Sunday, December 31, 2017

406: Resolutions

C.W. doesn’t like cold weather. That means he stays indoors more. That means he develops more opportunities to get on my nerves. And he is approaching very close to my last one.

This morning, he was working his, as he put it, “Not-existing-before Year’s” resolutions.

“How many times have I told you that it is ‘New’ Year’s resolutions?”

“How many times have I asked why you repeat everything I say?” He paused, returned to the computer, began typing, muttered to himself, “Speak more slowly and clearly when conversing with Big Dope.”

“Why don’t you put down, “Have my Galactic Universal Translator serviced on schedule?”

He typed again, “Research possible reasons for Big Dope’s obsession with my GUT. Related to his weight gain?” He stared at me and smirked. “There. Anything else?”

“Why don’t you resolve to live more peaceably with my wife?”

“Done and done. I’ve even returned all her cooking spices to their proper containers.”

“And her rock collection?”

He typed and muttered, “Remove emojis.” He stared into space. Then typed again, “Get rid of firecracker alarm system and replace with ZZ Top music.” He looked at me “She’ll adore me before the year is done.”

“And her phone greeting?”

He laughed and typed, “Phone greeting: change to just, ‘What do you want.’ Remove the ‘F-word.’ Don’t change it again. Is there more?”

“I’m sure there’s more. Let me think.”

“You might tell her to quit hiding Left-Head’s hat. He won’t even let us go outside without it.” Left -Head nodded in agreement.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“So what improvements are you going to make come January One?”

“I may resolve to tell the government men the truth next time they ask me if I’m aware of any alien activity in the vicinity.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Where is my banjo?”

“I hid it in the attic. You wouldn’t really turn me in, would you?” Right-Head’s face brightened. “Besides,” it said. “Mrs. Big Dope paid us to hide it.”

“Yeah, right.”

He typed and muttered, “Schedule Big Dope for a Reality Enhancement Analysis Machine probe.”

“Large probe version,” Left-Head added.

He typed, “Large probe and extended REAM session.”

“This is getting tiresome. I’m making some coffee. Who wants some?”



“I’ll take a Bloody Mary.”

I turned. “That’s for tomorrow morning. Can’t you wait?”

“Do I have to?”


“Dyahaf++kopoouress.” He said.

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to know,” Left-Head said. “Besides, we need to be changing before Mrs. Big Dope gets up. She’s still mad at Right-Head for calling her a Celeedahdumca.”

“I seem to recall. Well go ahead and change, I’ll get the coffee.”

I returned with the tray and immediately wished I hadn’t. He had assumed his newest shape, one he simply calls “Current Occupant.” He was thinking hard, but not typing.

“I’m stumped,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I’m stumped.”

Now you know how I feel. - C.W.

“Yes. These things, these resolution things, they are supposed to help you do better in the coming year, right?”


“So how can I improve? I’ve done more great things than any human has ever accomplished in less than a year: everybody on the planet loves me more than they have ever loved anyone, I’ve shown more brilliance, improved more lives, provided more promise, created more harmony, been kinder to those that despise and mock me, done more for the poor and the humble, spread more peace, acted more righteously, mourned more those who have lost loved ones, spread more hope for the least of those among us, than anyone going back the entire 2,000 years of our existence. How could I improve myself?”

“You might find three our four guys to write a history of your great accomplishment during the last year. I think there are plans already underway.”

“That’s a great idea. It will be the greatest story ever told. Have you heard what they plan to call it?”

“I think they’ve chosen, The Year of Shame.”

“That’s the best title of any book ever,” he said. “They’ll uncover the truth about those who don’t like me. Shame, yeah, that’s the idea. Wonderful theme. That will be great. The greatest theme ever chosen. You tell them to get right to work.”

For the first time this morning, I smiled.

See also:
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Sunday, December 24, 2017

405: Transformations

Probably, C.W. thought that he had captured Ebenezer Scrooge perfectly. It’s hard to tell what Dickens had in mind. He asked us to imagine his character’s physical appearance from his demeanor, to wit:

“Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.”

As the Alien’s character had interrupted my reading, I leaned back to attend his harangue and found myself as shocked as a spinster in a bawdy house to find him in a humorous attendance.

He sat, rubbed his stubble of beard, and said, “I was thinking of a cartoon I ran across while doing some research on British humor. What? Oh yes. They did years ago. Don’t know what happened. Prince Charles’ girlfriend and all that. Anyway, I think the piece appeared in Punch, a real ‘guffawer’ if I recall correctly. Is that a word? Oh, let’s make it one for today at least.” He chuckled.

Still shocked by his exhibition of an unexpected, and, seemingly uncharacteristic, display of levity, I leaned forward.

