Thursday, June 18, 2015


Oh my goodness … the Alien C.W. has locked himself in his room and won’t come out. “Because of the news,” he says. He swears we must be manufacturing the news, much like The Onion or that Fox Channel. “Everyone is doing it now,“ he says.

I can’t tell what shape he has assumed this morning. It sounds a lot like the character of “The Beaver” on the old TV series.

I tried reasoning with him. “Come on out, and let’s talk about it,” I said.

“Go away,” he said. “I’m sick of earthlings.”

“Whatchew mean?” I said in a feeble attempt at humor.

“Are you pretending to be African-American?” he said.

Oops. Not a good approach. I tried another. “Let’s go for a walk with our neighbor George,” I said. “He wants to come over.”

“Did you say, ‘He wants a comb-over,’ like that comedian in New York?”

“Uh, … what comedian in New York?”

“The one pretending to be running for President.”

Oops, again. Another poor choice.

“Oh come on,” I said. “Let’s go out for a cup of coffee.”

“I’m afraid someone will shoot me if I go into a coffee shop.” I distinctly heard him sniff, then say, “It ain’t safe for a man out there.”

“Then change to a woman.”

“Like that athlete did?” he said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re really upset, aren’t you?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? There isn’t a country on a planet in a galaxy in this universe that could think up the crazy things that your news reports. I want to go back to Falloonia.”

“Look,” I said, “maybe you need some quiet time. Let’s go sit in the church down the street for a while and meditate on things.”

“Ooow,’ he said. “A church? Haven’t you seen what just happened in Charleston?

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