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Sunday, July 15, 2018

433. Research

“Ear.”

The minute I heard the word “ear” I smelled something that took me back nearly 50 years. Before it registered, I heard it again.

“Ear.”

And again, “Ear.”

I rushed into the living room and, sure enough, there was C.W. in his actual Falloonian shape, all three heads, multiple hands, and all. Five dogs sat in a semi-circle in front of him, alternately giggling and watching the action. I should have expected some mischievousness. My wife was staying elsewhere with a visiting cousin and she doesn’t care much for seeing our alien friend in his true shape. That’s the reason he waits until she’s away to appear “au naturel.”

“Ear,” Left Head said. A long skinny arm moved raised a hand that took something resembling a short cigar from Left Head and handed it to Middle Head. He took it in his mouth, took a long draw, and held it.

“Ear,” he said, still holding his breath. The hand moved the cigar to Right Head. That’s when I remembered what the smell was.

What the …?”

“Come on in, Mr. Big Dope,” Left Head said as the hand started toward him. It stopped in mid-flight and headed toward me. “Ear,” Left Head said, extending the joint, if you want to call something that large a joint, toward my mouth.

“No thanks,” I said, pushing the hand away, It was green and scaly, cold to the touch. “But,” I said, “you might tell me what is going on.”

Right Head started to speak, stopped, and turned to Middle Head. “You tell him,” he said. “I just forgot.”

“We’re doing research,” Middle Head said.

“Research on what?”

The question seemed to catch him off-guard. He thought for a moment, then said, “Research. What research?”

“Upon what are you doing research”

He thought again. “Who said we are doing research?”

“You did.”
“We are doing a test,” Left Head said, coming to the rescue. He took a long drag, held it, and had the hand move to Middle Head. After holding his breath for nearly a minute, he exhaled and said. “Wow, male of the species.”

“Testing what?” I persevered.

“That plant we’ve been reading about,” Right Head said. “What do you call it?” He thought and smiled. “Merry Fauna,” he said.

“Yep,” Middle Head said.

“Yep,” Left Head said. “We’re thinking about stealing it.”

“No,” Middle Head said, finishing his draw and passing the joint. “Not stealing, sealing it.”

“No,” Right Head said, after a brief coughing spell. “Not sealing it, … selling it.”

“Right,” Left Head said. “We’re perfectly positionated to sell it.”

“Oh?”
Our Marketing Plan:
The worse it sounds,
the more the kids
will want it. - C.W
.

“Yes,” he said. “It has no effect on us whensoever.”

“None wheresoever,” Middle Head said.

“None whysoever,” Right Head said. His face brightened. “Did Mrs. Big Dope leave any of that cabbage soup here for us?”

I didn’t answer. Left Head started laughing. He cackled aloud for some time and finally caught his breath. “I just thought of a name for our product.” He turned toward the others.

“What?” Middle Head said.

“Three Faces of Ease Medicinal Cigarillos.” He said, breaking into laughter again. Middle Head caught on and howled with joy. Right Head joined it. The dogs began their “laugh-bark.” The room turned to bedlam.

I readied to leave. “You won’t think this is funny if my wife catches you.”

The laughter increased in volume. The last thing I heard over the howls and barking was Middle Head, “Hey, save some for Mrs. Big Dope.” The sounds grew louder. He screamed over the merriment, “No, I mean Mrs. Bogart.”

The whole house was shaking when I walked out the front door and into the yard. I was a little light-headed, from secondary smoke I suppose. I began to wonder if maybe I was living on the satellite of some electron in some obscure galaxy and was just imagining all of this. It would certainly make more sense.

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.



Sunday, July 8, 2018

432: Accountability

Hearing a voice in the living room, I went in to see what C.W. was up to. I heard him say, “I’m not here to judge you but to help you.” There was a silence, and he said, “That’s the judgment of people worse than you, sweetheart. You are the only person on Earth with whom you must deal. Now you go on and try to think things through better from now on.”

I turned the corner as he clicked my cell phone off and sighed. He had taken a shape that he uses from time to time now. I call it “Eddie the Empathizer.” He was in the shape of a young man, maybe in his thirties, with close-cropped hair and a slight stubble of beard. He wore a “ZZ Top” tee shirt and neatly pressed jeans with sandals. A pair of what we used to call “hippie glasses” rested halfway down his nose.

He didn’t look at me.

“What’s up?” I said. He turned and stared as if he had no inkling I had been there.

“It’s getting worse,” he said.

“What’s getting worse?”

“Word’s getting around that they can talk to me and get information without being told they are going to burn in this Hell that your species has thought up. Tell me,” he said, “just where in the he…, uh, … heck did that nonsense come from? I asked the Galilean and he said some writers just made it up for dramatic effect.”

“Maybe, but what about it?”

The phone played “This Land is My Land.” He grimaced and answered. “Eddie here.” He listened, then said, “Yes, I remember you.” He listened again, longer this time. When he spoke, his voice was firm. “Now you remember what I told you, don’t you?” He listened. “So you just can’t wait, is that what you are telling me? You just can’t wait?”

