195. Ratings

It turns out that C.W. didn’t fare well with his plan to get rich staging contests. Actually, he was quite despondent about it.

“There is already a contest for about everything,” he said. “The field of staging contests is thoroughly soaked.”

“I thought you might find it saturated,” I said.

“Besides,” he said. “The Falloonian Elders refused to approve it.”

“They have to approve your business ventures?”

“Quite so.”

“What happened?”

“They said I was deranged, demented, and not my right mind.”

“They thought you were crazy?”

“That’s what I just said.”

I ignored him. “What was the basis this time?”

“They accused me of making things up.”

“Why?”

“They ruled that no species in the Universe would ever stage a contest to see who could eat the most hot dogs. They said I must have been imagining it.”

That made me think. I actually felt sorry for him. His current form created the “spitting image” of that TV personality Jerry Springer. He shook his head in sadness, but then snapped to attention and smiled.

“I have a new idea,” he said. “A real winner this time.”

“And that is?”

“Lists.”

“Lists?”

“Creating lists. Americans are wild about lists.” He thought for a moment. “I think it has something to do with your national obsession with being first at something.”

I nodded.

He added, “Except greed, of course.”

Ignoring this, I pressed him. “So what kind of lists will you prepare?”

“Oh,” he said. He reached into a pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper. “Here is one your species is particularly obsessed with.” He read, “The best city in America.”

I groaned.

“No, really,” he said, preparing to read.

“Wait,” I said. “This topic has been beaten to death. Each list names a different city.”

“Exactly,” he said. ”That is because of the rating criteria.” He smiled wistfully. “Control them and you control the world of list-making.”

I was curious so I let him continue.

“Whatever Chamber of Commerce wants its city first, I can do it.” He studied his sheet. “Here is one. Want to hear the rating criteria?”

“Very much so.”

“Okay,” he said. “The city must have at least an African-American population equal to the national percentage or it lacks inclusiveness or, worse, could be classified as a moment when the trailing edge of the Sun's disk disappears below the horizon city.”

“A ‘sundown city’ in other words.”

“Why are you always repeating me?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Go ahead. This is interesting.”

“Okay,’ he said, “the city must be at least 500 miles from the ocean.”

“Why is that?”

“So it won’t be underwater in a hundred years or so.”

“Okay. Keep going.”

“Must be located near a fresh water supply so it will be one of the last remaining places to live when your planet runs dry.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“Must have been around at least 200 years to prove durability.”

“Maybe,” I said.

This time he ignored me. “So, there are other criteria, catchy nickname, neat skyline, and so forth. But do you want to hear the winner, the best city in America?”
 

“By all means.”

He waved the list in my face. “Why Detroit, Michigan, ‘Motor City’ of course.”

As I pondered this, he pulled out another sheet. “Want to hear the one I did for Flint Michigan?”




A city without a skyline is a city without a soul. Don't you agree? - C.W.

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Spring

Dear Friends and Followers:

It seems that spring may have arrived in my assigned location, so Big Dope and I will be outdoors doing what he calls "manly-man" things today. Later I am going to work on a new career. I think he may report on it tomorrow. I expect great accomplishment of an aim or purpose. (Editor's note: He means "success").

In the meantime, check out a sappy entry on his blog about how he met his wife. You earthlings always lightly touch or prod me in a way that causes itching and often laughter. (Editor's note: He means "tickle me").

194. Salvation

C.W. was bubbling over with enthusiasm. He showed up as I was enjoying a late evening martini and he was in a state of undisguised enthusiasm. He had taken on the form of one of those TV evangelists that preach the so-called “Prosperity Gospel,” I can’t think of his name right now but it’s the one from Houston with all the teeth.

“Where have you been?” I said.

“Walking to and fro upon the earth,” he said, flashing a smile.

I returned to my martini.

“Do you really want to know?”

Before I could answer, he kept talking. “I have some great news for you.”

I set the glass on a table and said, “And that is?”

“I’ve been busy all day.”

I waited.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve been doing?”

“I’m all ears.”

He looked puzzled. “Tell me,” I said.

He gave me a syrupy smile, one of those he knows I detest when he appears in this form. “I spent the day in an Intergalactic Conference Call.”

“A what?”

“I was in communication with the Falloonian Elders and the other leaders of the Terspellian Ten.”

