Sunday, October 14, 2018

446. Riches

C.W. walked in yesterday in one of the strangest shapes yet. I would say he looked like a cross between a TV evangelist and a clown. Yeah, I know, but even for him this looked strange.

“I need money,” he said.

“You what?”

“Money. I need a car.”

“Why do you need a car? You aren’t supposed to be driving.”

“I need more money then,” he said.

“Why more?”

“I'll need a chauffeur, too.”

“And you need a car and chauffeur for what reason?”

“So I can travel around teaching folks how to get rich with my prosperity gospel.”

“Your prosperity gospel?”

“Yeah, I’ll even preach a sermon for you.”

“I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t you preach one to yourself? Then you could buy a car yourself.”

“I did,” he said. “But I spent it on a new airplane. Your friends, by the way, are very generous.”


“Yeah. All I had to do was tell them that you needed an operation to save your life and didn’t have the money for it.”

“And you used the money to buy an airplane?”

“Now I need something to get me to the airport.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Certainly not. Everyone loves me. But the rising costs of salvation never cease,” he said. “Every time you fill one need, you need another.”

“Have you talked to the Galilean about this?”

“Nah, he’s stuck in the First Century, still thinks about all that goodness, mercy, and grace junk. Besides, he thinks airplanes are getting a little too close to home, if you know what I mean.”

“Have you thought about earning your own money?”

“When there are so many people around already earning money than they spend, or sitting on savings they may never need?”

What about a job?”
"What kind of shoes do the angels wear,
Slipping and sliding on the golden stairs?
Over-sized kickers and happy socks.
Drop your money in the Missionary Box."
Works every time. - C.W.
“A what?”

“What happened to your job helping the police?”

“What job helping the police?”

“You were going to use your psychic powers to help them solve crimes.”

“I was not. That’s something you just made up. I never was going to do such a thing.”

“Oh yes you were. I have a stack of letters terminating you for not producing results.”

“Did you know I’m going to sell your Gibson ES-335 S to help pay for my car?”

“You what?”

“And I have two of Mrs. Big Dope’s antique Singer sewing machines on the market.”

I ran from the room to check. He hadn’t of course. But by the time I returned, he had stolen my wallet and my cell phone, including the telephone numbers of all my friends. I couldn’t find him anywhere.

For the life of me, I can’t imagine where he learned such tricks. He must have brought them with him from Falloonia.

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, October 7, 2018

445. Justice

One day this week C.W. and I had a nice talk while sitting on the balcony of our condo in Little Rock. He seemed a little fidgety, so I let him lead the conversation. He had taken on, at my request, a rather innocuous shape so as not to alarm the other residents. I would say he looked a bit like Sean Connery toward the end of his James Bond Career. We talked of a number of things before he suddenly took a sip of wine and looked at me funny. As I say, he seemed nervous about something.

“Tell me,” he said, “about this legal concept called ‘statute of limitations.’ I am terribly curious.”

“Statute of limitations?”



“I … uh … just find it interesting, … yeah, I need to make a report on it.”

“It’s a legal term,” I said. “It’s a law, as I understand it, that forbids prosecutors from charging someone with a crime that was committed more than a specified number of years before.”

“A specified number of years?”


“How many years?”

“I think it depends.”

“On what?”

“The particular crime.”

“Oh.” We sat in silence for a few moments and enjoyed the view. Then he turned to me and said. “Why would they set a limit on prosecuting a crime?”

“Jeez,” I said. “I’m no legal scholar. But I suspect they may want prosecutions to begin in a timely manner while evidence is still available.”

“That’s all?”

“Well,” as with any aspect of public administration, funds are limited and perhaps they believe that suspects who live open, public, and so-called "reformed" lives, should be allowed to live free from the fear of capture.”

“So, it involves the concept of mercy?”

“I suppose so. Why are you asking me all this?”

“I, uh … no reason. Just interested.” He sipped his wine. “So all crimes sort of have an expiration date?”

“No,” I said. “Some enjoy no statute of limitations: murder, rape, treason, crimes against minors, those sorts of things. It varies, as I understand it, from state to state.”

He went silent. I said, “You seem awfully interested.”

He ignored me. “In other words,” he said, “some crimes have no forgiveness limitation?”

“Correct,” I said. “Say you are married and have a beautiful young daughter. Someone viciously attacks her and rapes her when she is 16. She becomes pregnant as a result.”
Boys will be boys.
Won't they? - C.W.
“That’s awful to contemplate,” he said.

“It certainly is,” I said. “The legal system forces her to raise the resulting child on her own. At what point would you assume the assailant committed no crime?”

He said nothing. I continued. “Maybe when your daughter turns 18? Maybe 20, 25, 30? Maybe the day she turns 40 and her daughter has a daughter of her own. You see the assailant walking the streets in the open, free and clear as of that date, maybe by now a successful member of society? Your own daughter has lived in poverty as a single mother and has never escaped the mental trauma the rape produced. On what date would you absolve him of the crime?”

“Mrs. Big Dope,” he said, obviously trying to divert the conversation, “being a highly intelligent and educated person, would understand all about this statute of limitations thing?”

I set my wine on a table and looked at him. “What did you do now?” I said.

He fidgeted. “Oh nothing,” he said. “I’m just trying to understand your species. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

“Spill,” I said.

“This murder thing, would it apply to plants? We regard them as living things on my planet.” Far away, on the western horizon, dark clouds began to form.

As I watched the clouds, I said, “My wife doesn’t necessarily operate, in terms of forgiveness, under a strict rule of law. Women sometimes remember things longer than men do. Legal statutes would be a lot different if they wrote them.”

He sighed. “Don’t I know it,” he said.

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.