He listened, looked at me, shook his head with a sad look, and then spoke. “Once more,” he said, “it can happen any time, the first, the second, the fifteenth, … any time. It can happen in any position. Holding your breath won’t work, I don’t care what they told you in the locker room.” He smiled, “No, eating spicy food won’t work either. There are pharmaceuticals that work, but they are getting harder to purchase. Did you read the information I sent?”

He listened. “Yes, they work most of the time and are easy to buy. They are also easy to forget about when he gets aroused and wants things to feel natural for him.”  There was silence, then, “There are other considerations, and some of these can make you die. Do you understand? Die. Do you know this boy?”

There was a long silence. “Tell you what you do,” he said, “you take him down to an attorney’s office and have an agreement drawn up where he will promise to pay in full for an accidental baby’s care. Have it witnessed by your local Sheriff.”

Another smile. “No, I don’t imagine he would either. That should tell you something. You think about it.” He clicked off.

“The hormones in your species are among the strongest and most virulent in the Galaxy,” he said, just as the phone exploded in song. He didn’t respond, but said to me, “It’s a losing battle.” Then he pressed a button on the phone. “Eddie,” he said again. As the listened, his face seemed to elongate. Finally, he spoke. “When did you find out?”

He listened for what seemed like an eternity. “Now quit your crying,” he said. “We need to work this out. Can you report the boy?”

He listened and shook his head. “Really?” he said. “Captain of the football team? Why are they exempt from accountability?” He listened, then said softly. “College. I see. Why did you allow him to do this to you?” There was a pause. “Did he really threaten to do that?” 

He took a deep breath as he listened to the phone. I felt I was intruding and started to leave. He motioned for me to stay and spoke. “What about your parents?” After a moment, he said softly, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I thought I saw an eye moisten. “Now, you hush, maybe we can arrange for adoption.” He stopped suddenly and listened. “I see,” he said, “what would the other race be?”

So they tell an alien
and stranger. Why? - C.W.
He listened again, “No stop it,” he said in a clear voice. “No one will judge you except yourself,” repeating what I had heard him say before. He listened and said, “There is no such place. I’ve been over this entire Galaxy, and I can assure you of that. Cut that out. Franklin Graham is a lonely, unhappy, and evil man. What he says means nothing." 

The caller must have broken in, for he stopped and listened. “I know,” he said at last, “that you are all alone, and have no means with which to attend college yourself right now, but you might someday. Would you like that? Maybe a family when the time comes?” He listened, smiled and said. “I thought so.”

I couldn’t bear it anymore and slipped out as I heard him say, “Now child, you are going to have to make the greatest decision you will ever make it your life …”

It was then that I realized I had tears in my own eyes.

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.



Sunday, July 1, 2018

431. A Break

Hey friends. It's C.W. your long time friend. Big Dope left early this morning. He is going to give a talk to a group of Unitarians. As they say on Falloonia, that's a Hudelevaoowuldathuanket. Let me consult my Galactic Universal Translator in "idiom mode." Wait one.

Well, my GUT tells me that the best translation for Earthlings is "Ain't that a hoot?"

I have no idea what he will talk about. I'm not sure he does. He's been muttering phrases like "happy as a dead hog in the sunshine." My GUT can't quite decipher that. He also talks about "Jack Daniels sipping whiskey." I have some familiarity with that phrase. He had me shape in as The Galilean, and help him. I think I straightened him out a bit on the commandment to "love one another."

Anyway, he left this little entry. I'm not sure he ever posted it Maybe it will be his theme this morning. He wrote


Last night I dreamed I was drinking wine with Matthew, Mark, and Luke at a little pub called “The Chi of Galilee.” Matt and Luke were ribbing Mark about finding this neat search engine called “Quizzer.”

Matt: Too bad you didn’t know about it before you published your stuff.

Luke: We tried to get you to wait for us, but … noooo!

Mark: (Sullenly) I did okay.

Luke: (Mockingly) “I did okay.” (Sips his wine)

Mark: Just because I wouldn’t tell you where the white colt came from.

Matt: Want to know the real funny thing?

Mark: What?

Matt: I was talking to Him, and want to hear something really interesting?

Luke: Blessed are the rumormongers.

Matt: As soon as we are all finished, He is taking back the computers.

Mark: Get out of Capernaum. Non vadis.

Matt: Vadis. I heard it with mine own ears.

Luke: Taking away computers?

Matt: Yep. Says they ain’t coming back for 2,000 years or so.

Mark: Bummer.

Mark: Don’t tell John about this Quizzer site.

Luke: No way. He always thinks he is the favorite. Let him figure it all out by himself.

Matt: Suits me. By the way …

Luke: Yes?

Matt: Speaking or His favorites. Did you read the neat stuff about Mimi?

That’s when I woke up. And you know … I’m sorry I did.