342. Realities

“Hey,” I said, “wake up.”

“Grnmmpt.”

“Wake up. It’s almost noon.”

C.W. was asleep in my favorite chair in the shape of Wrangler Bill. He wore dark clothing and had a broad-brimmed Stetson hat in his lap. Imagine a cross between “The Gambler” and a carnival barker. He had been snoring with loud grunts when I walked in. Now he opened one eye in partial wakefulness. “Screw you,” he said.

“You’re going to think screw you if my wife catches you tossing cookies to her dogs again. She said she counted ten separate piles of crumbs on the kitchen floor.”

He opened the other eye. “Mrs. Big Dope’s problem,” he said, “is that she is still stuck in a reality-based world that doesn’t exist anymore.”

I stepped closer to him. “Now where did you learn that phrase?”

“On TV,” said. “Ask Sean Hannity. Sean Hannity knows. Sean Hannity, Sean Ha…”

He drifted off to sleep again. His hat slid off his lap and onto the floor. I picked it up and swatted him the face with it. “Wake up,” I said. “She’s coming back soon. Do you have that ten dollars you borrowed from her?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll trickle down.”

“It will what?”

“It will trickle down to her,” he said. “Or at least it would if there were no taxes.”

“No what?”

“Taxes. If we didn’t have to, well …,” he stopped or a moment, “if you didn’t have to pay taxes, the ten dollars would be back in her hand in days.”

“Where did you hear such an idea?”

“At the Libertarians’ Club meeting I attended last night.”

“You told her you would pay her back today.”

“I never said that.”

“You said that. I heard you.”

“I never said that.”

“We both heard you say it.”

“I never said that.”

“I think she will agree with me.”

“Sure she will,” he said. “You’re both liberals … all bound up and constrained by facts.”

“The fact is,” I said, “she will make you regret it if you don’t pay her back.”

“I have a detailed proposal for doing or achieving something.,” he said.

“A what?” Then I thought. “Do you mean you have a plan?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Your Galactic Universal Translator needs adjusting again.”

“My GUT is fine,” said. “I have the best GUT in the country. Everyone admires my GUT.”

“But what kind of plan do you have to pay your debts?”

Using this man for validity would
 be like using  Bernie Madoff for

 financial advice if you ask me. - C.W.

“A great plan,” he said. “It will be the greatest plan you ever saw.”

“That’s what you told me when you promised to clean your room and didn’t.”

“I never said that.”

“I’ll tell you what.” I said.

“What?”

“My wife has plans to deal with people, and that includes you, who don’t operate in a fact-based world.”

“I have a plan to deal with Mrs. Big Dope,” he said. “And it is a great plan.”

“Really? What’s the plan?”

“The same one I use to deal with all women.”

“And that is?”

“I just look them in the eye and grab their …”

“Shut up,” I said. “Stop. Not another word.”

“Hand,” he said, “then I tell them to trust me. It works every time.”

“You disgust me,” I said and turned away. The back door opened and I heard a female voice.’’

“Do you have the money you owe me?” it said.

“Yes I do,” C.W. yelled toward the voice. “I gave it to Big Dope to give to you.”

I swirled around, but he had vanished.

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