Loneliness

As an alien it your midst, Americans puzzle me. So many of you express the desire, through your social media posts and your voting habits, to be just "left alone."

That is one of the few primal fears among Falloonians, to be left alone. Lonely, isolated units allow evil to flourish, or, worse still, join welcoming cults that cause evil to flourish.

342. Realities

“Hey,” I said, “wake up.”

“Grnmmpt.”

“Wake up. It’s almost noon.”

C.W. was asleep in my favorite chair in the shape of Wrangler Bill. He wore dark clothing and had a broad-brimmed Stetson hat in his lap. Imagine a cross between “The Gambler” and a carnival barker. He had been snoring with loud grunts when I walked in. Now he opened one eye in partial wakefulness. “Screw you,” he said.

“You’re going to think screw you if my wife catches you tossing cookies to her dogs again. She said she counted ten separate piles of crumbs on the kitchen floor.”

He opened the other eye. “Mrs. Big Dope’s problem,” he said, “is that she is still stuck in a reality-based world that doesn’t exist anymore.”

I stepped closer to him. “Now where did you learn that phrase?”

“On TV,” said. “Ask Sean Hannity. Sean Hannity knows. Sean Hannity, Sean Ha…”

He drifted off to sleep again. His hat slid off his lap and onto the floor. I picked it up and swatted him the face with it. “Wake up,” I said. “She’s coming back soon. Do you have that ten dollars you borrowed from her?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll trickle down.”

“It will what?”

“It will trickle down to her,” he said. “Or at least it would if there were no taxes.”

“No what?”

“Taxes. If we didn’t have to, well …,” he stopped or a moment, “if you didn’t have to pay taxes, the ten dollars would be back in her hand in days.”

“Where did you hear such an idea?”

“At the Libertarians’ Club meeting I attended last night.”

“You told her you would pay her back today.”

“I never said that.”

“You said that. I heard you.”

“I never said that.”

“We both heard you say it.”

“I never said that.”

“I think she will agree with me.”

“Sure she will,” he said. “You’re both liberals … all bound up and constrained by facts.”

“The fact is,” I said, “she will make you regret it if you don’t pay her back.”

“I have a detailed proposal for doing or achieving something.,” he said.

“A what?” Then I thought. “Do you mean you have a plan?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Your Galactic Universal Translator needs adjusting again.”

“My GUT is fine,” said. “I have the best GUT in the country. Everyone admires my GUT.”

“But what kind of plan do you have to pay your debts?”

Using this man for validity would
 be like using  Bernie Madoff for

 financial advice if you ask me. - C.W.

“A great plan,” he said. “It will be the greatest plan you ever saw.”

“That’s what you told me when you promised to clean your room and didn’t.”

“I never said that.”

“I’ll tell you what.” I said.

“What?”

“My wife has plans to deal with people, and that includes you, who don’t operate in a fact-based world.”

“I have a plan to deal with Mrs. Big Dope,” he said. “And it is a great plan.”

“Really? What’s the plan?”

“The same one I use to deal with all women.”

“And that is?”

“I just look them in the eye and grab their …”

“Shut up,” I said. “Stop. Not another word.”

“Hand,” he said, “then I tell them to trust me. It works every time.”

“You disgust me,” I said and turned away. The back door opened and I heard a female voice.’’

“Do you have the money you owe me?” it said.

“Yes I do,” C.W. yelled toward the voice. “I gave it to Big Dope to give to you.”

I swirled around, but he had vanished.

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272. Arcs

He calls it “arcing” and, I have to admit, it is one of his more interesting ideas. I’m talking about C.W. of course. He laid this whole line of reasoning on me while I was working on an old piece of farm equipment and he was watching.

“Your species not only fails to connect dots when dealing with logic,” he said, “you also fail to see arcs in logic.”

He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about as he had assumed the form of James Earl Jones, the legendary actor with the great voice. When he spoke, even the bids stopped their singing.

“Dammit to godalmighty hell,” I said.

“Did I say something with which you disagree?”

“No,” I said, “I just busted my knuckles trying to get this nut loose.”

“It may have been the most cogent thing you have said all day.” He leaned back on the bucket he was using as a stool. “Anyway,” he said, “I was talking about arcing.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“It means tying together snippets of history and using arcs to make a logical generalities. Are you listening?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Consider Herbert Hoover’s approach to the Great Depression.”

“It hurts to, but go ahead.”

“It appears that it was one of ‘It’s better to let the country collapse than for government to save it.’”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Arc then,” he said, “to the famous quote by the army officer of the Vietnam War era.”

“Which quote was that?”

“The only way to save that village was to destroy it.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That one.”

“Shall we continue the arc?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Arc to the so-called ‘Libertarians’ who see the solution to governmental reform as no government at all.”

“Crap.”

“You don’t agree with them?”

“I can’t get this thing to come loose,” I said. I slammed the nut with my wrench.

“Precisely,” he said. “Maybe an example from the world of entertainment? That’s my field.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“We actually have a mechanical device on Falloonia that enables us to make these connections.”

“Super.”

“It’s called an ‘Arc Nexus Utilization Synthesizer,’ and I have mine with me,” he said. “Would you like to see my AN …”

“No,” I said. “You can just tell me about it.”

“As I was saying,” he said. “Consider the world of entertainment.” He paused. “Are you listening?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Remember Archie Bunker?”

I stopped. “From that show All In The Family? You bet. Funny as hell.”

“Why did you like it? The show I mean.”

“It poked fun at bigotry,” I sad. “What’s not to like?”

“If you would examine my ANUS ...,” he said.

“I’d rather not.”

“You would find that a majority of your fellow Americans liked it because the main character was spouting nonsense that they themselves wanted to spout.  But they were increasingly being forbidden by societal norms to do so.”

I sat up and looked at him. “Are you implying that the average American felt repressed by facing sanctions against voicing prejudice?”

“You aren’t as dense as Mrs. Big Dope says you are.”

Now I was intrigued. “So?”

“Now make the arc,” he said, “to this, this, this …” As intelligent as he seemed today, he was struggling for the word. “This side show character who is leading in your presidential polls.”

My mind soared from one point to the other. “Surrogate racism, sexism, and scapegoating,” I said.

“The past is never dead. It's not even past.”
I think your famous author William Faulkner
was arcing when he wrote that. - C.W.

He smiled and a breeze rustled the oak trees in apparent harmony.

“Say,” I said. “You may have something here. Could I maybe borrow your AN …”

“I don’t let anyone touch it,” he said.

“Isn’t that selfish?”

“It’s mine and I’ll keep it to myself,” he said. "No touching." Then he looked at me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you crack your knuckles again?”

“No,” I said. “I was just thinking about the Great Depression, an old girlfriend, and our present state of the economy.”

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

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