Sunday, September 30, 2012

116. Churches

I wish you could have seen C.W. this morning. Dolled up is not the term for it. His tailored suit must have cost close to five thousand dollars and I could have combed my hair using the reflection in his hand-made shoes. The cost of his tie would have provided me with a week’s supply of clothing. A jewel-encrusted Rolex sparkled on his wrist.

But the best part of it was his hair. It must have stood up four inches from his head and not a hair was out of place. I couldn’t help staring.

“What?” He said, looking up from a Bible he was holding.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Then leave me alone. I’m about my father’s work.”

I turned to leave.

“Aren’t you at least curious?”

I looked around. “No.”

“I’m starting a new church,” he said. “A real one-liner.”

“A what?”

“You know,” he said, pointing to a text. “A church formed from one selected line.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Somebody already took the handling of serpents,” he paused. “Besides, I don’t like snakes.”

I was mystified.

“And Joseph Smith grabbed ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ Now the Duggers have it copyrighted.”

“Would you explain to what you are talking about?”

“Money,” he said. “More money than you can imagine. Do you know how many cars, boats, and mansions Joyce Meyers owns?”

“A bunch I think.”

“More than a bunch. Now I plan to cash in”

“You make it sound simple,” I said.

“It is. All you have to do is find one line in here,” he said waving his Bible at me. “And you form your church around it.”

I must have looked mystified.

“Have concerns about your sexuality and want to overcompensate? There’s a line that lets you start a church based on preaching against members of your species born with a same-sex physiology.”

“So I have heard.”

“If you enjoy your same-sex physiology, there’s a line for that too,” he said. “That’s the beauty of it.” He looked at his Bible lovingly.

“So what’s yours?”

“I thought you would never ask,” He said. Then he looked at me with a conspiratorial wink. “You know how I hate physical labor.”

“I have noticed a tendency to, as they say, get rich quickly and easily.”

“Quite so,” He said. “So here it is.” He turned to a bookmarked page. “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin.” He looked up and smiled. “It goes on further to say don’t worry, your heavenly father will provide for you.”


“Don’t you see the appeal of a church that teaches it is a sin to work?”

I thought for a moment. “But won’t someone have to?”

I was going to base my church on a
commandment of gluttony but that
was aleady taken. - C.W.
“Sure, the unrighteous,” he said. “And maybe Methodists and Jews.

“What if they don’t want to?”

“That’s the secret to it,” he announced with a note of triumph. “Don’t you realize that yours is a Christian nation and the government will make them?”

“Now who told you that?” I said.

“Joyce Meyers.”

Monday, September 24, 2012

115. Expectations

C.W. was giving me a hard time, not for anything in particular, just on general principles. It had something to do with his latest review by the Falloonian Elders. He was pedantic, which explained his professorial get-up, complete with thick horn-rimmed glasses, bow-tie, and a tweed sports coats with patches on the elbows.
“They aren’t satisfied with my choice of an Earthling counterpart,” he said.

“Choose another, then,” I said.

“It’s not quite that easy,” he said. “You see, a person’s path to enlightenment is formed by the realism-expectation didactic.”

“Whatever,” I said. “So what is their major complaint?”

He thought. “They feel,” he stopped. “How did they put it ...?”

“That I am too good for this world?”

“No, they seem to think that you are, as they put it, a parchestantic shy of a firnicastachian.”

That hurt, but I tried not to let it show.

“For example,” he said. “You don’t even know how to send text messages on your cell phone.”

“Somehow I survive.”

“Your picture has never been in the society section of your newspaper. I know. I have researched the matter.”

“Guilty,” I said.

“I find no evidence that you fly fish, play golf or tennis, or even make periodic pilgrimages to Savannah, Georgia.”


“It wouldn’t hurt you to try and fit the mold.” He brandished a stack of travel brochures.

“I’m not going to Branson, Missouri.”

He quickly removed the topmost brochure. “Nobody is asking you to.”

“Where then?”

“Well,” he said, glancing down. “There is Disneyland.”

“Why don’t you take those brochures and …” I began before he interrupted me.

“Now don’t become hostile in the face of honest criticism.”

“Besides,” I said, calming a bit. “I am going to a cultural event, next week in fact, and I am taking you and the entire family.”

“Oh boy,” he said, resorting to the childlike C.W. that charms our hearts so. “Where?”
Oh boy! Nothing beats the King Biscuit Blues Festival.
Here is B.B. King from a couple of years ago.
Big Dope is so good to me. - C.W.

“The King Biscuit Blues Festival in Helena-West Helena, Arkansas.”

