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