Sunday, June 24, 2018

430. Retribution

C.W. had left a message: “Under the tree. Sad. Bring the good Scotch.”

I knew what to expect. Pensive moods fit only a few of his shapes, and this had been a rough week for him. I carried everything on a tray, the single-malt I had been saving, two glasses, and a bucket of ice, though I knew he preferred the things in his world be unadulterated.

The Galilean didn’t seem to hear me approach. He sat between a spreading oak and a stand of variegated bamboo. My late father-in-law planted the oak years ago, but he had never enjoyed its shade. Now, a lonely figure, his white robe spreading around him, watched a group of geese leading their young around the banks of the pond.

As I approached, he said without looking, “It’s peaceful here. Someone planned things well.”

“Thanks” I said.

I sat the tray on the table, uncorked the scotch and motioned toward the ice with a questioning look. He shook his head. “I like it just as it is,” he said. “We can change our lives, but not good scotch.”

After I poured a “finger” for each of us, we raised our glasses and touched them. “To the children,” he said.

I said, “To the children.”

The geese caught our attention. They were in a line with the adults fore and aft. The lead goose, a mother I supposed, would flap her wings. Immediately the young ones would mimic with their small, developing stubs.

“She’s teaching them to fly,” he said. “Isn’t it a marvelous planet we have here? So much potential. Could you imagine what would happen to those youngsters if the mother wasn’t there to teach them?” He drained his glass and thrust it toward me. I began to pour and he gave me “the look.” I added an additional finger. He smiled and sipped.

“There seems to be a vicious cult threatening this peaceful place,” he said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

He did a perfect impression of Zorba the Greek. “Then what is the use of all your damned books?” He laughed and drank half the rest of his scotch. Playing Zorba is one of his favorite games when he chooses this shape.

He brushed his fingers through long greasy hair. “What the hell do they have against my children?” He was still watching the geese.

“No one seems to know,” I said.

“Wasn’t I pretty clear about that?” I said 'suffer not.' I don’t think I said a damned thing about making them suffer.” He tossed off the remainder of his drink and held his glass out toward me. I filled it nearly to the top.

He sighed. “When we dropped the sperm off on this barren rock of a planet, the one you call home, six billion years ago,” he said, “we chose the very best. Yours was to be a glorious experiment in excellence—in thought, expression, and behavior. What the hell happened?”

He sipped. “Might want to take it slow,” I said. “Don’t get yourself all worked up.”

“Oh,” he said, “you know very well that I’m programmed for forgiveness.” He sipped again. “But the Exalted Falloonian, head of this great experiment, isn’t so bound. He can get really pissed. Remember that home planet destruction scene from that Star Wars movie you took me to see?”

I shuddered. He took another long drink, settled back in his chair, and continued. “And what’s with this immigrant shit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t anyone remember the scenario the Elders wrote for me and the family? How we were immigrants? If these sons of …” he stopped and took a long breath. Sipped, and calmed his voice. “If these people in charge now had been in charge back then, and had tried to do to my family what they are doing to families now, there would have been thunderbolts galore, you can bet your sweet ass on that.”

I moved the bottle from his sight. “Maybe its time I took you in for a rest,” I said.

He let out a breath. “I suppose so.” He drained his glass and looked at me like a child begging for a last cookie.

“One more.” I said. He held out his glass. I filled it. This time he finished it off in two large gulps. He leaned back. We sat in thought for several minutes.

Before too long, he broke the silence. “There is a day of reckoning coming,” he said.

I looked over at him.
The best of pals. - C.W.

“It may not be pretty,” he said. “Especially for the leaders of this dreadful cult. Maybe the followers too.”

I drew a deep breath.

“It’s been done before, you know. Not like they wrote it, but its been done. Wasn’t pretty at all. Not at all.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” I said.

“It won’t be pretty at all.” He held out his glass.

I shook my head. He rested the glass on the table. Then he dabbed at his eyes with a corner of his robe. He looked at me with deep black eyes. He said, his words becoming slightly blurred. "It’s not going to be pretty for those who harm my children and rebuke the aliens.”

The sound of a crop-dusting plane made the geese bark and rush to the safety of pond, the little ones flapping their wings to no effect.

Not pretty,” he said again. “There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth among the wicked.”

He started to rise, then slumped and looked at me. “I don’t really care. Do you?”

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Sunday, June 17, 2018

429. Peace

Came in this morning to find C.W. in one of his favorite shapes, Reggie the Young Conservative. He was fairly bubbling with enthusiasm, humming a pleasant melody and typing away on my laptop in rhythm with his tune.

“Hey Big Dope,” he said. “Are you in the presence of an important person or what?” He punctuated his question with a one-finger punch to the keyboard.


“Very important,” he said. “I’ve been given what may be the most important job in the history of the world.”

I took my coffee to the couch and sat. “And what might that be?” I said.

“I have been tasked to write up quotes for the president in the leadup to his Nobel Peace Prize nomination.”

“Oh really? How did that come about?”

“Partly because of my internal data retrieval system. I can access all the major speeches and quotes from history and use them as guides. My job is to make our glorious leader sound, well, like a leader.”