He brightened for a second before re-assuming his serious demeanor. “Uh,” he said. “Don’t you see?” He paused, choosing his words slowly. “Isn’t that a bit earthy? The Elders expect something more, well, socially prominent for our social forays.”

I smiled. Some mischievous cosmic force had delivered him into my hands. “Okay,” I said. “We won’t go.”

Alarm spread across his face. “Oh no,” he said. “I think we should.” He collected his thoughts and grimaced perceptibly, “We can always attend a wine-tasting when we return.”          

Sunday, September 16, 2012

114. Beliefs

C.W. had warned me that he was seeking a new vocation. He was going to become rich as a writer. So it was no surprise when I found a completed manuscript on my kitchen table for review.
It was entitled, “A Real History of the United States - By the Conservative Youth Movement.” Since he had not arrived by the agreed upon time, I took the opportunity to scan a few sections. Here is one.

As our brave forefathers settled this great country, they sought business alliances with the Native Americans who claimed to own the land. They paid 15 percent above appraised value for all lands acquired, hoping that the recipients would use the proceeds to establish themselves in a legitimate business. What did our “Redskin Brothers” do with the money instead? Why, they spent it instead upon liquor, cheap cosmetics, and weapons of mass destruction, causing great burdens to the white minority.


Our wise forefathers foresaw a shortage of labor in the New World, so they sent ships to the Continent of Africa, offering good wages, free transportation, and food and lodging to unemployed warriors. Upon arriving, however, these ingrates squandered their wages on music and refused to get an education. Our forefathers, then, were required to house and keep them for over 200 years

Still another:

In 1861, the northern states, without provocation, sent troops into the southern states to strip property owners of their land and belongings. A terrible war ensued.

And this:

As Great Britain and Russia lay defeated by Hitler’s forces, the United States was forced to take over World War Two and defeat Nazism single handedly. Three infantry divisions, led by John Wayne, Ronald Reagan, and Clint Eastwood respectively, stormed ashore on the Normandy Coast and proceeded  to fight their way across France, into Germany, and finally into Berlin itself.

My mouth dropped open at the exact moment he entered the room. He appeared as a freshly scrubbed youth in a brown uniform, complete with leather attachments, short pants, and highly polished shoes. A logo featuring the letters CYM covered the front of his shirt.

“Big Dope,” he said. “Greetings.”

“C.W.,” I said. “Are you serious about this?” I waved the manuscript at him.

“Of course,” he said. “I just received word from Wal-Mart that a half-million copies have been pre-sold. With the stockholder-gifts, the Hagee Ministry pre-sells, and the Texas schoolbook orders, we are already into our third printing before the first publication.”  He paused. “Conservative books are very popular.”

“But,” I asked. “Does anyone actually read them?”

“Who cares?

I was beginning to feel weak. I must have grimaced.
The Conservative Youth deserve an
accurate hisory of our country, - C.W.
“What?” he said.

“But these are all lies,” I said, shaking the manuscript again.
“That may be true,” he said. “But it is also irrelevant.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “There is something you must understand about lies.” He took the manuscript from me and held it in front of me.

“They,” he said slowly. “Are the stuff that dreams are made of.”

Sunday, September 9, 2012

113. Platforms

There was nothing for me to do but sit there and enjoy the spectacle. C.W. was in full animation sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in the form of an early American patriot. The only modern accoutrements were several tea bags hanging from his three-corned hat.

“Just about finished,” he said.

“Great,” I said, “Finished with what?”

“The most patriotic, god-pleasing political platform ever designed  by …,” he paused.

“An alien?” I said.

“Who do you think oversaw the preparation of your Constitution in the first place,” he said with a taunt in his voice.

That caused me to think. “So how is it coming?”

“Very well,” he said. “Listen to this: ‘No American will profit by, live upon, aggrandize themselves or otherwise enjoy the fruits of another person’s labor’” He stopped and smiled. “That’ll get those deadbeats.”

“You mean like Alice Walton, the Koch Brothers, and the Romney boys?”

He stopped. “No,” he said. “No … just the regular deadbeats.”

“The disabled, the widows, and the orphans?”

“Just listen,” he said. “We don’t need any liberal input.”

“Sorry, please continue.”

“Okay,” he said. “No candidate shall be considered for office without passing the party’s Religious Adherence Testimony. The RAT administrators will be Rush Limbaugh, Donald Trump, and Newt Gingrich.”

“Uh,” I said. “Those RATs have had nine wives, all totaled.”


