321. Hate

Have you ever had to try to explain our penchant for hatred to an alien? Well I have, and it isn’t fun. Especially when the alien pops up in the form of a Marine Corps drill sergeant. There he was, sitting in the back yard under a tree with a Budweiser, one of mine. He took a sip and motioned for me to sit.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

“That’s no surprise.”

“Sit,”

I obeyed. That’s always the best course of action when he gets like this.

“Tell me,” he said, “about this instinct your species has for hate. There seems to be a lot of it going around these days.”

“I’m not an expert on the subject,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I try not to engage in it.”

“Oh?”

“What?”

“I happen to know that you hate that little button on your vehicle key that makes the horn start honking if your thumb happens to press against it.”

I said nothing.

“And,” he said. “I know you hate Windows 10.”

“Not as much as I once did.”

“And you hate those daytime television shows that have women screaming nonsense at one another.”

“Only when I walk into a room and one happens to be playing.”

He ignored me. “And I happen to know, from talking to your friends, that you hated the year that you spent sentenced to something called ‘Vacation Bible School,’ when you were a child.”

“It was actually only a week or two,” I said. “I tell folks it was a year for dramatic emphasis.”

“You hate speed bumps.”

“They are a sign that civilization is collapsing,” I said. “And what, may I ask, is the meaning of all this?”

“The Elders want to know if it is true that your next presidential election will be decided on the basis of hate.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “There is still time.”

“Sit up straight,” he said, barking it at me with a startling degree of vehemence.

As I straightened, he said, “You, yourself, do have your good points.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You don’t seem to hate people.”

“I try not to.”

“Even people you consider your enemies. You may feel a strong aversion or intense dislike for some.”

“Yes,” I said. “I do detest some. But my mentor, The Galilean, forbids me from hating them.”

“Even those on that fake TV news show?”

“Even those on Fox News.”

“Back to your mentor,” he said. “Why doesn’t he forbid the hating of your president, and other people of color?”

Youthful exuberance and good communications
seem to be essentials for spreading hate. - C.W.  

“He does,” I said.

“Do those who claim to worship him know that?”

“Yes, but many decide to ignore him.”

“Choosing the satisfaction of hate over the promise of salvation seems odd,” he said. “But back to you. You don’t even seem to hate any particular food.”

“Well, there was something my wife cooked once. She called it ‘cornbread gravy’ and I can’t say it turned out too well.”

“May I ask her about it?”

“Please don’t,” I said.

“But you don’t hate any other food?”

“If you were a real military man,” I said, “you would know that you quickly learn to eat what is served and that being a finicky eater is a sign of weakness.”

“Speaking of weaknesses,” he said. “The Falloonian Elders are asking me if I think this growing fondness for hatred within your species will lead to its downfall.”

I thought. “There was a philosopher once,” I said, named Friedrich Nietzsche, who said, ‘That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.’ Maybe hate makes us stronger.”

He looked at me with surprise. “No,” he said. “it makes you stupid.”

Click on some ads. It costs them money and makes me some.

Also check out www.wattensawpress.com and

www.allhatnocattle.com

And buy Big Dope's book It's really quite good.

292. Lies Are Us

“You’re what!”

“Calm down.”

“Look, how many get-rich schemes have you tried over the last five years?”

“This one is different.’

“In what way?”

“Give me a moment.”

“C.W.,” I said. “The fans and readers are getting sick of your ideas for making money.”

“There you go again. You’ve just proven my point.”

I felt stupid. I was talking to Richie, the Young Conservative, one of the Alien C.W.’s favorite shapes. “What point,” I said, “have I proven?”

“You just told a lie.”

“What lie?”

“You just introduced or worked in gradually that my fans are not loyal.”

“I insinuated that your fans are beginning to think you are insane and careless with the facts.”

“My point exactly.”

“What point?”

“That," he leaned back and smiled, “your species delights in using falsehoods for achieving their ends.”

I thought about if for a moment. Actually, he had a point. I considered all the ads I had seen proclaiming how Windows 10 was a step forward in human evolution. “But how,” I said, “are you going to make money from falsehoods?”

“By giving them away.”

“Say what?”

“Got you, didn’t I? Of course I won’t give them away. I’ll just pretend to. Haven’t you ever heard of a Love Offering?”

My head was spinning. To whom will you sell, give away, or whatever, lies?”

“Not corporations,” he said. “There are firms that already have that business sewed up.”

“To whom then?”

“Politicians of course, you silly boy. Haven’t you noticed what they have been getting away with?”

“So,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “what sort of lies will you sell?”

“Harmless ones.”

“What?”

“Ha,” he said. “Got you again.”

“Maybe,” I said, “you could give me an example.”

“I thought you would never ask.” He produced a notebook and began to read. “How’s this?” he held up a picture of a current presidential candidate and read, “My opponent inherited a fortune and never had to work, but says he thinks you and I don’t work hard enough. Isn’t that a beaut? My company, ‘Lies Are Us’ will make a bundle from that.”

“Except for one thing,” I said. “It’s the truth.”

“What?”

“It’s true, I said. You can’t sell that for a lie.”

His face fell. Then he brightened and held up another photo and read from his notebook. “This candidate,” he said, “operates on the brains of living people, no doubt using antibiotics to prevent infection, but claims that the most basic and underlying principles of natural science are tools sent by something called “Satan” to ensnare us into a life of sin. What do you think? It’s a little over the top but I think it will sell.”

“I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“You are kidding,” he said, after I explained. He tossed the photo aside with a dejected look. “Well there’s this one,” he said, hold up another photograph while he read, “My opponent’s party once elected, as President of the United States of America, this candidate who had to have his daily schedule approved by his wife’s astrologer.”

I shook my head slowly.

“Know what?” he said, dropping the photograph.

“What?”

“Facts are stupid things.” Suddenly his face brightened. “Say,” he said, “I could sure sell the lie that a presidential candidate once said that on national TV.”

We're lucky this man is not around.
He would try to tell us that our
President isn't a citizen. - C.W.

He almost cried when I told him.

“Maybe I’ll have to face the fact,” he said slowly, “that no American political party would ever  follow the premise of the propaganda minister of another country, who said, ‘If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.’"

 

He smiled at me with a kind look. "Your species,” he said, would never do that.”

“Now,” I said, “you’ve hit on one.

 Please click some ads. I need a new BMW. Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com
And ... www.allhatnocattle.com

Finally, buy Big Dope's book so he'll shut up about it.
- C.W.

Available at major on-line retailers, or
www.wattensawpress.com