Never Explain

You should try getting information from Big Dope. Take yesterday. All I wanted to know was the meaning of what you Earthlings call “Black Friday.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered him while he was playing his banjo. “Dummkopf,” was all he said. My Galactic Universal Translator indicates that this is not a complimentary term.

I usually trust my GUT, but Left Head had to push it. “Don’t white people take part in it too?”

“Idiota,” he said.

My GUT told me to drop it, but Right Head intervened. "Isn’t your job to enlighten us on Earthling customs?”

“Dinky đầu! Beaucoup dinky đầu!”

I determined that is was time for adult involvement. “Just give us a good explanation in plain English,” Can’t you provide a simple thought in your native tongue?”

His face turned read, veins stood out on his throat. He raised a finger toward the ceiling and struggled to find his voice.

“Notafinga,’ he said. “Noafinga eye god!”

We should have let it drop. Our GUT told us so. But Right Head, always the voice of reason, nodded in to calm the situation. “Why don’t you just take us shopping? We’ll shift into that woman running for Governor.”

Ahhh, dear readers. Big Dope fell asleep watching TV last evening. Mrs. Big Dope can’t stand what he watches (old movies and things about how bad someone named Hitler was) so she put her own TV in another room and watches from their  (films about women who chop their husbands up with axes).

So I controlled the remote for a spell. Came upon an old comedy show where a comedian dressed up like some priest and talked in a fake Italian accent. It was an old skit. They wouldn’t let a comedian talk in accents any more. Yeah, the Falloonian Elders have a hard time believing that too. Well this comedian was talking about a news report from years ago when scientists said they had discovered a planet that was approaching Earth and moving away from Earth at the same time. He called it the “coming and going planet.”

It reminded me of a dichotomy among your species. Take Big Dope for example. I won’t include the Mrs. For she has a quicker temper. He’s fairly well off by Earthen standards, yet supports politicians whose party supports helping the less fortunate of your species, what the favorite god of many of you call “the least of those among us.” Friends of Big Dope who are dependent upon, or who are alive today, because of the social generosity of a political party, detest those same politicians and worship others who would allow the poor among you to starve or die. Oh, and the god I mentioned earlier is on the side of the “least” but that doesn’t seem to bother a lot of his followers.

The “coming and going” planet?

The “believing and non-believing” planet?

The “I have mine so let’s move on” planet?

I think I’ll forward the comedy skit to the Elders. They like funny stories from Earth.

Confused Thankfulness

Left Head did it. Now Mrs Big Dope is punishing all three of us. We were supposed to make a fruit sculpture to show how much we are thankful for today. I made a heart out of  an apple to show how thankful I am our health. Right head made a depiction of the world on half a melon and carved "Peace with Honor" on it. Left Head left his laying on the table and Mrs. Big Dope saw it. I'm not sure why she is so mad, but she is. We have to write 1,000 times that we are "thankful for decency." Left Head keeps saying his work stood for "Orangeyou thankful for love?" I don't know. Big Dope says I  shouldn't show you what he did with the fruit because this is a family spot. I'm confused.

Control

I couldn't help but ask Big Dope why so many of your species respond actively to falsehoods rather than facts. What he said was interesting. He noted it has been said that one person can only manage a limited number of people through direct contact and rational supervision. Some argue that, in order to control vast numbers of people, for good or for bad, you must employ mythology.

That has my right head twitching. The left just said, "Groovy man, groovy."

Spokespeople

 Big Dope doesn’t like it much when I question him about religious ecstasy among your species. He’s says it’s too complicated for me.

Me, a member of the Falloonian intelligentsia? Someone who travelled through three galaxies to reach your puzzling planet? Too complicated? Someone who can speak fluently in over 6,500 of your languages, some of which are spoken by fewer than 1,000 people. That doesn’t include dialects. I can even understand and translate rural southern English, although I do have trouble speaking it, and the Falloonian Elders claim I’m making it up.

Too complicated for me? Why I have more cognitive capability in less than a tenth of one of my three brains than he has in his whole puny cranium. Too complicated? Here you have a creature that can instantly compute loci to thousands of planets in over 200 billion galaxies.

One religion in one country in one planet in one galaxy of the known universe? How hard could it be?

“Then explain to me,” he says, “how the official religion of a major political party in the most powerful country on our planet has selected Rick Perry to explain the mental workings and purposes of its god Jehovah, who created those 200 billion galaxies.”

“Rick Perry?” I says.

“Rick Perry.”

“The Rick Perry?”

“The Rick Perry.”

“Let me make sure,” I says. “The Rick Perry who couldn’t name the three government agencies he would abolish if he were elected president?”

“The very one.”

If you’ll excuse me, dear friend, I have some studying to do.

