Thursday, March 31, 2016


Hello Folks:

I’m keeping a list of things I pass along to Big Dope that learn each week that he can use in teaching his Intro to Public Administration next fall.

1. The Supreme Court of the United States is an investigative body.

2. Women in politics are not allowed to speak the way men do.

3. A woman whose husband deserted her and the children, or a soldier/sailor/airman trying to feed his family are insidious, dope-crazed psychopaths and must be drug tested before we comfort them with public assistance, i.e. treat the least of those among us as we would one’s lord.

4. A U.S. president can order a foreign nation to build a structure of her/his choosing.

5. A U.S. president can issue orders to dismantle Wall Street.

6. The Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution is sacrosanct and not subject to analysis while the First Amendment is fair game to individual (300 Million) interpretations.

7. A white man who tries to shoot up the U.S. Capitol is not a terrorist but simply an unfortunate person whose religion caused him to become  mentally deranged and has ordered him to kill innocent people.

Uh, no, I think maybe you just need to read, and then think more—this once or twice a year business doesn’t seem to be working that well.

Your Friend,


Sunday, March 27, 2016

313. Easter

It’s a long story but I’ll try to make it brief. Despite being secretive about my travel plans, C.W. got wind and followed me to Cincinnati. Before I had noticed, he had assumed a form familiar to my hosts and charmed the lady of the house, whom we shall call St. Rose.

“She’s much nicer than Mrs. Big Dope,” he said. “We’re already good friends.”

“That’s only because,” I said, “you have assumed the form of a friend of hers.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s nice to me.”

“You’ll think ‘nice,’ if you cross her,” I said. “Ask her husband.”

“Oh no,” he said. “She trusts me.”

“To do what?”

“Oh,” he said, “she’s having all of her children and grandchildren and their cousins over for Easter celebration and she asked me to be the child’s image of a young rabbit for the day of Easter.”

“You mean she asked you to be the Easter Bunny?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But does she know how unreliable you are?”

“I’m not unreliable,” he said. “I just enjoy a paradigm of spontaneity.”

“You got that right.” I said. “Good luck.”

“Who needs luck when one has friends like mine?” He said.

“Aaah,” I said.

I went about my own business, practicing my Photoshop and such. Things were quiet for an hour or so. Then I heard a glass crash and the sound of scurrying at the top of the stairs. A female voice cried out, “Are you kidding me?”

Then I heard C.W. say, “What?

When she said, "Be the Bunny, I thought she
said to be funny. It was a simple mistake. - C.W
The female voice came through again, “Do you think I would let my grandchildren see that?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I’m counting to three,” she said, “and you had better be gone by then.”

“Who’ll hide the eggs?” he said.

“I’ll hide you,” she said. “Out.”

By this time, I was curious and walked around the corner. I would tell you what I saw, but, like the boy who fell into the tub of molasses, I don’t think my tongue would be equal to the task.

Click on some ads. It costs them money and makes me some.

Also check out and

And buy Big Dope's book It's really quite good.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

312. Professions

“Let’s see. Cost of equipment per client. Rental fees. Personnel costs. Training. What else?”

Oh no. I could tell by the dialogue that C.W. was onto another of his get rich schemes. Don’t ask me why. I don’t even think they use money on Falloonia. I turned and tried to slip away, but he heard me. Unfortunately,

“Hey Big Dope. Come here. You will want in on this. Don’t you have a good friend who is a cinematographer?”

I contemplated running away, but I get a kick out of his schemes sometimes, so I walked into the next room to fine a perfectly formed shape of what Cecil B. DeMille must have looked like in his prime. He was pouring over sheets of paper and scribbling with a furious intensity that reminded me of a schoolboy running out of time on a test.

“What the …?”

He looked up and flashed a smile. “How much do those little gadgets cost that you can hook up to a cell phone and make credit card charges?”

I ignored him. “What are you doing?”

“Working on a plan to make us rich.” He drew a line under a column of figures with a flourish and smiled again. “To an extreme and often disgustingly extent rich.”

“So how are we going to become filthy rich this time?”


That stunned me. “Prostitution?”

“Actually prostitution plus.”

“Prostitution is illegal almost everywhere in this country,” I said. “You are going to get us all arrested.”

“Oh no,” he said, “and besides, they can’t imprison me. I’ll just change to an insect and fly out.”

