What did he do this time?
Hitchhiking.
Yes. Hitchhiking. It all began when he started asking me
about the GPS navigational systems that people are increasingly relying upon to
get around.
“Can’t they read a diagrammatic representation of an area of
land or sea showing physical features, cities, roads, etc.” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Reading a map has pretty much disappeared as
skill.”
“That’s what I feared,” he said, “when I read that more than
20 percent of your population can’t locate the Pacific Ocean on a map of the world.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It’s not as though it is not prominent,” he said.
“Pretty prominent,” I said.
“Sad to say.”
“So people use those little boxes with the obnoxious voices emanating
from them to get around?”
“Many do.”
“They go exactly where the boxes tell them?”
“Without question.”
“Don’t they know that a superior mental force …,” he paused.
“Say a visitor from the Wobeenanis Galaxy,
could scramble the directions?”
“You don’t think highly of those folks, now do you?”
A vicious place producing creatures of low expectations,” he
said. Then he brightened. “Wait one,” he said, and then he disappeared.
When he returned, he was in the form of that actor, Brad
Pitt. He said he was going for a walk. Actually, I found out later, he was
going hitchhiking. After deputies had returned him several times, I deduced
that he had been hitching rides with strangers willing to assist him because of
his appearance. Using some Falloonian powers of which I was unaware, he had used
his ability to re-direct automobile GPS systems so that he had, on different
occasions,
- Led a Bluegrass Band to a Hip Hop concert.
- Led a mine operator to a Sierra Club meeting
- Led a “Tea Party” activist into a public housing complex
- Led a pro-wrestling fan to a ballet recital
- Led an ardent vegetarian to a pig farm
- Led a “creationist” to the public library … and … was
finally caught, wouldn’t you know it … leading a prominent Baptist minister to
a barn dance.
Don’t contact me asking for clemency. He is confined indefinitely.
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| Why do so many of your species live in the constant fear that at some place, somewhere, someone may be having fun? - C.W. |
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