“There was this Christian Crusader on a large white horse and a Muslim soldier sprawled on the ground. The Christian held a huge lance to the other’s throat while he held a menacing sword aloft with the other in an unmistakable posture of victory.

"To this instance of impending doom, the Muslim says, 'Tell me more about this Christianity of yours. I’m terribly interested.'” With this, the laughter, which he had been subduing with such diligence, leapt its barriers and expressed itself with such vehemence that his tall hat almost toppled to the floor in total shock.

I sat astounded.
The way to change attitudes? - C.W.

His demeanor changed as rapidly as does the weather in our world. “Tell me more about this Franklin Graham of yours,” he said, “I’m terribly confused.”

The velocity with which he changed created a skidding sensation like when the brakes of a fast-moving automobile are applied on gravel.

“Tell you what?”

“This man,” he said, rubbing his stubble again, “this self-proclaimed oracle, seems unable to extricate himself from the tar-pit of mendacity and false propheteering. I’m only asking why?”

I requested additional insight.

“Recently, he lauded the current president for ameliorating the effects of something he called ‘The War on Christmas.’ Is there such a thing?”

“Are you serious?”


“Do you think that it looks like there is, or recently has been, a war on Christmas?”

“Obviously not. But is it currently illegal to observe, promote, or favor Christmas in any way?”

“The observance is criticized by non-participants, or those troubled by the ubiquitous greed involved, but that by no means implies illegality.”

“So why does this man, Franklin Graham, son of a preacher-man, imply such a falsehood?"

“Politics,” I said. “He’s assigned himself to a certain political segment of the country and, despite what others may infer from his motives, he is a proud and assiduous worker.”

“What’s next,” he said, “a lance to the throat of those who don’t agree?”

“Not now,” I said, “in the early days of the settling of Europeans here yes, but not today.”

“So his aim is to divide your countrymen into opposing segments of the populace for political purposes?”

“Quite so.”

“Fascinating,” he said, once more attending this cheek.

I waited, then, “Is that all you wanted to know on the matter?”

“I’m thinking,” he said. “Were your ancestors who first came here really accustomed to punishment for holding different religious views?”

“If hanging by the neck until dead, or lowering live people onto sharpened stakes, or burning them alive, constitutes punishment, then I am afraid so. Why?”

“One moment,” he said. “I’m thinking.”

I waited

“What I’m wondering,” he said at last, “is whether it might be efficacious to arrange for this Mr. Franklin Graham to witness past effects of such religious and civil discourse?”

Before I could reply, he said, “Then we could show him the present effect of his efforts on the poor, the mourners, and the meek, maybe others as well.”

Again, I had begun to think when he broke the silence.

“Perhaps,” he said, “with some help from the Falloonian Elders, we might even project him into the future to witness the epochal damage of his actions.”

Neither of us spoke. I drifted into sleep and dreamed. The words “Breaking News” flashed through my dream and I was whisked away. When I focused again, I was watching the end of a bio-segment of the very Franklin Graham we were discussing. The announcer turned to the camera and said:

“Afterwards, Franklin became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough.”

Indeed it would be. Then would we all be truly blessed.

See also:
Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It makes him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

404. Reversals

“Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Where on Earth do you come up with such …,” I stopped. It came to me that C.W. isn’t from Earth, so my point wasn’t going to make sense. Still, he could aggravate me at times, and this was one of those. He just smirked.

“Now,” he said, “can I get back to work?” There was no use arguing. He had taken on the shape of Reggie the Young Conservative, and there was no reasoning with him.

I tried a different tack. “So you,” I said, “are charged with developing strategies for increasing the rate of unwanted pregnancies in America.”

“Quite so.”

“May I ask why?”

“Are you really that dense?” He shook his head in exasperation. “Simple,” he said. “It’s a gateway sin.”

“What is a gateway sin?”

He shook his head slowly. “You know what a gateway drug is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s something you folks made up to justify the billions you’ve wasted on reducing marijuana usage.”

He shook his head. “We’re not trying to reduce marijuana usage,” he said. “We’re just making sure that its usage stays illegal. Crime enforcers are among our most loyal supporters.”

“So how does that relate to a plan to increase unwanted pregnancies?”

“Unwanted pregnancies,” he said, “are like marijuana. They lead to another choice that keeps our political base charged up like an Irish Setter on steroids.”

“Let’s make sure I understand. You want to excite your constituency by increasing the number of people who have to make difficult choices?”

“Not people. Women. Don’t forget that we recognize a difference.”

I see. So what have you tried so far?”

“Well,” he said. “We’ve outlawed sex education. It’s deplorable how many young people now understand the strong correlation between sexual intercourse and procreation. Deplorable.”

“Are you still teaching young girls that, if you say ‘Mother may I?’ three times beforehand, they are safe from all harm?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Are you making fun of us?”

