417: Dark Matter

I had this feeling that the Galilean was going to pay me a visit. C.W. chose it as a favorite shape years ago. He normally uses it times of stress, particularly when he encounters difficulty in explaining us to the Falloonian Elders.

It was a nice day in late winter or early spring, depending upon your outlook. I found him sitting beneath a budding tree watching the birds, his hands clasped together and resting on his robe. He likes birds.

I sat beside him without speaking. I always try to let the Galilean speak first. He turned to me and nodded, Then, he turned back to the singing of the birds for a full moment before he spoke.

“Where the hell do they come from?” he said.

“I think,” I said, slowly while I tried to think. “that they descend from the same evolutionary line as the dinosaurs. Odd, isn’t it?” Reason hit me like a stray raindrop. “But you know that already.”

“Don’t be such a dope,” he said, stroking his beard and refusing to look my way.

“You aren’t talking about the birds?”

“I’m talking about what they call in Falloonia the ‘monsters from your darkest impulses.’ The actual Falloonian term is broader and refers, as well, to self-mutilating tendencies.”

I thought I knew where he was going, but caution crept in. “People? Are you talking about people?”

“These aberrations,” he said, “These malformed examples of your species that originate such damage on your planet.”

“Oh.”

“Would you call such people as this Donald Trump and Jeff Sessions members of your same species?”

“Our anthropologists  are beginning,” I said, “to strengthen the hypothesis that our species bred with Neanderthals and that scattered individuals carry the traces. Would that help explain it?”

“Only if you wished forever to impute a strain of maliciousness to the noble Neanderthals,” he said.

I knew it was time for me to stay quiet.

“I must explain them to my superiors. I told them that I had, in a previous assignment, left written instructions.”

“Oh?”

“Surely you recall ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.’ That was pretty damned clear, wasn’t it?”

“You don’t think the ones you mentioned read it?”

“If they have, it will come as hell of a surprise to Andrew McCabe.”

“That’s true.”

“Not only that, I left word to love your neighbor as yourself. I made that pretty clear, didn’t I? Did I mince words?”

“No, I recall that you were fairly specific.”

He turned and glared at me. “Fairly specific my ass,’ he said. “I left clear written instruction in … in … what ever language my Galactic Universal Translator had me speaking back then.”

“Your GUT was using Aramaic, I think.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “I forget. At any rate, it translates into English, right?”

“Greek, Latin, English, all of them,” I said.

“So these characters like Trump, Sessions, and the lemmings that are following them can read, can’t they?”

“Supposedly.”

“Has anyone informed them about the instructions that I left?”

“It wouldn’t appear so, although they claim to be aware of you.”

“Then are they just purposefully trying to piss me off?”

“May I make an observation?”

“Why not? Everybody else does.”

“If I may point it out, you are being a little earthy today.”

“So what?”

“Also, what about your strictures on forgiveness?”

He thought, I imagined that I could hear machinery humming. “You’re right, I think I did say that if someone sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says , ‘I repent,’ forgive him. I think me and the boys had been practicing my water-into-wine trick a little too much that day.”

“But you left us with them, your orders I mean.”

 

It would explain a lot, right? - C.W.

He sighed and listened to the birds again. I could sense relaxing calm in him.

“I will,” he said.

“Will what?”

“Will abide by my own rules.

“So Trump, Sessions, and the others are forgiven for their meanness?”

“Not so fast,” he said. “Not so fast.” His face hardened.

“You don’t forgive them?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But first I’m going to wait until the sonsabitches repent.”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

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370. Respect

Ah, the sun had come out after several days of rain, and I was enjoying a pleasant morning with C.W. You might ask whether all mornings are pleasant with C.W.? Actually, no. Some are, some aren’t. This morning, though, he was honoring the late Don Rickles, his favorite comedian, the one who died a couple of weeks ago. His likeness was excellent and we were both in a jolly mood.

“So, he really, didn’t know which way his warships were headed?”

“Apparently not,” I said. “They were some 180 degrees or thereabouts off his announced course.”

“Who do they get to open child-proof pill boxes for him? His Secretary of State?”

“Are you kidding? I think they have to hire a child to come in and do it for them.”

“Hey,” he said. “Good idea for a new business: Rent-a-Child, Inc. Motto: Never have to chew the top off a bottle again. Hire one of our experts to open it for you.”

“Sounds promising,” I said.

“I’m busy right now, tough,” he said.

“At what?”

“Another sure-fire winner.”

“And that is?”

“Tear-Away Garments, Inc. Motto: ‘Double the income from your next humiliation, girls.’ It’s a winner if I ever thought of one. The first ad is ready. Theme: ‘You’ll have them all wanting to grab your money-maker.’ What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” I said. “What exactly are you selling?”                                                                                                   

 “Tear-way clothing for the ambitious woman.

“Say again?”

“It’s designed to be the clothing of choice for airline travel.”

I said nothing.

“In case you’re dragged off the plane,” he said.

“And?”

“The clothes tear right off. Then you make money two ways.”

“Two ways? How?”

“First from the lawsuit. Second from the model-royalties.”

We had a good laugh over this.

“Do you think,” he said, “Mrs. Big Dope would be interested?”

“Well,” I said, “why don’t you just ask her?”

He thought for a moment, then said. “Maybe not. She wasn’t wild, as I remember, about my ‘President’s Dream’ line. And I thought that would even be a better investment.”

“Oh,” I said. “I remember. The line of see-through women’s apparel you wanted to market?”

“That’s it,” he said.

“The one you wanted her to model?”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his jaw. "She didn't approve."

“I think it was the slogan you suggested for the line,” I said.

“I don’t remember,” he said, still rubbing his jaw.

“Of course you do,” I said. “It was, ‘Designed to aid his aim,’”

He appeared ready to change the subject. “Speaking of him,” he said, “Did he really invite Ted Nugent to the White House.”

“Yep. You got a problem with that?” (Sometimes I play his straight man).

“Not as long as they still sell heavy-duty fumigators in Washington.”

“Well,” I said. “He can invite whom he pleases. His predecessor invited the cellist Yo-Yo Ma.”

“Isn’t that,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “a bit like equating ‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries … ,’ with, say, ‘There once was a man from Nantucket …?'”

 

Wouldn't you know it?
He has to die just as the most
 humor-creating administration
in the history of he country
comes into office? - C.W.

“Shh,” I said. “Wherever did you learn that?”

“From the book of Shakespearian sonnets by your desk.”

“No,” I said, “the other one. My wife might hear you.”

“Your wife knows that poem,” he said, rubbing his jaw again. Then quickly, “But back to him again, did he really fire the Surgeon General and replace him with a nurse?”

“Apparently,” I said, glad to be changing courses, like a ship at sea headed in the wrong direction.

“And it is now Nurse General?”

“I suppose so.”

“That’s comforting,” he said.

“How so?”

“Simple,” he said. “It means that he might fire the Attorney General and replace him with a Paralegal General.”

I began to think about this.

“You know,” he said, “someone well-versed in the law.”

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www.allhatnocattle.net
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