“Some folks around here already think of you as an insect, so don’t press your luck in a house with so many fly swatters.” Then I thought. “But what about me? I couldn’t fly out of jail so what would happen to me?”

“I’ll change into a priest and bring you reading material,” he said. “But anyway, nobody is going to get arrested.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Prostitution Plus,” he said. “That’s what we’ll call it.”

“And how does that make a difference? Prostitution by any other name is still illegal.”

“Ah yes,” he said. “But art films depicting intimate behavior among consenting adults is not.”

“You mean porn films?”

“We prefer the term ‘results of vintage adult situations,’ as more sophisticated,” he said. “Now, here’s the deal. How does a prostitute normally approach a john?” He laughed. “That’s what we call them in the business: ‘Johns.’ Is that cute or what? I would prefer ‘chumps,’ and Mrs. Big Dope agrees.”

“You mentioned his to her?”

“Yes. I had to ask someone how working women or men approached their chumps, …  uh, … Johns, … uh prospects.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said to ask you.”

“Let’s just stop this right now,” I said. “We’re still talking about accosting someone with a proposal for participating in an illegal act.”

“Isn't it odd among your species," he said, that politicians can sell their souls for money but people can't rent their bodies for pleasure? Anyway, so a person says to a stranger, 'Hey mister. Want to make an art film?' That’s an illegal proposal?”

That stopped me. “Well,” I said, “what about the sex?”

“Incidental,” he said. “Just part of the plot line.”

“But the, uh, John will pay?”

“Of course, but only for the studio, equipment rental, actor’s fee, and the cost of the complimentary copy of the DVD.”

I let that one pass since my mind was whirling.

“So?” he said. “You considering it?”

“No,” I said. “I’m having a ‘John Agar Moment’ and I have to think.”
If she is a senator offering to sell her vote,
then it's a perfectly legal act. How odd. - C.W.

“You mean that actor that played in the science fiction movies years ago with all the monsters and such?”


“So what moment do you refer to?”

“The moment at which his girlfriend comes up with a way to destroy the monster.”

C.W. thought. “And what does he say?”

“It just might work.”

Click on some ads. It costs them money and makes me some.

Also check out and

And buy Big Dope's book It's really quite good.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

311. Age

The old man looked up at me from his AARP magazine and said nothing. It had to be C.W. but for the life of me I couldn’t guess why he had chosen this shape.

“What the …?”

“Hush,” he said. “I’m trying to read.”

“I can see that,” I said, “but why the old fart shape.”

He laid the magazine in his lap. “Don’t be so crude. You’ll understand someday.”

“I’m sure I will,” I said, “but in the meantime, why the aged look?

“I want to report on the elderly,” he said. “How you mistreat us and all.”

“I think,” I said, “that I’m considered elderly by most standards, and I don’t mistreat you.”

“Yes you do,” he said. “You and that wife of yours too. I’m filing a complaint with PETE.”


“People for the Ethical Treatment of the Elderly … and don’t you roll your eyes at me like that.”

I sat down.

“What time is it?” he asked.

I told him but he just shook his head and said, “No, I mean the regular time, not that crazy time y’all use, whatever it is you call it.”

“It’s called ‘daylight savings time,’ and we’ve been through this all before.”

“Ain’t so,” he said. “I would have remembered.”

I shrugged in agreement and examined a spot on my trousers. He started to speak, but then relaxed.

“What?” I said.

“I forgot what I was going to say.”

“That happens,” I said.

“What happens?”

I ignored him. “So what do you have scheduled today?”

“I ain’t going outside,” he said. “It’s too windy. And you can’t make me.”

“Nobody is going to make you go outside,” I said, deciding to play along.

“Well I might,” he said, “and you can’t stop me.”

“Nobody is going to stop you,” I said.

“From what?”

I groaned.

“They treated old folks better when I was a kid,” he said. “I remember after I had walked the five miles home from school, I would look after my grandmother. That was before I had to go and milk the cow and chop five acres of cotton.”

“C.W.,” I said, “you never had a grandmother … at least not on Planet Earth, and you’ve never even seen cotton. They don’t grow it around here anymore.”

“That’s what’s wrong with you young folks,” he said. “No respect.”

“Whatever,” I said.

He raised a boney figure and pointed at me. “Just you wait,” he said. “You’ll have a person you have given birth to, your son or your daughter, of your own someday.”