“And?"                                                                                                                                       

“I was summoned,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Want to know why?”

“Sure.”

“They had put your planet on the ‘re-spermiation List’ again.”

I said. “What the hell is re-spermiation?”

His smile dropped. “You don’t want to know,” he said darkly. Then the smile was back. “But I saved you again.”

I was beginning to understand. “What did we do this time?”

“Stidombassistica.”

“What the hell is that?”

He retreated into thought. I could almost hear his Galactic Universal Translator hum. “In your vernacular? I would say it means, roughly, ‘too stupid to live.’”

I groaned. “What did we do this time? Have they been monitoring Fox News again?”

“No,” he said. “Oddly enough it was your CNN this time.”

“And what happened?”

“An airliner disappeared, as you may have heard.”

“I did,” I said. “Nobody has discovered yet what happened or where it is.”

“That’s just it,” he said with a broad smile. “Aren’t you glad that I’m here to be your friend?”

“What did CNN do?”

“Now,” he said. “we understand that it is presented as a legitimate news outlet, not a parody like the other one you mentioned.”

“The network claims to be a legitimate news source,” I said in agreement.

“Then you can imagine the agitation among the Terspellian Ten.”

“Over what?”

“Over a spot in which one of their news analysts interviewed someone claiming to have psychic powers that could locate the missing airliner.”

“They interviewed a psychic on the air to determine the fate of the missing airliner?”

“In exact terms; without vagueness.”

Then maybe we precisely deserve re-spermiation, or whatever you call it.”

“Oh,” he said, flashing that ridiculous smile. “Don’t worry. I saved you.”

“How?” I was skeptical.

“I presented convincing proof that life on your planet has only a few more years before it will self-adjust.”

A day spent saving the world is a
happy one for all. - C.W.

“Self-adjust?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“So you bought us time?”

“It’s a wonderful day when we provide joy to others,” he said.

“Well,” I said. “I guess we should thank you for all your hard work.”

“Oh,” he said “I didn’t do anything. The work was already done.”

“By whom.”

“Someone named Al Gore.”

Voting

Dear Friends and Followers:

Big Dope is out walking so I take this opportunity to communicate without his interference. As usual, I am mentally confused by the presence of a difficult problem or matter. (Editor’s note: He means “puzzled.”

I ran across the following photograph on your book of faces site.

 

Now, as understand it, some members of your species want to hire an assassin to rid the populace of anyone voting who is unqualified for the privilege.

I understand not wanting people like J. Gordon Liddy, Chuck Colson, Oliver North, and John Poindexter to vote, but shooting them? Seems a bit strict, but you Americans know what kind of government you want.

Now though, how do you assassinate Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck? Would it be cruel to inform the sponsors of voter suppression legislation that both are cartoon figures?

Dead people? Seem messy to dig them up and shoot them, but why not? Lots of folks around here love to shoot guns and it might keep them from killing helpless animals.

The problem is: according to my research, the actual amount of voter fraud in your country is negligible.

When confronted with this data, sponsors of voter suppression legislation say they are acting to prevent something they imagine might happen.

My question is, purely as an alien observing your country: if one desires to craft legislation designed to prevent something that they imagine might happen, wouldn’t it be more productive to imagine that:

- The water and wastewater plants in the country will fail for lack of resources.

- Bridges in the country will begin to collapse for lack of maintenance.

- Nearly 20 percent of children go to bed hungry each day.

- Global warming will make Pine Bluff, Arkansas a seaport.

And finally, if there is voter fraud, the fact that such legislation is being passed seems to indicate to me, again just an observing alien, that it is not happening among the ranks of thoughtful voters, dead people, or cartoon characters. That just leaves felons.

 

Your Friend

C.W.

 

Also check out www.wattensawpress.com

 

Oops

Dear Friends and Followers

While Big Dope wasn't looking, I was fooling around with the layout of our webpage. Now I can't change it back. If you happen to like it, let me know by commenting and maybe he will shut the place where the wicked are punished after death up. (Editor's note: he means "hell").

Your friend C.W.
Oh, and hit one of the ads. That will make him some money and perhaps he will lighten up.

193. Contests

As the faithful reader knows, C.W. takes on more than a few obnoxious forms. One of his most irritating, though, is Paulie the Pundit, or as he likes to call himself, “TV’s Golden Man.”