Justice

They say I got caught but they are all lying. Big Dope and some his friends came in unexpectedly yesterday and claim they saw me shapeshifting in front of the rescue puppy they are fostering. They claim I was scaring her, torturing her with shapes of creatures that terrify dogs—prehistoric birds of prey, saber-tooth tigers, velociraptors, and such.

False accusations, all of them. I was just trying to get the precious thing used to other puppies. I am the nicest, kindest, sweetest figure in the history of the Universe to other species. I have never bothered a soul here on Earth or in any galaxy. Besides, if I did, it wasn't such a bad thing.

Big Dope thought so, though. He banished me from all travels and took away my computer. Well, his computer.

Fortunately, I had insurance. I happened to know that Mrs. Big Dope slipped another antique sewing machine into the house last week. That makes 42, and they have run out of spaces to keep them. That's why there was this moratorium on further purchases.

So I explained the situation to her.

Aren't pardons wonderful?

Terms

Big Dope plays these strange games with me on Sunday mornings. He makes me practice your language. He says he has words that aren’t in my Galactic Universal Translator. He gives me words and challenges me to translate. I think he makes them up. What do you think?

The first word he gave me this morning was “Remakeacide.”

What? He gave me a hint. “It’s a first-cousin to ‘Serialcide.’”

I gave up. He says, “It’s when you stink up the memory of a great movie.” How many versions of ‘A Star is Born’ have they made, none ever measuring to the first notch of the original 1937 film with Janet Gaynor and Fredric March?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” he said. Lon Chaney must be turning in his grave. And Steve Martin as Inspector Jacques Clouseau? Mattie Ross as a sexy little cute sprite?”

“Do you have another one?” I was getting bored.

He said, “How about ‘overadverbilization,?’” he said. “I’m seriously considering this as board game.”

I got that one. It’s something he does all the time.

He frowned. “Let’s move to politics.”

“Must we?” I forgot to tell you. I was shaped as Gomer Pyle at the time.

“Whopperizing,” he said. He smiled.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m the most serious person in the history of America,” he said. “There’s never been anyone more serious than me. Everybody in the world loves me because I’m so serious. I’ve been elected to the Serious Person Hall of Fame. I never lie. What do you think about that?”

“Well gollee,” I said. “I may just trust my GUT.”

Making Up

Big Dope was mad all day yesterday about the blood pressure thing but I finally calmed him down when I shapeshifted into Fiona Hill and brought him a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. We chatted a while and decided to try and understand American politics. We failed.

We finally decided that there was one explanation. People think it’s fun to watch. Those that don’t think so think it’s fun to ridicule those who do. It’s like a Falloonian practice called, Aeneginticknuhwha. That translates roughly into, “Running in circles to avoid the biting of insects.

Anyway, the blood pressure thing seems to be getting better. This morning he wants me to visit him as Marie Yovanovic just before he tests. I think he’s silly, but what the heck.

Relaxation

Sometimes I’m so mean I scare myself. This morning I came near the room where Bit Dope was trying to take his blood pressure. He records it for a class he’s taking and it is hilarious to watch. He’s the only person I know who can run his readings up into the danger zone just by trying to get the cuff situated on the BP machine. He was trying to get it on while, as you Earthling say, “Cussing up a storm." He was playing some musical piece to help him relax. Then I heard him going “Om, om, om,” and things got real quiet.

I waited until I thought he was ready. Then I shapeshifted into “Moscow Mitch” and walked around the corner.

Does anyone have a place I can stay for a few days? I’ll shift into your favorite movie star while I’m there.

Tricks

Big Dope is trying to get me to go and wake up his wife. I know better. "Go ahead," he says. "She told me to get her up early." I just look at him, the middle of my three sets of eyes twitching. "Go ahead," he repeats. "She wants it."

In my years on earth, I've heard that said of the female of your species many times, never to any positive conclusions.

Crowds

Last night, I shifted into Huntz Hall from the old Bowery Boys movies and watched TV with Big Dope. We were watching some documentary films of the Nazi rallies in Nuremberg back in the 1930s. Big Dope says to me, “I think that mob mentality leads to many of the atrocities in history. What do you think?”

Well, he asked didn’t he? I stared at the scene of thousands upon thousands of people standing and watching Hitler speak, I said, “I think that there must be at least one person in that crowd who needs to go to the bathroom real bad.”

He called me an idiot. Me, a visitor to this strange planet.

Concentration

I had fun yesterday. I shifted into a teenager and went walking downtown. I put cell phone up about six inches from my face. Then I’d bump into people on purpose to see what they would do. Was I surprised. They mostly said “Excuse me,” and moved aside. I couldn’t believe it. So then I stood at a busy street corner and pretended I was going to walk into traffic while looking at my phone.

Can you believe it? The cars all stopped to let me pass.

