419. Fear

If you could only see C.W. in his actual form, it would … it would … well it would put you off your feed, really ruin your appetite. I’ve seen him. Trust me.

Sometimes we go walking early. Real early. Before sunrise. We decided to give it a shot today. Left Head had heard that a lot of people were getting up way before sunrise and he wanted to see what they were doing.

“I think it has something to do,” Right Head said, “with all those male enhancement ads we’ve seen posted in front yards.”

We all looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Middle Head said.

It dawned on me. “I don’t think that is the context indicated by the word ‘arisen’ on those signs,” I said. I explained it to them.

“Oh,” said Right Head.

“Let me ask you something,” Middle Head said.

“Not too complicated,” I said. “Nothing about politics. It’s too early. I can’t even begin to explain current evens this early in the morning.”

Middle Head went silent. “Go ahead and ask him,” Left Head said. “We’re supposed to report on it.”

“Yeah,” Right Head said. “Remember the last time we failed an assignment?”

I remembered. The Falloonian Elders had cut off their supply of a favorite magazine-type transmittal that they love so well. “You,” I said, “didn’t get your feeds of ‘Naughty Triple-Heads,’ for several months.”

“Ask him,” Left Head said to Middle Head. “I need to finish this week’s report.”

“Well,” Middle Head said,” swiveling toward me, “it has to do with this thing so many of your species has about threatening your young children so horribly.”

“We don’t do that,” I said.

All three heads snapped toward me. It scared me a bit. “We love our children,” I said. Then, on further thought I said, “Some individuals love them a little too much, and in the wrong way, but we punish those if we catch them.”

Left Head, shook back and forth, Middle head rolled three of his eyes, and Right Head chuckled in amazement.

“What?” I said.

Middle Head spoke. “Why are all these people getting up so early today?”

“You mean besides us?”

“Precisely.”

“For a religious service,” I said.

“And that service celebrates what?” Left Head said.

“I’ve told you before,” I said. “They celebrate the death and resurrection of a beloved religious figure.”

“Who did what?” Left Head bore down on me.

“Who died for their sins, arose from the dead, and ascended into glory to wait for the true believers.”

“True believers,” Left Head said. Middle Head leaned out toward me. Right Head smirked the way he does when he senses mental carnage about to erupt.

“Yes,” I said, “the true believers will join their leader in a place called ‘paradise.’ They will be with that leader forever, you know: the Galilean. Don’t tell me you don’t know who the Galilean is.”

“We’re not talking about the Galilean,” Middle Head said. “We’re talking about those who claim that they speak directly to him.”

“Yes,” Right Head said, “the Chetedidcherltans,” using a Falloonian term I can’t translate in a family-oriented blog.

“Think about it,” Left Head said. “What do those folks promise to young children who don’t necessarily accept the concept of a person dying, then arising three days later, and wafting away in a cloud? Those kids that might analyze things a bit differently? Those who believe thinking is a free gift and should be enjoyed? What’s in store for them?”

“Hint, hint,” Right Head said, “torment, pain, suffering, flames, fire … am I getting warm?”

Left Head continued. “Why would a civilized and benevolent society implant such primal fear into young minds … images of their little bodies burning in a place called ‘hell’ for thinking about things on their own?”

“Yeah. Why?” Right head said.

 

The true believers have chosen some
strange figures to lead their religion. - C.W.

“Now just stop it,” I said. “We love our young folks. We would never, as a society, wish danger, disparagement, or punishment on them for what they believe or don’t believe.”

The three heads looked at one another in turn. Finally, two of them nodded at Middle Head, and he spoke.

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention to things lately.”

 I stopped and listened. I swear that, far off in the distance, along Wattensaw Bayou near a place they used to call "the baptizin' hole," I could hear the soft strains of Softly and Tenderly.

313. Easter

It’s a long story but I’ll try to make it brief. Despite being secretive about my travel plans, C.W. got wind and followed me to Cincinnati. Before I had noticed, he had assumed a form familiar to my hosts and charmed the lady of the house, whom we shall call St. Rose.

“She’s much nicer than Mrs. Big Dope,” he said. “We’re already good friends.”

“That’s only because,” I said, “you have assumed the form of a friend of hers.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s nice to me.”

“You’ll think ‘nice,’ if you cross her,” I said. “Ask her husband.”

“Oh no,” he said. “She trusts me.”

“To do what?”

“Oh,” he said, “she’s having all of her children and grandchildren and their cousins over for Easter celebration and she asked me to be the child’s image of a young rabbit for the day of Easter.”

“You mean she asked you to be the Easter Bunny?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But does she know how unreliable you are?”

“I’m not unreliable,” he said. “I just enjoy a paradigm of spontaneity.”

“You got that right.” I said. “Good luck.”

“Who needs luck when one has friends like mine?” He said.

“Aaah,” I said.

I went about my own business, practicing my Photoshop and such. Things were quiet for an hour or so. Then I heard a glass crash and the sound of scurrying at the top of the stairs. A female voice cried out, “Are you kidding me?”

Then I heard C.W. say, “What?

When she said, "Be the Bunny, I thought she
said to be funny. It was a simple mistake. - C.W

The female voice came through again, “Do you think I would let my grandchildren see that?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I’m counting to three,” she said, “and you had better be gone by then.”

“Who’ll hide the eggs?” he said.

“I’ll hide you,” she said. “Out.”

By this time, I was curious and walked around the corner. I would tell you what I saw, but, like the boy who fell into the tub of molasses, I don’t think my tongue would be equal to the task.

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.