It’s understandable then, that I wasn’t overjoyed to see him.

I was trying to master computer-aided drafting when he ambled in looking like he had just returned from a week at the family home in Kennebunkport.

“Wassup?” he said.

I cursed silently when a computer command that had worked four straight times refused to acknowledge my existence on the fifth.

 “I’ve been talking to folks,” he said.

“Son of a bitch,” I said—to the computer, not to him.

“I said I’ve been talking to people.”

“That’s nice.”

He said, “Know what they tell me?”

“That you shouldn’t bother people while they’re concentrating?”

“You know the last two postings—mine and yours?”

“That’s nice,” I said, half listening.

“I won.”

“Won what?”

“My last posting was better than yours.”

That stopped me. I hit “save” and looked up. “I didn’t know it was a contest.”

“Everything is a contest,” he said. “Don’t you watch television?”

“As a last resort.”

“Your species demands winners and losers for some reason.” He sat beside me. “And I need a new show to glorify some folks and humiliate others.” He pointed to my computer. “I bet I could work that program better than you. Wanna try me?”

“No,” I said. “No contests today. I’m going to do some yard work here at the farm.”

“Yard work,” he said with excitement. “Great occasion for a contest. I’ll get another team and we can race them getting a job done. We’ll feature the winners on TV.”

“A contest featuring yard work? Might as well have one renovating a kitchen.”

He sighed. “Haven’t you seen the “Do It Yourself” channel lately?”

“No,” I said, “I’ve been writing a book.”

“Great idea,” he said. “They have this neat contest to see who can write a book the fastest. Maybe you could be a ‘winner’ at something before you check out.”

I returned my attention to the computer.

“Or,” he said. “You could debate someone on television. You might not be such a loser at that.”

“A debate?” I said.

“Yeah,” just like the political candidates.”

“And who decides who is the winner and who is the loser?”

He looked offended. “Why we pundits, of course.” Then he said, “You’re no fun. Where is Mrs. Big Dope?”

“I think she is fixing supper,” I said.

“Cooking,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What a great idea for a contest.” Then he thought. “Maybe not. I’m not sure I would like to be around her if someone labeled her ‘a loser’ on national TV.”

“I think you are learning a few things while you are on our planet,” I said.

Don't you love the look on a loser's face? - C.W.

“What else does she like to do?”

“She likes to sew.”

“Sewing,” he said with glee. “What a great way to find winners and losers. Maybe she could be a judge.”

“I think I’ll go read a book.”

“I bet I can read faster than you,” he said.

I gave him the international gesture meaning “mind your own business.”

“Loser,” he said as he wandered out of the room.

 

Check us out at www.wattensawpress.com

Shopping

Dear Friends and Followers

Big Dope is out “fat walking” so I take this opportunity to communicate.

As a public service, I am preparing a draft re-write of the Arkansas Criminal Code. I could use suggestions for §(a)(B).201-Shopping. An example: for the crime of blocking the aisle in a supermarket while talking on a cell phone, should the punishment be a few years of hard time or a long sentence of house arrest? Another: for parking with one set of tires on the line of the parking stall, would 500 hours of community service be sufficient? I’m thinking a six-month sentence for the crime of waiting until the cashier announces your total before beginning to rummage in a purse looking for a checkbook or a wallet for a credit card. Fair? Men shopping without a Certificate of Graduation from Husband School would be permanently barred from the venue, freeing up a lot of everyone’s time. Sound appropriate?

Finally: I am proposing that the following be posted at conspicuous locations in all stores.

 

RULES FOR SHOPPER BEHAVIOR

1. IF YOUR POSTERIOR IS WIDER THAN YOUR SHOPPING CART, PLEASE WALK SIDEWAYS THROUGH THE AISLES.

2. PLEASE KEEP ALL WEAPONS CONCEALED UNLESS ACUALLY OBSERVING A SHOPLIFTING IN PROGRESS..

3. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DISCUSSING THE FOLLOWING ON CELL PHONES AS YOU SHOP:

- VISITS TO PHYSICIANS

- PREGNANCIES

- ARRESTS OF CHILDREN

- SORRY HUSBANDS

- BOWEL MOVEMENTS

- SEXUAL ACTIVITY IN GENERAL; FREQUENCY THEREOF IN PARTICULAR

4.  THIS STORE IS NOT OBLIGATED TO STOCK ANY ITEM OR BRAND THAT YOU MAY HAVE PURCHASED PREVIOUSLY SO DON’T ASK.  (WALMART OUTLETS ONLY)

