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.”
“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.”
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.”
“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.”