“First of all, I’m not your child,” I said. Second of all, I’m too old now to have children.”

“Why would you want to have children?” he said. “Ain’t you a little too far over the hill for that?”

“Indeed,” I said, getting up. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“I ain’t going,” he said.

“Nobody asked you to,” I said.

“To what?”

“Go walking.”
So we were talking away
and he just disappeared.

“Sure,” he said, “that sounds like fun.” He rose slowly and I could almost hear his bones creak. “Mrs. Big Dope going with us?”

“Not since you threw that snake on her last time we all went,” I said.

“I never done no such of a thing,” he said. “Now where did I put my umbrella?”

“It’s not raining,” I said.

“That’s the problem with you young folks,” he said. “You think you know everything.”

We walked outside—the two of us—I wishing the earth would swallow me and he explaining how, he imagined, they used to make sorghum in the old days.

Click on some ads. It costs them money and makes me some.

Also check out and

And buy Big Dope's book It's really quite good.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

310. Qualifications

“You just never listen to a word I say.”

“Sure I want you to stay,” I said, attempting to perform a complicated maneuver in Photoshop.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.

“I’m not being mean,” I said, grasping the pen on my Wacom tablet and making a line.

“I give up,’ he said. Actually, I suppose I should say ‘she said,’ for C.W. was in one of his rare shapes as a female: a shapely, attractive lady of her late forties dressed in casual clothes, sneakers, and a baseball hat with a long ponytail hanging through the back. “What cup?” I said.

A pad of papers came flying through the air, almost hitting me. “What the …?” I yelled.

“I’m serious here,” he, she, yelled.

I finally looked up. “I would have never guessed. “What about?”

“Qualifications for president.”

“Whose president?”

“Your country’s.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well you have to be a natural-born citizen. That leaves you out, I’m afraid.”

“No,” silly,” she pouted. “I mean what they were talking about on TV the other night, the part about ‘hands-on’ and all that.”

“Oh,” I said. “You mean knowledge of foreign policy.”

“No, they didn’t mention that.”

“What then?”

“The part about the size of things.”

“Oh, you mean the fiscal deficit.”

“The what?”

“The trade inbalance?”

“Never heard of that.”

“The size of our military?”

“Is that an issue? They didn’t discuss it.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Not me … them.”

“Them who?”

“The people or things regarded as suitable for, or likely to receive, a particular fate, treatment, or position.”

“The candidates?”

“That’s what I said. They spent most of their time talking about who had the biggest.” Then she, waited.

“The biggest what?” I said, and immediately regretted it.


Realization burst, as Kipling might say, ‘like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay,’ and I was stunned. She crossed two shapely legs and waited.

“Uh, C.W. … , “ I began.

“Carolyn Wilhemina, if you please. And don’t tell me that the size of their hands referred to their capacity for empathy. They don’t fondle that emotion at all, it appeared to me.”

“I won’t,” I said, suppressing a laugh.

“Or intellect. They didn’t seem to want to insert that into the discussion.”


“Or their religious convictions. They certainly didn’t want to wave that at us.”

At that point, I had no other option but to explain it to her.

“You must be joking,” was the response.

“Sadly,” I said. “I’m not.”

“And you call yourself civilized?” Then she stopped, obviously remembering something. “Is this what Mrs. Big Dope meant when she referred to them as ‘bank-strutter wannabees?”

“I think the expression is,” I said, “bank-walker .. . bank-walker wannabees is what she said."

“Never heard of that.” There followed a pause, and I could tell his Galactic Universal Translator was churning. “What on earth does it mean?”

If this is the party's method of determining who
is most qualified to be president, isn't there a
simple way to find out? - C.W.
“It’s an old country expression,” I said, “referring to the days when young boys would assemble on a pond bank, take off all their clothes, run as fast as they could, and jump in the water.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“There was always one, you see, “I said, “who wouldn’t run for the water straight away.”

“What would he do …?” she began, Then, she understood, “He would …”

“The bank-walker,” I said.

“Oh my god,” she said. There was a long pause, and then she added, “Are they really that willing to stick it to the American people?”

“It appears so.”

“Is there a chance that such tactics could prove limp before the election?”

It was only then that I realized he was pulling out one of his frequent jokes and trying to impress me with it.

Click on some ads. It costs them money and makes me some.

Also check out and

And buy Big Dope's book It's really quite good.