Get this. He was—excuse me while I stop and laugh again—in the
shape of a 1960s hippie, complete with robe, headband. and beaded necklace. A
strong odor of incense oozed through the room.
“I can’t help it,” I said.
He said, “You will see, my friend. Peace be unto you.”
“Oh,” I said, straightening up. “What the hell? What’s up?”
“Simply this,” he said. “I have chanced upon what your country
needs to work itself away from this awful state you currently occupy.”
“Awful state?”
“There was another shooting spree,” he said. “Or haven’t you
heard?”
“At an airport, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “And it seems the shooter had been motivated
by a sinister force that is endemic to your country.”
“And what sinister force might that be?”
“Media inspired hate,” he said. “From radio, television, and
printed sources.”
“You mean like hate radio?”
“It runs constantly. It can flow without stop through a
person’s mind like a never-ending poison. And your species has no internal
antidote for hate.”
“You will provide an external one?”
“It is my destiny.”
I said, “And you have a plan?”
“A simple one. You might say: a kind and gentle one.”
“And that is?”
“Love radio.”
I thought about this. “You would counteract the effects of ‘hate
radio’ with ‘love radio?’”
“Exquisitely simple, yes?”
“Love radio.” I pondered this.
“And later we can expand to ‘love TV.’”
I said, “You know that it would cost money to do this?”
He said, “Of course I do, my friend.” He sat and smoothed
his robe. “That’s where you come in.”
“Me? I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Of course not. You’ll have to find sponsors.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “And who, may I ask, is going to
sponsor a program about loving one another?”
It was his time to ponder a question. “Drug companies?”
“Are you kidding? It would put them out of business.”
“Car makers?”
“They sell on fun, envy, or implied power, not love.”
“Jewelers?”
“You would be direct competition.”
“I know,” he said. “Mega-marts.”
“Uh,” I said. “I don’t know if you have noticed but they don’t
even love their own people enough to pay a living wage.”
“Maybe the churches would help.”
“Too late,” I said. “They have moved into prosperity and paranoia
as dominate messages. The few that still preach love are drying up and wouldn’t
have any spare cash for you.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “There must be some source of funding for
love.”
“Afraid not,” I said.
 |
| I'm confused. If one can't sell love in your country? What can one sell? - C.W. |
“I’ve got it,” he said and his face brightened.
I said, “Please share.”
“Gun manufacturers.” He pointed a finger at me. “Bang.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No,” he said, giddy with excitement. “I have heard them on
many an occasion state that their only goal is to allow us to protect the ones we
love. There you go.”
“Maybe you should stick to selling flowers,” I said.
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