“Oh. I see.” But I didn’t really.

“How’s this for starters?” He picked up a sheet and read. “My good friends, for the first time in our history, an American president has returned from abroad bringing peace with honor. I believe it is peace for our time... Go home and get a nice quiet sleep.”

“Uh,” I began, but he interrupted.

Reading again, he said, “I believe it is peace with honor.”

I tried again, “Do you …”

He overrode again, “We should seek by all means in our power to avoid war, by analyzing possible causes, by trying to remove them, by discussion in a spirit of collaboration and good will.”

“Would you wait …” I tried again, but he was on a roll.

“Here’s one for his critics,” he said. Lifting the paper, he read, “I tell you that I'm not dictatorial, I'm not intolerant, I'm not overpowering! You're all wrong, wrong, wrong, I tell you! I'm the most relaxed and understanding of people! None of you, I insist, must ever say I'm dictatorial again!” He lowered the paper and smiled, then said. “That’s some real presidential sounding stuff, is it not?”
“May I …”

“Here’s one of my best,” he said. “Ever since I assumed my present office my main purpose has been to work for the pacification of the world, for the removal of those suspicions and those animosities which have so long poisoned the air. The question of North Korea is the latest and perhaps the most dangerous. Now that we have got past it, I feel that it may be possible to make further progress along the road to sanity.”

I groaned. He said, “That’s a good one, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps you should know,” I began.
Peace for all time? - C.W.
He interrupted me again, reading, “I am resolved that my method of consultation shall be the method adopted to deal with any other questions that may concern us, and I am determined to continue my efforts to remove possible sources of difference, and thus to contribute to assure the peace of the world.”

In one fluid motion, he grabbed another sheet and read, “Whatever the lengths to which others may go, my American government will never resort to the deliberate attack on women and children and other civilians for purposes of mere terrorism.”

He looked at me as if he were a minister finishing a benediction. “Peace in our time,” he said. “That’s pure gold, don’t you think.”

“I think,” I said, “that you have just stated minor variations on quotes by Neville Chamberlain, Prime Minister of England in the 1930s,” during the leadup to World War Two.”

Es macht nichts,” he said. “Who reads history anymore? Our folks sure don’t. Waste of time. Waste of time," he repeated. Now, do you have anything else to say?”

“No,” I said. “I think you are right on top of things.”

Uber alles,” he said. “Uber alles.” He stopped and thought, having had, it seemed, a brainstorm. He grabbed a pad and started making notes. I sipped my coffee and smiled.

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Sunday, June 10, 2018

428: Conflicts

In an unusual move, C.W. came waddling into the living room this morning unshaped, that is to say he was in his actual form. That’s always a surprise. He spread himself across the couch as best he could and relaxed. I waited.

“We have a question,” Right Head said.

“Yes, a tough question,” Middle Head said.

“Do you have any ice cream?” Left Head said.

“Is that the question?”

“No,” Middle Head said. He looked at Left Head and back at me. “We have a serious question.”

“I’m your man then,” I said. “Shoot.”

Right Head and Left Head both looked at Middle Head. He looked at Right Head. “You tell him. It’s your problem.”

Right head nodded. “It’s like this,” he said. “This one,” he nodded at Middle Head, “is disrespecting us.”

“He’s being a real asshole,” Left Head said.

“Going out of his way to alienate us,” Right Head said.

“Being a real jerk-off,” Left Head said.

“I’m just tired of being the pocket book of ideas that these two idiots draw from,” Middle Head said. “I have the greatest mind in the galaxy and they add nothing to the deals I make.”

“See what I mean?” Right Head said.

“What a douche bag,” Left Head said.

“I don’t need them,” Middle Head said. “I do the greatest things in our galaxy without them. They just hang around and profit from the things I do. I’m more attractive than either of them, too. Don’t you think?”

I swallowed hard and tried not to think about such things. “I’m not exactly an expert on concepts of Falloonian beauty,” I said.

“You’re as pitiful as they are,” Middle Head said, nodding at each in return. I have thousands of heads wanting to share a body with me. They know I’m the greatest head around. They would line up to be with me.”

“How long have you three been together?” I asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Middle Head said.

“Approximately four million Scheruntshoolters,” Right Head said. “Maybe six hundred Earth years.”

“That’s a long time to be associated with Shit-For-Brains,” Left Head said.

“How could you manage without one another?” I said.

“I don’t need anyone,” Middle Head said. “Haven’t you been listening? I’m the greatest and I tell it like it is. People love that in a head. I tell them, ‘Just kiss my head and you’ll see glory.’ That’s the greatest motto ever thought up.”

“Uh,” I said. “I think I would be a little careful with that if I were you.”

“You’re just as pitiful as they are. Everything you tell me is fake.”

“If you don’t trust me, and you don’t trust the other two heads who have been your friends for so long,” I said, “whom do you trust?”

“That’s the problem,” Right Head said.

“Yeah,” Left Head said, “Just listen to who Scumbag has buddied-up with. Have you ever heard of Wunewphelplaeze?”