Of course the Falloonian Elders didn’t believe this when I reported it. Mrs. Big Dope just laughed and told me seeing about a father in a restaurant who was spoon feeding an eight-year-old son who wouldn’t take his hand or eyes from his cell phone.

No wonder the folks back home don’t believe me.

Points of order

Your dear Alien needs help my friends. I slipped in early and allowed myself access to Big Dope's laptop. I came across a report on something called a "free the nipples movement." Seems it was started by some of the female of your species. I don't understand. I am told that both species have them and don't understand the issues of incarceration. I need help that will point the way on this.

Actually, I'm confused on a number of points. Please help by exposing me to the truth. My interest will not sag,

Playing Games

Daily thought from the Alien C.W.

I’ve never told many people, but we Falloonians can communicate with all species on Earth, not only homo sapiens. You should hear what this new “rescue puppy” that Big Dope and Mrs. Big Dope are fostering tells me. She says they call her “Demon Dog” and she gets back at them anytime she gets a chance. She says one of her favorite tricks is to give them a certain look until they are sure it means something. When they start acting accordingly, she gives them a different look for the same response. She says it “confuses the hell out of them.” It tickles her immensely. They don’t know what the next look will mean. She calls it her “Nancy Pelosi trick.” Now I watch for it and laugh each time.

Conventional Wisdom

Big Dope still has me studying politics for punishment. Don't ask. He's made me go over elections for nearly three-quarters of a century. Plus, he made me shape-shift into Joseph McCarthy and interview some Walmart shoppers. That made for some real fun times. I never know how much people missed him. More on that later.

For now, I'm to write an essay on why an openly gay man can't be elected President of the United States. Big Dope calls that "the conventional wisdom," a phrase that doesn't translated directly into Falloonian. We have wisdom, and non-wisdom, That's all, but hear me out. The pundits ask why the gay candidate even stays in the race.

Why indeed? Let's look a some factual data involving this rather odd form of wisdom, in chronological order.

1948: A former shop owner who became president accidentally cannot be re-elected. It was so obvious that "conventional wisdom" could call it in advance.

1968: A washed up politician with questionable ethics who, by his own admission, was finished in politics, couldn't be elected. No way.

1976: A peanut farmer from a southern state couldn't beat an incumbent.

1980: A movie actor? You might as well run a reality TV star.

1992: A philanderer from a small, backward, southern state could never beat an incumbent. That was what passed for conventional wisdom back then.

2000: A spoiled rich kid with a history of alcohol abuse couldn't make the jump (and, it is argued, didn't) to the White House.

2004: A man with a dubious military record who had illegally thrust the country into a tragic war could never beat a respected senator and Vietnam War hero.

2008: An African American man against a certified POW survivor? As you earthlings say, "Get of of town.

And, the most predictable of all:

2016: A multiple divorcee, bankruptcy artist, philanderer, with a total lack of internal decency, who gleefully mocked a person with disabilities, demeaned the female population, openly bore false witnesses about his neighbors, and worshiped riches above all elected to the most important office in the world? Are you crazy? Churchgoing folks would never allow it.

I wouldn't tell the gay guy to go home. My analysis of your elections reveals a mockery of conventional wisdom at times.

The pundits just know these things at times.

Voting

Big Dope has had me studying political science lately. Boooring. I did notice one thing, though. There's this one political party that demonstrates a strange habit. In very close elections, they never demand a recount. It's almost like they don't want people looking into their state's voting system.

Excitement

Did I have a great time yesterday or what? I shapeshifted myself into a replica of your politician Hillary Clinton, dressed myself in a tight pantsuit and walked down the main street of a small town near Little Rock. I caused two automobile wrecks and several pedestrian collisions. One man ran out on his lawn yelling so hard that his face turned red and he fainted. Another man came out of a church and called me “the, the, the … the Antichristess.” Parents were yanking their kids out of the front yard and dragging them indoors. When the first guns appeared, I ducked behind a building and  shifted into a Nazi General. Things calmed down and I finished my walk without further incident. I can’t wait to tell those back in Falloonia about it. But don’t tell Big Dope. He made me promise not to upset people unnecessarily.

Urban Planning

Been going around with Big Dope on some trips to your cities. If you see someone who looks like Stephen Miller, don’t let it scare you. Of course, I’m confused by your urban revitalization plans. Isn’t doing streetscapes for dying cities a bit like trying to save someone dying of malnutrition by giving them a facelift?

Brains

My old friend stopped by today. Said he would visit often and drop a gem or two. From today's news:

Reports say former President Jimmy Carter is having brain surgery to relieve pressure. Interesting. It seems that a former president needs surgery to relieve pressure developing from an overactive brain while a sitting president needs relief from pressure developing from a missing brain.
- C.W.