“Perish the thought.”

“We stopped using that one years ago. Now we just teach them to hold their breath and pray at critical junctures.”

“Contraceptives have proven to be effective.”

Correctamundo,” he said. “That’s why we’re in the process of outlawing them.”

“I guess that’s also why you don’t want men held responsible for unwanted pregnancies?”

“What do men have to do with it? That’s what we say. The last thing we want is a bunch of men running around offering to help raise a child.”

“This whole thing seems a bit turned around,” I said. “I mean, the whole idea of increasing loyalty in despising an act by promoting the act seems so …,” I struggled for words. “So Roveian.”.

“Please don’t denigrate the God of Our Movement,” he said, “but now you’re getting the picture.”

“Does it work?”
A hero to so many. - C.W.
“Haven’t you ever heard of poverty and our fight for it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t you see anything? What happens when you increase the number of poor people?”

“Lot’s,” I said. “You increase the level of so many things: childhood disease, malnutrition, substandard housing, lack of educational opportunities ….”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “It’s crime.”


“Yep. The greater the gap in wealth, the more crime, and the more crime, the more people run out and buy more …,”

“I see. I see.” I said. “I see, but it’s making me crazy.”

“And speaking of crazy,” he said. “Have you ever heard of Franklin Graham, Joel Osteen, Kenneth Copeland, Joyce Meyer, Benny Hinn, …?”

“Stop. Stop.” I said. “Yes, I’ve heard of them and others like them. Don’t go on. You’re making me nauseated now.”

“Exactly,” he said. “They are all our operatives.”

“Your what?”

“Their job is to turn young folks off religion.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t you see how much our support strengthens when they publish those reports on declining church attendance? What more dastardly trend could you hope for, to blame on your opponents?”

“I’ve got to sit down a moment,” I said. “This goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.”

“Precisely,” he said. “That’s why we have some powerful people,” he stopped, “… some very powerful people, working on education.”

Sunday, December 10, 2017

403. Future

“Hey Big Dope.”

“Hello C.W.”

I assumed it was C.W. The shape was of the late Carl Sagan, but since he is dead, there’s no use pretending. I was in the shop working on a project when he wandered in. He didn’t say anything, just walked around and fiddled with different tools. This distracted me, so I told him to stop.

He held up a caliper and said, “Good tool. They once used something like it in science classes.”

“They don’t use them still?”

“Not since they don’t have science classes anymore.”

That got my attention. “They what?”

“Don’t you keep up with things?

“What does that have to do with science classes?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that. You know as well as I that your species hasn’t taught science since the second year of Mike Pence’s presidency.”

I stopped what I was doing and turned off the machine. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Your ignorance. You might as well be asking if I’ve been committing CNAV.”

“C.W.,” I said, “you have me totally confused.”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know what Church Non-Attendance Violation is.”

I didn’t respond.

“Have you been so busy out here that you’ve been guilty of C…,?”

I interrupted him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s okay. The penalty for the first offense is just a week in re-education camp. I can attest to that.” He paused for a few seconds. “Oh, and have you filed your Personal Unacceptable Behavior Enemies list? They are due by the end of the year.”

“Have you gone berserk?”

“Not at all. FBI Director Madoff has stiffened the penalties for noncompliance this year. He says fully developed and verifiable PUBES are critical to the moral welfare of the country. He just arrested three women and two men for shaving theirs, shaving names off their lists of known gays, that is.”

“Director Madoff?”

“Now don’t tell me you don’t know who Bernie Madoff is?”

“I thought I did. But …”

“I wouldn’t mess with him. He’s under a lot of pressure.”

The future can be scary. - C.W.
“Emperor Trump, President Arpaio, and General Kushner have ordered him to help Secretary of Defense Moore join forces with the new Secretary of State, and begin cleaning up what used to be the Middle East. They say that the radioactivity has subsided enough. I think they intend to start on Texas after that.”

“New Secretary of State? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t heard they appointed Franklin Graham to finish out Sarah Palin’s term after she became Secretary-General over at the UN.”

“I haven’t,” I said. “And did you say ‘General Kushner’ a minute ago?”

“I’m beginning to worry about you,” he said.

“The Kushner I know has no military experience. You must be making stuff up.”

He shook his head in disdain. “Look,” he said. “We have no military anymore, so what difference does it make who the head of it is? What is it with you about expertise? Treasury Secretary Osteen isn't even an economist.”

“C.W.,” I said, “we’re going to have to sit down and talk for a few minutes.”

“First sensible thing you’ve said all day.” A shudder went through his body. “Wait one.” He shuddered again. “I’m receiving a report. I think maybe it’s about what they plan to do with those teenage girls they caught reading novels.”

“Girls reading novels?”

