Sunday, June 25, 2017

379. Cures

“Ancient wisdom.”

“Say what?”

“Yes,” he said. “Ancient medical wisdom. I’ve been asked to do research and make recommendations.”

There sat Reggie the Young Conservative in all his yuppie glory amidst a pile of notes and objects. He was typing on my laptop.

“What the hell, C.W.? What’s up?”

“Helping out,” he said.

“With what? For whom?”

“Tweaking the Anti-Care Act. For the Party.”

“Do you mean the so-called Affordable Care Act?”

“Oops,” he said. “That’s an inside joke. We’re not supposed to call it that in public. Anyway, some senators say it’s not harsh enough and want some cheaper approaches. I’m tasked to look at ancient ones. I’m on Egypt now.” He reached into the pile and retrieved a note. “Here’s one. Comparison Centers. They will save a bundle.”

“What on earth?”

“Herodotus tells us that an Egyptian with a particular illness would sit by the town gate with a sign listing the symptoms. Along would come someone who had suffered those same symptoms and survived. He’d share the cure and move on, cheap medical care if there ever was such a thing.”

“Comparison Centers?”

“Yep. We’ll place them in places with heavy foot traffic. We’ll even include chairs. We’re not heartless, you know.”

“Uh … . any other cost saving ideas?”

“You betcha. Here’s an idea I call ‘shame shacks’ that will save even more.”

“Shame shacks?”

“Yes. We believe, like the ancient Egyptians, that most illness are cause by a lack of religion. So we’ll furnish quiet places for the afflicted to go and repent while they pray.”

“You have to be kidding.”

He stiffened. “If you know anything about us, you know we don’t kid. A sense of humor is a sign of weakness. Quick,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Who is Secretary of Education?”

“I see.”

“Then don’t ever accuse us of kidding about America’s future.”

“Any other ideas?” I tacked the conversation toward calmer waters.

“Happy Halls.”

“And? Ancient Egypt again?”

“They were certain that beer would ‘gladden the heart’ in general, but when one was ill, medicines mixed with beer—and combined with spells—were thought particularly effective. Beer and wine were also prescribed for children and nursing mothers. A prescription from the Ebers Papyrus for childhood incontinence calls for the mother to drink a cup of beer mixed with grass seeds and cyperus grass for four days while breastfeeding the child.”

“So, Happy Halls would furnish free beer to the ill?”

He frowned. “Did you just use the word ‘free’ or was I dreaming? I never said beer would be free. Free is only for humans that happen to be corporations. Still, beer is cheaper and more plentiful than some medications, and many of the poor are already using it for other purposes.”

“I see.”

“Excuse me,” he said. “He rose and walked to a bookshelf and picked a volume of history. I took the opportunity to examine his papers.
Self-diagnosis and repentance:
sure cures for most ills. - C.W.
One caught my eye. “An onion?”

“Put that down,” he said. “We’re pretty sure we’re going to abandon that one or modify it substantially.’

I started to return it, but noticed something that made me gasp. “The onion is placed where? In a woman’s what … ?”

“Shut up,” he said. “Do you want Mrs. Big Dope to hear us?”

“And it determines what?”

“Hush.” He said.

“You don’t have any females on your committee, do you?”

“Too demanding. Not harsh enough. Too many moving parts. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, opening the volume of history. “I’ve got to get to the Chinese. If my chapter on birth control isn’t finished this week, they might throw me overboard like unwanted garbage.” He stopped, jerked his head toward the ceiling as if the overhead light had just flashed, and turned back to the book. He began to thumb the pages, muttering to himself and completely ignoring me.

“As long as they are born,” he said. “As long as they are born … as long as they are born.” He placed the book beside him and turned to the laptop. His voice trailed off and he typed with a fury I had never seen before.

See also:
Delta Dreaming
All Hat No Cattle
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

378: Sin

“Explain it to me one more time. And this time, don’t just shake your head.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Look. You’re my host on this part of the earth and you’re supposed to explain things to me so I can send explanations back to the Falloonian Elders.”

“We’re sort of in unchartered waters right now.”

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

C.W. had appeared in a strange shape and was in a strange mood. The best description would be a cross between TV evangelist and a movie actor of the John Wayne genre. He wore a green, tailored suit that reflected sunlight to the point that it almost hurt one’s eyes. It was topped off by and wide Stetson hat. A pair of rattlesnake cowboy boots finished the effect. Strange.

“I want them damned cigars,” he said.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Our president has put trade restrictions back on with the country that makes them. We can’t go there.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever. What has this country done to upset your leader now?”

“Nothing now, it was nearly 60 years ago.”


“The country fell to Communist forces in January of 1959.”


“We haven’t done business with them since.”

Nothing in 60 years? That dude, your president, sure knows how to hold a grudge. Forgiveness ain’t part of his act, is it?”