5.   A MAXIMUM OF FIVE CHILDREN MAY RIDE IN A SHOPPING CART AT ONE TIME.

6.  SHOPPERS TASTE-TESTING FRUIT SHOULD NOT RETURN PEELS, CORES, SEEDS, OR OTHER REMNANTS  INTO THE DISPLAY BINS.

7.  PLEASE TAKE WRAPPERS FROM CANDY CONSUMED BY YOUR CHILDREN WHILE SHOPPING TO THE CASHIER TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR AT  CHECKOUT.

8.  PLEASE COVER ALL TATTOOS EXPRESSING DEATH THREATS TOWARD THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WHILE SHOPPING AT THIS STORE.

9.  PLEASE REFRAIN FROM CONVERSING WITH OTHER SHOPPERS WHILE CHECKING OUT.

10. PRACTICAL JOKES SUCH AS PLACEMENT OF CONDOMS, LAXATIVES, OR FEMALE UNDERGARMENTS IN ANOTHER’S CART ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.

As always, I wish you a feeling of happiness day. (Editor’s note: He, of course, means “pleasant”).

Remember: it is vital that you get a
clear line of fire when making
a "Citizen's Kill." - C.W.

Your Friend.

C.W.

Also: Check out www.wattensawpress.com

 

192. Controversies

It is said that hope springs eternal. That seems to be the case with C.W. as he is determined to “suddenly attack it bountiful,” as he puts it.

“And just how do you propose to strike it rich this time,” I said as he appeared in one of his favorite forms, Richie the member of the Young Conservatives of America.

“Easy,” he said, straightening his club tie. “I’m starting a charter school corporation."

“And?”

“It will be designed for children of parents who fear the advance of knowledge.”

“Your conservative friends.”

“Without vaguess.”

“Exactly what will you teach?”

“Controversies.”

“Controversies?”

“Controversies. In fact the name will be Controversy Charters Incorporated.”

“You must be kidding me.”

“Why would I make you a baby goat?"

“No,” I said, “you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Your species seems addicted to alternate versions of the truth. I’m simply filling a demand.”

“That’s what Al Capone said.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What makes you think you could be paid to teach alternate versions of the truth?”

He said, “Didn’t your own state just award a charter to a company that had used in its curriculum a mythical version of science, something called ‘creationism?’”

“Seems I read that.”

“Interesting,” he said, producing a set of notes. “That myth has, in itself evolved, no pun intended.”

“Evolved?”

“Yes,’ he said, reading. “It began as something called ‘creation science,’ then evolved into ‘creationism,’ then into ‘evidence against evolution,’ then ‘intelligent design,’ and finally, ‘teach the controversy’ and it has all generated a great deal of merriment within the Galaxy.”

“I’m glad we provide a service,” I said. “So what controversies will you teach?”

“Glad you asked,” he said, handing me a sheet spelling out the course curriculum, I read:

Unicorns: Nonexistant or Just Shy?

Earth: Round or Do We Just See it That Way?

Introduction to Witch Identification

Earth-Sun Revolution Realities—The Day the Earth Really Stood Still

Air and Water Pollution: Nature's Character Builders

The Life and Death of Paul McCartney

Moon Landing Conspiracies

 

Preparing Guardian Angels for Tsunamis

Osama Bin Laden: Comparative Theories

Anti-Christ Identification: The Clinton-Obama Controversies

Contrails: Government Plot or Alien Panspermation?

I said, “Maybe you should tread lightly on the alien angle.”

“Hmm.” He took the sheet from me and made a notation. “Maybe we’ll move that to ‘Advanced Placement,’ along with the 9-11 Controversies.”

I groaned. He said, “Got to go. Can I borrow your car? I have to pick up a man at the airport from Liberty University.”

This would seem even more hilarious to the Galaxy
if so many of your species didn't believe that your
Civil War wasn't about slavery. - C.W.

I must have looked confused.

“He’s bringing plans for the new building.”

“New building? You’re constructing a new school building?”

“Yes.” He beamed and smiled. “It’s going to be a replica of Noah’s Ark, with the stalls serving as classrooms.”

