Sunday, September 17, 2017

392: Amnesty

“Do you think I might obtain permanent status through this so-called ‘Dream Act’ if I applied?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“First, you aren’t a human.”

“And you think this Gudamfulian in your White House is?”

“What? Do I think our president is human?”

“Do you actually think that Falloonia is the only planet that has observers on your planet?”

“Uh, well, I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve always had my hands full with you.”

Right Head and Left Head both looked at Middle Head, who laughed. “Some civilizations just have a better sense of humor. So what about this Dream Act thing? Will it work for me?”

“I don’t think so. You would have had to come here as a child.”

“Wait one,” said Right Head, and they left the room. As they did, Left Head muttered, “We’ll show that Phukeenazoal.”

“I heard that,” I said, yelling it after him. C.W. and I had been sitting around talking and he hadn’t chosen a shape for the day. At last account, he was torn between a physics professor and a welder’s apprentice. As it turned out, he changed directions completely. Reggie the Young Conservative walked back into the room.

I frowned. “You’re going to ask for amnesty in that shape?”

“It’s not my fault I’m here,” he said.


“No. The Mother Ship dropped me off at boarding school and they forgot all about me. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

“I think I would leave out the part about the Mother Ship.”

“How about my mother was an ambassador from somewhere or other?”

I thought, then said, “Come to think of it, ‘that just might get the job done,’ as the dentist said when he took the crowbar in his hand.” I was feeling a little Dickensean this morning.

“This is no time for humor or frivolity, especially the treatment of a serious matter with humor or in a manner lacking due respect.”

“I assume that you mean it is no time for levity?”

“There you go again, repeating things I say."

I took on my most serious look. “They will do a background check, you know.”

That stopped him. He thought and said, “You don’t suppose Mrs. Middleton would … ”?

“No,” I said, “she dropped the charges after you replaced her ‘Hillary’ sign.”
“What about that Dunkum man?”

“I don’t think he ever figured out for sure that you donated money in his name to your party.”


“He still thinks I’m the one who sent him the CD of Nazi fight songs for Christmas,” I said. “And besides, he likes any form of marching songs, even those.”

“Mrs. Big Dope?”
Some folks do admire their discipline.  - C.W.

“You might have a problem there,” I said. “If you really are the ‘Ima Troother’ who keeps tagging her on Facebook. I think you are, aren’t you?”

“Oh heavens no,” he said. “That must be one of the Keaderunda reps.”

Shaking my head, I said, “You more or less gave it away when you posted that she made your Ba-Donka-Donk want a dip of snuff.”

“I repeat. I know nothing about any Facebook postings.”

“What about those ads someone purchased alleging that a certain presidential candidate was widely known to have experimented in thespianism with another woman while she was in college?”

“Those ads were true.”

“True or not, they lost her a lot of votes with the Franklin Graham crowd. He even used them in his rallies, I've heard.”

“Anyway, I never paid for them.”

“Oh? Who did?”

“Hey,” he said. “Maybe I could claim I drifted ashore as a child after my parents were lost at sea. My people would go for that.” His skin began darken. He smiled and said, Funcionaría eso?”

I nodded. “’It just might work,’ as the ant said when he started climbing up the elephant’s leg.”
See also:
Delta Dreaming
Order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers.

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