“Some people claim the opposite. He did forgive the Russians. Not Cuba, though. They are still Communists.”

“So, you don’t do business with Communist countries? What the hell do you call China?”

Uh …, “


“It’s not only that they are Communists, or so he says.”

“Oh? Then what?”

“Human rights violations. Yeah. That’s it. Human rights violations. They mistreat people.”

“What do they do, chop off their heads if they don’t worship the right way? Do they get religion and governance all mixed up?”

“Uh … ,”

“Withhold rights from whole groups of people? Women? Gays?”

“Uh … ,”

“Send us terrorists?”

“None of those. They used to meddle in the affairs of other countries in the region, but I don’t think they’ve done that in a while. I don’t think they do much of anything, except dance. They do dance a lot.”

“So, meddling in the affairs of other countries is a hanging offense?” He stopped. He had been in John Wayne mode, but a change came over him. “Dance? Did you say dance?”


“Now we’re getting somewhere. This dancing crap. Can’t put up with that.”

“I’m glad you see that.”

“Sex. I bet they do that too, don’t they?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do.”

“It figures. Sin is as sin does. Bet they do it in all different ways as well.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You can be honest with me. Mrs. Big Dope is out shopping.”

“I still don’t know.”

“I’ll bet the first folks that came over to them from Europe taught them how to do it the right way.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Then sin arose and showed its head.” He stopped and winked. “No joke intended, son. Once they started actually enjoying it, sex that is, it was a short distance to the wicked pathway of sin and despair.”
Beware of lurking perils. First thing you  know,
this woman will have you dancing. - C.W.
“Do you think so?”

“Oh yes. First thing you know they were doing it standing up. And you know what that led to, don’t you?”


“Damned right. The sin of all sins. I take it all back. It’s good to have a fine moral president. I couldn’t bear the thought that I was actually supporting a country that exported the terrors of dance along with their cigars.”

“I’m glad I was able to explain it to you.”

“Damned fine of you. Now, one more favor.”


“Let’s find another source of cigars.”


“See what you can find me from Columbia.”

See also:
Delta Dreaming
All Hat No Cattle
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

377. Heroes

“How can Batman die?”

“Batman didn’t die. The actor Adam West, who portrayed Batman on television died.”


It was Timmie Joe the 14-year old nerd, one of C.W.’s favorite, but most pesky, shapes.

“Do superheroes ever die?”

“Not as general rule.”

“Do they get old?”

“Not as a general rule.”

“Do their beliefs change over the years?”

“Not as general ru …. . Say what?”

“Could we say that Superman, for example, helped the President fight the Russians back during the cold war?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“Now the President’s best friends are the Russians.”


“Are they Superman’s best friends too?”

“You ask too many questions.”

"Was Superman hooking up with Lois Lane?"

"Don't use such language."

"Inquiring minds want to know. Did that 'man of steel' thing include … ,"

"You talk too much. Let's change the subject."

“Why were there no African-American superheroes back in the day?”

“Things were different then.”

“But superheroes aren’t supposed to think like everyone else, right?”

“Not as general rule.”

"Then why didn't Batman let Robin invite any black friends over for sleepovers?"

"I suppose Batman wanted to keep their secret."

"Were they … ,?"

"No. Those rumors are malicious and false. He just want to keep their identities secret."

“Why are there no gay superheroes?”

“Uh … ,”

“Who did Wonder Woman’s hair? There’s a good superhero sidekick for you.”

“Don’t stoop to stereotypes.”

“They could call him ‘Long Bob,” and he could fight crime with his comb and scissors.”

“Don’t you have something to do?”

“She could hold them down and he could do their hair.”

“Please stop.”

“Give them such a ‘do’ that they would never show their face again.”

“You know, as they used to say in the horror films, it just might work.”

“No, on second thought it wouldn’t.”

“You mean having an awful hair style wouldn’t shame someone into going straight and doing right?”

“Nah. Probably not.”

He fumbled into a pile of papers and held up a photograph.

See also:
Delta Dreaming
All Hat No Cattle
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.

Friday, June 9, 2017

Morning Thoughts: Stupid

C.W. and I were talking …

Actually, I was drawn into the room by commotion going on among the three heads. When I came within range, Left Head and Middle Head were berating Right Head.

“Shame,” said Left Head.

“My conclusion is that you have behaved poorly,” said Middle Head.

“Bite me,” said Right Head.

I interjected. “What’s going on here?”

“He’s been misbehaving,” Left Head said.

“A danger to our mission,” Middle Head said.

“Up ya’lls',” Right Head said.

I said, “Ya’lls'?”

“I’m picking up on my Southern roots,” Right Head said. “The rural south has been the moral backbone of America since before your Civil War.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Let’s all calm down and tell me what the matter is.”

“He’s breaking the primary rule any rational person would follow, and we’ve put a stop to it,” Left Head said.

“And that is?”

