for taxes, not Texas."


“Yes, taxes.”

“Why that don’t make no sense. How you gonna pay for things without taxes? They must treat credit card debt like my wife treats makeup. Pile it on and forget about it until it starts scaring the children or making the horses bolt.”

“Your wife?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of poetic license?”

What was the use?

“So take my wife. She’s the only one I know that buys Hamburger Helper in five-gallon buckets. The Alka-Seltzer truck makes home deliveries for us. I ain’t saying she’s a bad cook but she is on Southern Living’s Ten Most Wanted List.” He paused. “She’s the one with the fish symbol tattooed on her forehead and the nose so big you can see Russia from it.”

He looked at me. I shrugged.

“The only person who will eat her food is my friend Big Dope,” he said. “And he would eat road-kill casserole if someone put it in front of him. You ought to see them planning a meal. It looks like two pigs trying to write poetry.”

I just watched.

“Here’s my bang-up ending,” he said. The he leaned forward.

“But seriously folks,” he said. “Have you ever wondered why a dog licks his …”

“Stop it,” I yelled. “There may be children around.”

“Master’s hand?” he said, ignoring me. “It ain’t love,” he continued. “It’s a taste test.”

I waited.

“As I wander among you people,” he said. “People say to me, ‘C.W. what chew doing?’ We don’t need no alien.”

Did you folks hear the one about the conservative
who was so dumb the other conservatives
started noticing it? - C.W.
 He leaned farther forward.

“I just tell them,” he said. “That you ain’t halleluiah’n if you ain’t tried Falloonian.”

I grimaced.

“You folks have been great. I know it’s hard to go this long without a Mountain Dew.” he said, then looked at me. “How’s that for a wrap-up?”