“Where’s that? What does the word mean?”

Three GUTS whirled. Right Head spoke first. “Anus Mundi,” he said, then, “No, wait. I hit Latin by mistake.” He started to speak but Left Head cut him off.

“It’s where,” he said, “and I hate to say this, but it’s where the planets in our galaxies used to send their malformed and maladjusted units to keep them from breeding with the normal units.”

“Only one problem,” Right Head said.

“What’s that?”
Does this look like the face
of a man of menace? - C.W

Left Head broke in. “They started breeding with one another and now they have their own civilization, even have their own leader, the worst unit in the galaxy, one called Ahhlchileya,” a real piece of excrement.”

“A piece of excrement who now has a new best friend,” Left head said. He and Right Head looked inward in unison.

“Fake facts,” Middle Head said. “Cheap lies. He’s had no charges brought against him.”

“Dormantatized units can’t bring charges,” Right Head said.

“He buys Doodo-Head expensive things,” Left Head said. “Where do you think he got that new Les Paul guitar that he plays when he makes us shape up like Slash?”

“Enough, enough,” I said. “I see disaster on the horizon.” I looked at Middle Head. “Can’t we reach a compromise?”

“Compromises are for those who can’t cut the pungent yellow condiment consisting of the pulverized seeds of a selected plant.”

I looked at the other two. “Can you report him to the Falloonian Elders?”

“Hell no,” Left Head said.

“He’s been buying them expensive gifts with funds Ahhlchielya gives him,” Left Head said.  “The Elders have gone bad and will support him no matter what.” The three began to argue incoherently.

I arose and left them there. I walked to the door, opened it, and walked outside for a breath of fresh air. Off to the west, some menacing black clouds were forming. I walked out to our farm pond, sat on the bank and studied the pond. By its waters, I wept when I remembered the good times.

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Sunday, June 3, 2018

427: Books

“You want to have some fun?”

“Not particularly. Actually, I having fun, just sitting here reading this book. Why don’t you try it?”

“That’s boring. I don’t read books.”

C.W. was in the shape of a 30-something, a male with short cropped hair and preppy clothes. He’s been trying it out for several days. Each day, he’s gotten a little more unbearable.

I said, “If you don’t read books and things, you may end up being uninformed.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. You wouldn’t want to end up like Kanye West, would you?”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s a man who doesn’t read books.”

“Is he successful?”

“To hear him tell it, he is.”

“There you go.”

“Don’t you,” I said, “want to know the importance of history and current events?”


“So you can sound intelligent and informed.”

“I can do that already.”


“I just make stuff up and then make it fit. That’s the greatest way ever found to sound like you know things. There is no better way. And I am the greatest person at it that there ever was, in the history of the world maybe.”

“What if someone asked you about a famous author?”

“What do you mean?”

“Say Virginia Woolf.”

“Who’s Virginia Woolf.”

“A writer. Do you know anything about her?”

“I know she was a horrible writer until she met me. She was missing the benefits of having a strong man in her life. After a few months with me as her lover, the greatest lover she had ever known, she got famous with her writing. People love her, all because of me. I’m the greatest gift that a woman could experience, you know. Just ask Virginia Woolf.”

“I can’t. She’s dead.”

“Of course. She couldn’t stand life without me. Ask me about someone else, or something else.”

“What do you think of the Truman Doctrine.”

“I helped him with that one. We patterned it after the work of President Putin in Russia. I’m the greatest friend Vladimir has, and we helped, uh, what was his name?”

“Harry Truman.”

“Yeah, Harriet Tubman, I was his best friend too. Anyway, I helped form his doctrine of helping Russia expand its influence in America and we have, to date, created a million new jobs by working together. Working peacefully, I might add, as peaceful a Jew and an Arab.”

My head was beginning to spin. “What might you have to say about Charles Darwin and his writing on natural selection?”

“His what?”

“Natural selection?”w

“Oh,” he said, regaining his confidence. “I helped him with that.”


“Yes. He came to me and asked me to help them select a new pastor for his church. He’s a deacon there, you know, a real man of God. He and I got along real well together. I helped him a lot in selecting a new man.”

Why read when I can make facts up? - C.W.
“Told him what traits to look for in a preacher.”

“Grace, love, and brotherhood?”

“Oh heavens no. That’s old-timey stuff. People don’t want that. We need preachers, men preachers by they way, who can stir folks to anger at those who don’t think the way we do. Like that Franklin Graham man says, ‘Hate is the trait that makes us great.’ That man’s church has added five thousand new members since they took my advice. I’m the greatest thing that ever happened to them. What do you think about that?”

“I think I’m going to go sit somewhere in the shade, somewhere nice and quiet.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m going over to a meeting at party headquarters.”


“Yeah, they’re having a little ceremony for the Science-Education Committee members.”

“Something important? Are they planning to cut funding again?”

“Not now. Maybe later.”

“What are they celebrating now?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but it’s the greatest honor a politician can get. It’ll produce tens of thousands of new jobs.”

“And what, exactly is this great honor for this committee?”

“One of its members is getting something called a GED.”

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 earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.