“I can’t say it,” Middle Head said. He turned to Left Hand. “You tell him.”

Left Head took a breath. “While we’re taking our naps, he’s, he’s, he’s … .”

Middle Head blurted it out. “He watches Fox News.”

“No,” I said.

“All of you just jump up our …” Right Head began.

“See what it’s doing to him?” Left Head said.

“Are you really doing that?” I asked Right Head.

“What if I am. How else would I know that Santa Claus and Jesus are both white? It certainly wasn’t reported on the ‘lamestream’ media.”

I couldn’t speak.

He continued. “Or that Obama and his "communist" cronies wanted to kill 10 percent of the population?”

Two sets of eyes rolled and then looked at me.

“Or that the Obamas had a secret terrorist fist jab?”

Left Head looked at me. “See the problem now? He’s been sending some of this stuff to Falloonia. The Elders are threatening to have us shipped back.”

I looked at Right Head. He smiled, “Did you know,” he said, “that gay marriages will lead to interspecies couplings, humans to goats and the like?”

“Stop it,” said Left Head. “Enough is enough.”

“Poverty Isn’t that bad, because poor people have fridges.” This time Right Head had a most defiant look.

I finally had to ask, “Did you really get all this from Foxnews?”

“It might interest you to know,” Right Head said, “that Travon Martin’s hoodie was responsible for his death and that Newt Gingrich's infidelity might have made him a good president.”

“That’s absurd,” I said. “And that’s enough. We don’t watch Fox News in this house. You are hereby prohibited from it. It makes you stupid and we won’t allow it.”

He looked, at first, stunned. Then his look changed to disappointment. We waited for his answer. Would he agree, or argue? He finally spoke.


“No,” I said. "Prolonged use has shown to reduce your understanding of the world, and, as I’ve said, it will make you stupid and unable to understand reality.”

In the voice like that of a teenager, he looked at me a tear came to what they call an eye in Falloonia.

“Can I just watch it until I need remedial English?”

Sunday, June 4, 2017

376. Rules

  “Come on in. I want to show you something.”

“What the … ?” If I hadn’t known it was C.W. I would have sworn John Lennon was sitting on my couch. He brushed his hair back over his shoulder and pushed his tiny glasses higher on his nose.

“I’m in the groove now, man.”

“You’re what?”

“In the groove, dude. I got it all happening.”

“You what?”

“Oh,” he said, “I forgot to tell you. The communications tech on Falloonia sent me an updated slang module for my Galactic Universal Translator. My GUT has never worked better.” He stopped. His face brightened. He grabbed a pen and pad from the coffee table and wrote. When he finished, he read to me, “If you find you have to fart in public, go and stand beside the fattest woman you can find.” He smiled approvingly. “Oh man, that’s knocked out. Strictly copasetic.”

It took a moment for me to find my voice, as you might imagine. “May I ask what you are doing?”

“Getting’ it together man. I’m going to be loaded.”

“Exactly how are you going to be, uh, loaded?”

“From my book,”

“What book?”

“The Big Dope Book of Rules.”

I sat down. “The what?”

“Book of Rules. Now don’t go ape on me, man.” I just used your name because it sounds real gone, you know. Oh wait.” He wrote, speaking as he did so. “Never buy a used car from a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt or carrying a mini-Bible in his pocket.” He stared at the paper. “Man,” he said, “it’s really happening now.”

If I remember correctly, I simply stared at him at this point.

“Can’t you dig it?” he asked. “People are carrying around a lot of hang-ups now. They need all the advice they can get.” He nodded in approval of his own point. “Oh,” he said, beginning to write again. “Never take romantic advice from a man over 50 or a woman under 30.” He smiled. “Far out, man.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Shoot,” he said.

“Have you gone bat-crap crazy?”

He ignored me and started writing and speaking. “Be kind to your neighbors. Remember the ‘courtesy-flush.’ They'll thank you for it.” Only then did he look at me. “You hacked off about something?”

“Astounded,” I said, “would be a better word.

“Shoot me the straight-skinny, man.”

“First, you need to talk to your technician back on Falloonia.”

“Sock it to me.”

“You might tell him to move the dial forward 50 years.”

“Say what?”

Happy 50th Sgt. Pepper. - C.W.

“Then, you might reconsider this whole endeavor.”

He signaled for me to wait. “Before you spread, make him cover the head.” He chuckled and looked back at me. “Now what?”

“You can’t be serious about all this.”

He wrote again. “If he’s not kind and tender, then threaten his member.” He looked at me as if he saw me for the first time. “Yes?”


“Good. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve some work to do.” He glanced at his pad, I.Q, …, I.Q, … let’s see. Oh. A man’s I.Q. can be estimated by dividing his age by the number of tattoos he has.

I began to ease away. As I exited the room, he yelled toward me. “Been a blast rapping with you.”

 See also:
Delta Dreaming
All Hat No Cattle
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.