201. Politics

“Absolutely not.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“I could give you a thousand.”

“Give me one good one.”

“Look, C.W.,” I said. “I’m not telling you again that I can’t get into politics.”

“I’m not asking you to get into politics.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just asking you to run for office.”

I said, “We need to have a long talk someday.”

“Don’t you want to save your planet?”

“Save my planet?” I said. “I’ve spent years trying to do that.”

“It needs you,” he said. He was in the shape of a soft, pitiful looking man with a balding round head and wire frame glasses. He looked vaguely familiar but I was too agitated to place him. “I’ll write your ads for you,” he said.

“Oh boy,” I said.

“How about this one, ‘Vote for me, the other sonsabitches are crazy.’ Neat huh?”

I had to look to see if he was kidding. “What makes you so determined I should run for office?”

He looked at me as if I had just said the moon was ablaze. “Why because the other sonsabitches are crazy,” he said. “Since I entered the political ad writing business, I have met nothing but demagogues, morons, radicals, provocateurs, religious nutcases, and one-issue wonders.”

“Sounds normal.”

“Did I mention that most are dulled craniums?”

“I think you mean ‘numbskulls,’ and yes they are.”

“Why do you repeat what I say? Why won’t you run? Do you want them in office? Some of them think you can run the government without money.”

“I know.”

“Some of them want the male of your species to run everything,”

“I know.”

“Remember how well that worked out in 1914 and 1939?”

“I know.”

“Some of them think the universe is 6,000 years old. Hell, it took me longer than that, by your methods of timekeeping, to get here. Your planet is becoming a flippant witticism, you know.”

“A joke. I know.”

“So why? Why won’t you jump in? I’ll manage you.”

I had to look again to see if he was kidding. “Behavioral baggage,” I said.

“What is that?”

“I haven’t always met society’s definition of acceptable behavioral standards.”

“A circularer.”

“A ‘rounder’ so they say, and you need to get your Galactic Universal Translator adjusted.”

“I trust my GUT,” he said. Then he brightened. “Say, that gives me an idea. I know just how to fix your problem. Get ready to run.”

“Fix what problem?”

“Your troublesome past.”

“And how would you fix that?”

“Well,” he said. “You’ve been pretty straight for a long time now, right?”

“Except for hanging out with aliens.”

He ignored me. “We’ll use the ‘Salvation Stick’ trick.”

“The what?”

“We’ll go back to just this side of your last malfeasance and plant a stick in the ground on a given day.”

“And?”

“You’ll say the Lord saved you from your life of sin on that day.”

“And?”

I don't know why Big Dope is concerned.
Running for office in your country seems
pretty simple to me. - C.W.

“Nobody is allowed to question anything before that date. That is your ‘Salvation Stick’ day and anything before it is off the table.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“I wouldn’t kid about anything as serious as saving your planet. It’s about to fry, don’t you know?”

“Yes, but ‘Salvation Stick?’”

“It worked for President Small-Plant, didn’t it?”

“Out,” I said. “Out.”

 

 

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