Issues

Dear Friends and Followers:

I keep getting fired from my jobs working in political campaigns. I don’t know why. I’m just a poor Alien trying to make a living. Big Dope just says, “Stuff happens.”

But I do try to keep up. From my readings, I sense that the 2016 campaign has started in sincere and intense conviction. (Editor’s note: He means “in earnest.”)It looks like a repeat of some of the same themes from previous campaigns, as Big Dope calls them:

God-Guns-Gays

Benghazi-Benghazi-Benghazi

Iran-Iraq-Invade

Birth-Bubba-Bitch

Taxes-Terrorists-Teachers

If I were advising one of the parties, I would suggest focusing on what my research and study suggests are some genuine issues facing your country, or at least many of the communities. I would list

Drugs-Disinvestment-Despair

And by drugs, I’m not talking about what you call your “war.” Hard as I try, I fail to explain to the Falloonian Elders the concept of a war on a word. No, I’m talking about the fact that so many of your species exhibit what we all ewnnoheetudat, or what you call “addiction.” The Elders cannot comprehend why you spend your resources on making war on the transporters of addictive agents instead of medically treating the condition as they do on other planets in our galaxy.  You do this in a limited fashion with those addicted to gambling instead of drugs.

Anyway, I would love to report to the Falloonian Elders that at least one of your political parties seems willing to address genuine issues.

Oh wait. Big Dope just walked by and read this. Never mind.

Now he’ll probably want to steal it and post it somewhere.

Yesterday's Sunday post follows.

 

See also: www.wattensawpress.com

153. Worries

“Your species sure has a lot of things to worry about. I’m compiling a list for the Falloonian Elders. What a mess.”

I couldn’t disagree, although this was coming from the mouth of a comely young lady who appeared to be on the verge of childbirth. That is to say, it was the Alien himself, or herself, in this case, it having joined me on my walk through the park.

“You are right,” I said. It is disturbing if you think about it.”

“Oh, I do,” she said. “I think about it even more now.” She patted her belly.

“One would think so,” I said, playing along with the scenario.

“I’m having a baby, you know.”

“I had guessed as much.”

“I want to have several.”

“Good luck with that.”

“But the news worries me.”

“That seems natural. There are certainly things in our future that should concern us.”

“Oh? What’s bugging you in particular?”

I looked at her. “Well, the planet will start to run out of drinking water during that one’s lifetime.”

She stopped and turned to me with a look of total shock. “Who says so?”

“The world’s scientists,” I said.

She relaxed, “Oh them.”

“Yes them, the ones who also say our planet is in the process of frying.”

“Don’t you worry about them. That’s all just stuff they say to scare us.”

“Who told you that?”

“It’s on the news every night. You just have to watch the right channel.”

I was confused. “I thought you were worried about things.”

“Oh I am,” she said. “But real things, not that sort of stuff.”

“Like what, then?”

“You silly. No wonder everyone calls you ‘Big Dope,’ the way you act.”

“You’re the only one who calls me that,” I said. “Other than my wife. But anyway, what things are bothering you?”

“Well, for one thing, we still don’t know who killed President Kennedy.”

This time it was I who stopped. “Uh, yes we do. It was Lee Harvey Oswald.”

“Well that’s what they want you to think.”

I sighed.

“So what real things do you worry about?” She said. She looked at me with a blank look on her face.

“Well,” I said. “In addition to the ever-increasing likelihood of a nuclear weapon falling into the hands of terrorists, there is the matter of the Amazon rainforest.”

Her look changed to one of suspicion. “What about it?”

“Other than it cools the entire planet by one or two degrees, Celsius, or that one-fifth of the world’s fresh water flows through it, or that it absorbs 300 million tons of carbon dioxide per year?”

“And? What’s your point?”

“It could disappear by the year 2080, according to some estimates,” I said. I gestured toward her protruding stomach.”

“Oh, fol de rah,” she said. “Here’s what’s really got me worried.” She pointed to a newsstand where the daily posted a headline announcing that another state (not ours) had approved same-sex marriages.

“This worries you?”

“Do you think I want my little boy to marry another little boy?”

“Wouldn’t you, if it made him happy?”

“He’ll be happy about things I tell him to be happy about,” she said, snipping her words.

“Well he couldn’t be happy about the possibility that there won’t be any middle class in his America.”

“There you go again, worrying about silly things while there are real concerns.”

Don't you worry about the Amazon Rainforest.
By the time it is gone, I'll be basking in the
tropical sun at my cabin in northern Manitoba. - C.W.

“Such as?”

“Buy me this newspaper and I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Wanda Sue may have been kicked off American Idol last night.”

140. Issues

Although the event is well in the future, C.W. has decided to vote in the 2014 elections. His latest shape had him in a tri-cornered hat with teabags hanging from it. He had a wild look in his eyes and what appeared to be toy replica of a Beretta 92FS nine-millimeter semi-automatic pistol strapped to his waist. I hope it was a replica.

“What’s up?”

“Considering candidates.”

“Oh? Still on that kick?”

“Yep. Just picked my issue.”

“Your issue?”

“Yep. Picked the issue I’ll use to select candidates in two years.”

“The issue? Only one?”

“That’s all you need, ain’t it?”

I thought for a moment. “Well some folks would look at a body of policies and issues and pick a candidate who best covered a platform of ideas that would benefit all citizens.”

“Fiddle-dee-dee! Why clutter up my mind with all that?”

“So you would vote for a candidate for public office, to lead our people in these perilous times on the basis of one issue you have picked?”

“Oh, I didn’t pick it.”

“You didn’t pick it?”

“No, my preacher did.”

“C.W., first, you are an alien and you can’t vote. Second, how could you rely on someone else to choose your candidates even if you could vote?”

He placed his hand on his pistol. “There are weirder people than me who vote.”

“That may be,” I said. “But a preacher? Is he, or she, educated in policy analysis?”

“See, you don’t know everything, Mr. Big Dope. You should know that women can’t be preachers. And he needs no analysis. He talks directly to God.”

“You have an educated man who claims to talk directly to God?”

“Yes and no.”

At that point, I waited.

“Yes he talks to God. No, he doesn’t need education. He installed satellite TV discs before he surrendered to preach. He says that’s where he first started receiving messages from God.”

This was not going to lead anywhere, so I chose to skip over the details. “So what issue did this ‘preacher’ choose?”

“Why don’t you guess? It has to do with life and choice.” Before I could answer, he interrupted. “Raw milk, of course.”

Stunned, I could only repeat it. “Raw milk?”

“Don’t you know anything?” He gave me smirk. “They don’t let companies sell raw milk and we want to get that overturned. It is a matter of ‘raw versus made,’ as in pasteurization.”

This was getting weirder by the moment. “Let me see if I understand. God told your preacher that you should drink only raw milk?”

“I can tell,” he said. That you don’t read your Bible.”

“I know you can be condemned for eating shellfish,” I said. “But I missed the raw milk part.”

“Thou shall not commit adultery,” he said triumphantly. “And pasteurizing milk adulterates it.”

“C.W., Uh...”

“It’s really simple,” he said. “We believe we should be able to put anything we want to in our body.” He had a sudden insight. “And those of our children too.”

I would vote for Joe Stalin
risen from the grave if
he supported my one issue. - C.W.

“Even if it kills you, or them?”

“If it is our choice.”

“So you believe in individual choice, as it relates to your own body.”

 

“Absolu…,” he began, then stopped. A stricken look came over his face. He pulled a small pad from his pocket and referred to some notes. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he said.