“Yeah, can you imagine what kind of mess they would have if there were any boys still left around?” He shuddered again. And again. Then he said in a weak voice. “No. Are you telling me the truth? How embarrassing. How did it happen? I’m ready when you are.” He turned to me and said, “I’m going to be off-presence for a moment or two.”

“What’s the matter?”

“During this morning’s adjustment transmittal, they got my Constant Relative Adjustment Positioner out of sequence.”


“My CRAP has been off by nearly seven Earth-years ever since.”

“C.W.,” I said, “Before you go, answer me this about the things you said. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be, only?”

“Oh,” he said. “That will be up to you.”

I've had no further intercourse with the form of C.W. Future, but I will try live upon the Total Resistance Principle, ever afterwards; and may it was always be said of me, that I knew how to keep my love for America and its people well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!

See also:
Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It makes him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

402. Serving

He was up to no good, that was for sure. He had o this white outfit and white hat and looked like every spoof of a pre-civil war southern plantation owner you’ve ever seen. Ridiculous? That’s not the word for it. He looked like Mark Twain on steroids.

“What the?”

“Come on in son,” he said. “I’ll let you in on the ground floor.”

I eased into the living room and found a chair. “Ground floor of what?”

“A fortune, my son, a lit’ral fortune.”

Every cell in my body leaped to attention. “What kind of literal fortune?”

“The best kind son, it’s the very best kind. Selling a service that’s going to be in hot demand. Hot demand I say.”

“What kind of service?”

“The best kind: freedom.”

“Freedom for whom?”

“Know that statue you love in the park downtown? The one of the woman leadin’ the young slave boy to freedom?”

“Harriet Tubman?”

“Herself. That’s what we are going to sell: freedom.”

“Uh, I hate to tell you, but our African-American brothers and sisters were freed a long time ago, partly anyhow.”

“Precisely. And before they were freed, how did they escape slavery?”
“Through something called The Underground Railroad led by people like Harriet Tubman.”

“There you go.”

“You’re going to have to explain this all to me.”

“Don’t you read the papers?”

“No, I get all my news from Facebook and Sean Hannity." We both laughed. "I’m kidding. Sure I read the newspapers, one in print and three or four on-line. So what?”

“Don’t you know that the folks runnin’ this country are itchin’ their britches off to hop into another war? Maybe two? Does the word 'draft' mean anything to you?”

“Sure, but it doesn’t concern me. I’m too old.”

He laughed. “Tell that to the last Germans that were drafted in 1945. Nicht zu jung. Nicht zu alt. Those were their standards for the draft.”

“It still wouldn’t concern me, as long as there is a Canada.”

“That’s my point son. I say that’s just my point.”

“I’m confused.”

“Stick with me boy. Stick with me. I’ve been talking with a member of my group of people who work together, usually in the same profession or occupation.”

“You mean you talked to one of your colleagues?”

“Ain’t that what I said. Now quit repeating me when I talk and listen. I talked to a buddy in Canada, and guess what?”


“They’ve done figured it all out, those Canadians have.”

“Figured all of what out?”

“That your folks in Washington are a little on the crazy side right now, for one thing.”


“They’s bustin’ a gut to invade some country or other, like I say: maybe two at once.”


“They got the power to do it but they ain’t got the manpower to do it.”


“The bottom of that barrel done been scraped smooth as a banker’s chin.”


“Bingo! Get ready for the military draft.” He slapped a fist into a palm. “Hit’s comin’ sure as rain on a picnic.”

“I see. I don’t think it will work, though,” I said. “The people right now who would vote for crazy would never send their kids to war for crazy. Other folk's kids sure. Their kids? Never.”

“Exactly my point son. You ain’t as dense as Mizzes Big Dope says you are. So, we would expect this mass stampede north.”


“There’s only one problem, though.”


“Canada doesn’t want the children of crazy people. They run a nice ship up there. Can’t you hear them border gates slammin’ shut?”

“I do indeed. What happens to the draft dodgers now?”

“They’s gonna have to be snuck in. Sort of the exact opposite of the Underground Railroad. This time instead of sneaking folks out, we’ll be sneaking folks in, to Canada that is.”

“I need a minute to let this settle.”

Keep your eyes on that
Tee Tee, my son. - C.W.
“Take your time. We’re thinking of calling it, my pals and I, ‘The Trump Tunnel.’ We’ve even settled on a slogan, a brand so to speak.”

“What’s that?”

 “Our ads will picture some boys who resemble the president’s kids under the slogan, We love that Tee Tee.”


“Oh, and there is one more difference.”

“And that is?”

“We are going make, I say make a killing on it. It’s going to cost them crazies out the old kazoo to get those brats snuck up there.”

“Oh my.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you are understanding America more with each passing day.”

See also:
Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw PressAmazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It makes him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.