“Wasn’t Jesus of Nazareth sort of clear about divorcing your wife? As in, ‘it’s a big no-no.’”

“Our party is the religious party, so shut up,” he explained. (Proper apologies applied for.)

“Well what about Article Six of the Constitution which forbids religious tests for public office in our country? The preparers were pretty clear about that.”
“They didn’t mean our religion,” he said.


“No,” he said. “Just those others.”

I let it pass.

“But here is a good one,” he announced proudly.

“I am all ears,” I said.

He looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. Seeing none, he continued. “We shall invade the nation of Iran within six months of taking office and proceed with our patented ‘Shock and Awe’ treatment for religious infidels.”

“What happened to ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ and all that?”

“There you go again,” he said. “Playing the religion card.”

My head began to swim. “But I thought your party was on friendly terms with the Iranians.”

We fired the shot heard round
the world at Gettysburg, and
we are the true patriots. - C.W. 
“Oh, go wash out your mouth,” he said indignantly. “Do you think for a second that the Israeli Prime Minister would allow that?”

“Didn’t your Pater Familias, —one Ronald Reagan—negotiate with the Iranians, while he was fist running for office, to hold the American hostages until after the election?”

“That was simply to prevent four more years of invalid government in our county,” he said. “Extremism in the pursuit of liberty is no vice.”

“I suppose,” I said, “The Iran-Contra Affair was similarly justified?”

“Why don’t you just shut up and learn something?” he said. “Now,” and here he paused for dramatic effect. “You know what evil lurks in the hearts of those women who practice birth control ...”

Sunday, September 2, 2012

112. Idiocies

It was a late summer day and I was busy in my workshop when I heard voices outside.
“This way, asshole!”

“Screw you, dumbass!”

I didn’t even have to look. I knew.

“One foot in front of the other. What’s so goddam hard about that?”

“If your half of us just had a brain …”

Sure enough, in walked C.W. in one of his favorite forms, Lucky and Lefty the conjoined twins. I was puzzled though. The last time I saw them they had assured me that they would follow a more conciliatory path. Apparently they were in “full backslide.”

“Afternoon boys,” I said.

“Eat me,” said Lefty.

“Now that’s real cute,” said Lucky, then “What’s up Big Dope?”

I sighed. “What’s causing the problem now, boys?”

“Schizophrenia,” said Lucky.

“Dumbassophrenia,” said Lefty.

Lucky started to reply but I stopped him. I pulled a bench over and invited them to sit. “Now why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Your species is driving us batty,” said Lefty.

“Yep,” said Lucky. “Retard here got it right for once.”

I nodded.

“For example,” said Lefty.

I waited.

“We watched a grown man talking to a chair on national TV the other night.”

It was true, and I could only grimace.

“And another grown man,” said Lucky, “said the way for the country to get out of debt was to cut revenue.”

They both stopped and smiled as if the point needed no further clarification. When I said nothing, they continued.

“And what is this obsession,” said Lefty, “with bringing about peace by waging war?”

“And don’t even mention sprinkling white shit on double-cheeseburgers to lose weight,” said Lucky.

What could I say?

“These men on TV were obsessed with two things we just can’t get our heads around,” said Lefty and he stopped to smile at his own joke.

“Asshole,” said Lucky.

“Ronald Reagan,” said Lefty, ignoring his twin.

“And invading Iran,” said Lucky.

“Ronald Reagan and …” I began.

“And Iran.” Lucky finished it for me.

“And?” I said.

“Don’t they remember that Ronald Reagan illegally sold the Iranians the weapons that they will be defending themselves with?”

“That’s ‘retaconockty,’ plain and simple,” said Lefty.

“That’s what?” I said.

“Oh,” said, Lucky. “It’s not something your species can do,” he said, pausing for effect. “It involves violating yourself with your own sexual organ.”

“Not a legitimate rape at all,” he continued, and then he smiled at his joke.

“This is all very interesting,” I said. “But I have work to do.”

“We ain’t done talkin’ about Bizzaro World yet,” said Lucky and he said it with a southern accent designed to irritate me. “We want to hear what you have to say about this man running for office who believes an angel gave a con artist some golden tablets and said ‘go start a new religion.’”

“And enjoy all the young girls you want while you’re at it,” added Lefty.

“You’re talking about the Mormons,” I said.

“Who else?” Lefty said.
Sadly, this is the slogan for your world
throughout the known galaxies. - C.W.
“But they have such a nice choir.”

They both stared at me like I had broken wind during benediction.

“Asshole,” said Lucky.

“Moron,” said Lefty.

Well, they finally agreed on something.