I slumped into a chair. “Beam me up, Scotty,” I said.

He frowned. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You know that could never work.” His face brightened. “You know that,” he said, “and I know that.” He began to make notes. “But they don’t know that.” He looked away, thought for a few seconds, and resumed writing. “Tele-transportation—How The Government Keeps it a Secret.” He thanked me, took my keys, and ran out the door singing “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

Also check out www.wattensawpress.com

Friends:

Sad news today. The liberal blogger at www.bartcop.com died. He was one of C.W.'s favorites and he is deeply saddened, as am I. Barcop's greatest gift to me occurred during the great George W. Bush News Blackout following the American attack on Iraq. Major news outlets in the U.S. had been threatened, cajoled, or fooled (by telling reporters they could dress up in soldier costumes and ride in the back of military convoys if they wouldn’t report anything of substance) into a “U.S.A, U.S.A” chorus of non-news. One could, however, get a feel for what was happening by scouring outlets like The Guardian, Le Monde, Al Jazeera, and—yes—Bartcop. He could be caustic, opinionated, and over the top at times, but I will always be grateful for being assured, during that dark, dark, moment in American history, that there were still some people in my country who hadn’t gone bat-shit crazy.

Big Dope

C.W.

 

 

191.Investments

Friends and Followers:

Big Dope is working on his “taxes” and is not in a talkative mood, so I take this time to file a report to the Falloonian Elders on a related topic, investments. I will prepare it in your language, (in which I have attained a high degree of a quality or state of having great facility). I welcome your help.

INVESTMENTS: THE EARTHING APPROACH TO FINANCIAL HEALTH

Unlike our planet, Earthlings developed no mandated provision for planetary-wide care of the elderly or unblessed. Each sub-unit of government seems free to devise its own system of care, or neglect thereof.

Some ignore it completely.

Some do provide care, but this is rare.

Some delegate the responsibility to an unseen spirit.

Some allow the issue to be settled by physical violence.

In my region, individuals receive a basic government allowance during what they laughingly refer to as “their golden years.” It is based on the amount of salary they received during their productive period. Thus, the child of a wealthy person who receives a high level of education and training will receive a larger allotment than someone who toiled at the lower end of the salary spectrum.

This is all quite complicated. Please don’t ask me to explain.

Some individuals receive an allotment from the employer for whom they worked. This

concept, however, is being phased out and is no longer considered valid. It was an approach supported by something they called “the labor movement” which is also being phased out.

Americans, you have noticed, delight in the process of phasing out programs that have proven effective.

This all leads to the concept of investing. Those in my region must make up the difference in what their social allotment pays and what they figure they will need in those “golden years.” They do this in several ways.

Some continue to work.

Some receive what they call “gap financing” from their children.

Some rely on what they call their “investments.” These may appear in the form of units of ownership in corporations, called stocks, or equities. This approach contains a high level of both risk and return. Some rely on a concept called “interest” that involves receiving a fee for loaning funds to a corporation or unit of government. This method is safe but is also being phased out.

Retirement in my region
can be quite pleasant,
if one is wealthy. - C.W.

For most, their investment consists entirely of the value of the container wherein they dwell. I know this seems odd, but it is true.

In order to inject further realism into this report, I was able to obtain a statement from my Earth Host about his personal approach to investing. He was not maintaining a paradigm of cooperation at the time, but my pleading produced this rather terse statement.

“During the Bush Recession, We began shifting our investments into equities. In the prosperous years of President Clinton, one could do well with safe, fixed-income securities. No more. We live simply, raise our own food, make most of our furniture, and enjoy a double-digit annual return on our investment portfolios. The reason? Corporations are making a killing, what with their government subsidies, stagnant wages, tax-free offshore accounts, and a media frenzy espousing a “conspicuous consumption,” credit-based mentality. So, we will get cozier, the wealthy will get rich, the rich will get richer, and the one percent will get to be the .01 percent. We’ll try to help some at the bottom and not worry about those in between who—because they only worry about guns, gays, and women—vote for those who will destroy their future. Some say, “It will all crash when the bricks start to fly.” That’s true, but we’ll be in Costa Rica by then, or beyond caring at any rate.”

I will make an attempt to translate this in an expanded report.

Chawawa++.0936
Earth Name: C.W.