188. Debates

Oh no, C.W. has another of his “get-rich” schemes incubating and it is a doozy. He told me about it yesterday while we were housebound by bad weather. He charged in as a thin, energetic man wearing a blue-blazer and a sporty bow tie, his face beaming.

“It’s official,” he said. “I’m going to be rich.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Legally, I presume.”

“All atop a plank.”

I thought. “Above board,” you mean.

“Exactly. Why must I repeat everything for you?”

“Never mind,” I said. “What is your scheme this time?”

“I’m going to be the Great Debater.”

“Say again?”

“Debates. I’m going to stage debates.” He smiled. “The ‘net’ is buzzing about a so-called debate last week as to whether your world is 6,000 years old or five billion.” He broke into laughter.

I said. “What’s so funny?”

“Your species,” he said.

“We’re funny?”

“Oh, hilarious.”

“You find us funny?”

“Of course,” He said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just how do you mean, ‘funny?’”

He checked to see if I looked serious, then laughed again. “We started watching your planet—we the Falloonians—when the last big asteroid hit it 60 million years ago. It was pretty boring except for the last couple of hundred thousand.”

“And now?”

“We show clips of you for entertainment … like the show last week.” He started laughing again. This time it was at least a minute before he could control himself. I waited while he regained his composure. He wiped an eye and looked at me. “Six thousand years.” Then he broke up again.

“Are you hinting that we are the laughing stock of the Galaxy?”

“Not all of you,” he said. “We take accountants pretty seriously… and railroad engineers, cowboys, music teachers, sailors, and a few others.”

I wanted to re-direct the conversation. “So what will you debate?”

“Correction,” he said. “You and I. What will we debate?”

“What?”

“You will be my thin layer of aluminum used for temporary food preservation.”

“No,” I said with a huff, “I will not be anyone’s foil.”

“Oh,” he said. “Think of the fun.”

“Fun?”

“Can’t you see us on TV debating whether or not we breathe air?”

“No.”

“How about this one?” he said, pulling a notepad from his jacket pocket. “The Theory of Sexual Insemination—If Mother Mary didn’t need it, why should we?”

“Don’t you have something to do?”

“Wait,” He said. “You’ll like this.” He read from his notes. “Disease—From Science or From God?”

You know ... I'm not sure I could make the
trip from Earth to Falloonia using
Biblical physics. - C.W.

“I need to take care of some things.”

“Okay,” he said. “You won’t be able to resist this one. “Sunrise—fact or optical illusion?”

I started to leave.

“Newton’s Theory of Motion?” he said. “Let’s ask Joshua.”

By this time I was out the door. The last thing I heard him yell after me was, “The Theory of Pi—If it is true, it would be in the Bible.”

Does anyone want to keep him for a while?