131. Riots

C.W. scared the daylights out of me. I was reading when he burst into the room in a panic, slammed the door, and started pushing furniture against it.

“You’ve got to help me,” he said breathlessly.

Being still stunned, I simply looked at him. He put an ear to the door and listened. He was in a blue workman’s outfit with a nametag stating, “C.W. – Prophet” over the pocket. After a few moments, he relaxed and turned toward me, leaning his back against the door. “Thought I was a goner,” he said.

“What?”

He continued to catch his breath. When it became apparent that no one was following, he walked to a chair, sat, and began to explain.

“It all started with an assignment from the Falloonian Elders,” he said.

“Which was?”

“To report on all the furor your species has created over gun control.” He took a breath. “It’s not the first time, you know.”

“Yes.”

“So …, my conclusion was that guns are not your problem.”

“Oh, really?”

“No, your problem is your reliance on violence as the method of choice for conflict resolution, your distrust of strangers, and a general hatred of folks outside your immediate tribe. Guns are simply the easiest tool for the otherwise powerless.” He paused. “The distrust is significant. There are even entire cities, you know, where everyone there is just like everyone else there.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Well,” he said. “I didn’t leave it at that. No. I decided that what your species badly needs is a communal philosophy that counteracts these impulses.” He looked at the floor. “And, that I could design such a philosophy and spread it.”

Now I was getting interested. “So?”

“The philosophy was simple,” he said. “It would urge people to honor peacemakers, the merciful, the pure in heart, the poor in spirit, and those who comfort one another instead of blowing them away.” He looked at me for approval. “Those are the main ones. There are more. Oh, there’s also the admonition not to condemn others—say for their sexuality—so that you won’t be judged for your own sexual habits.” He smiled. “I like that one.”

“C.W.” I said. “That all sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Oh, I borrowed much of it from an old body of teachings by a group once quite prevalent in your country. It has dwindled now to a few small bands, mostly elderly, and a few so-called filthy liberals.”

“So, how it is going?”

“Not good,” he said. “I decided to try it out.”

“Try it out?”

“Yes, I saw where a large group had gathered in some huge building out on the interstate, so I assumed my most charming form and asked if I could deliver a message to them.”

“And?”

“I had to bribe them with something called a ‘love offering’ but they finally allowed it.”

“And?”

“I got about halfway through and they began to fidget.”

“And then?”

“I saw the flash of a pistol barrel. Then another. And another.”

“What then?”

“I got the hell out of there. They formed a mob and chased me here.”



As it is written:

We played the flute for you, and

You did not dance;

We wailed, and you did not

Mourn.

-The Alien C.W.

“The congregation chased you here?”

“All the way. I was terrified.”

“They wanted to harm you?”

“Harm me?” he said with alarm. “I think they wanted to crucify me!”

121. Interpretations

“Jesus!"

 

C.W. came running into the shop where I was woodworking. For some reason, four days before our national election, he had taken on one of his favorite forms, the spokesperson for the Conservative Youth Movement. Today, he had swapped his normal lederhosen for khakis and deck shoes, without socks of course. An expensive-looking sweater sported the CYM logo. He seemed excited.

“Are you finally getting religion?” he asked as a smile lit his face like a moonbeam hitting a rose.

“No,” I said. “I hit my finger with a mallet.”

His smile disappeared. “Still a filthy no-good atheistic liberal, then,” he said. “Who doesn’t accept our Christian nation.” He spat on the floor. “Rotten socialist.”

“Judge not lest ye be also judged,” I said.

He spat again. “Now where did you pick up that liberal crap?”

I ignored him and wrapped cloth around my finger to stop the bleeding.

“You could be doing something useful instead of wasting your time like this.”

“Wasting my time?” I said. “I am building something for my wife. “

“For your wife,” he said, almost snarling. “You should be out making money.”

“House and wealth are a heritage from fathers, but a wife with good sense is from the Lord,” I said.

“Oh please,” he said. “Spare me the touchy-feely gobbledygook. Where did you hear that, from Bill Moyers?”

“I think it was from your Book of Proverbs.”

“I doubt it,” he said. “Anyway, you seem to be doing more damage to yourself than to the wood.”

“But even if you suffer for doing what God approves, you are blessed.” I said.

“You are beginning to piss me off with this liberal line. Are you trying to get my sheep?”

“It’s goat, and that line was from your Saint Peter.”

“You are purposefully trying to upset me.”

“Don't be afraid of those who want to harm you. Don't get upset.”

“Oh yes, who said that, Jimmy Carter?”

“No, that would be your Saint Peter again.”

“Look,” he said. “I’m tired of your fuzzy thinking.” He smiled at his mastery of our idiom. “Besides, I’m going to a Pro-Israel rally.”

“That’s nice.”

I don't care what St. Peter says.
I'll intepret the prophecy of scriptures
as I see fit. - C.W.

“They want us to invade Iran,” he said, smiling at the thought. “I’m going to volunteer to be on the Draft Board. We will all be expected to do our part.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers,” I said.

“You and those fromage-eating surrender monkeys.”

“Have fun at your rally,” I said. “Kill a liberal for me.”

“We’ll not kill you when we take over,” he said. “We will just enjoy your agonies during your rehabilitation.” He smiled.

“Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

“Spout that crap while you still can,” he said as he walked away. “Our Christian-nation day is coming.”

87. Predictions

C.W. has a problem.

It seems that some of his counterpoints in other parts of the globe are gaining notoriety (in disguise of course) and the Falloonian Elders docked our alien a point on his quarterly evaluation for not meeting this standard. Bad reviews are not a good thing in Falloonia, as on earth.

So he is determined.

“Determined to do what?” I asked him as he sat outdoors with me in a perfect image of the famous news pioneer Edward R. Murrow.

“Appear on the History Channel,” he said.

“The History Channel?”

“Yes,” he said, lighting his third cigarette since we started and blowing the smoke in my direction. “The Elders have this idiotic notion that it has something to do with history.”

“The History Channel?”

“I know,” he said. “I have tried to tell them that, in order to appear on that show one must be uneducated, uncouth, pathetic, and regretful.”

”You mean ‘sorry.’”

“I think that’s what you call those people.”

“Well,” I said. “The channel produces other type shows.”

“I know,” he said. “They offer shows about half-cooked-in-an-oven conspiracy theories.”

“In addition to ‘half-baked’ theories, they also present shows about …,” I began.

“Yes,” he said. “I know. UFOs.”

“Quite so.”

”Even you should be able to understand why the Falloonian Elders would not like me to broach that subject.”

“Ah, yes,” I said.

“But there is another option,” he said.

“And, it is?”

“Predictions.”

”Predictions?”

“Yes, they like shows about people who make predictions.”

“True,” I said.

“So, I have made some and you must publish them.”

“You made predictions?”

“Yes, and if it turns out that any of them happen to be accurate, I can have my own show on the History Channel.”

With that, he retrieved a file from a briefcase he had brought with him and handed me a sheet grimy with cigarette ashes and with numerous holes burned in it. I read:

And in the third year of the Great Digression, I saw, from the gardens of the river’s valley:


1. A great trial coming upon the Earth and all its children in fear.


2. A person arising whom some shall call holy and some shall call wicked and that person will be known among all nations.


3. The earth disgorging its displeasure and humankind wailing in sorrow.


4. Wars threatening even peaceful kingdoms and the mighty of the earth struggling.


Readers: Contact Big Dope as soon as you
think one of these predictions is coming true.
- The Prophet C.W.



5. The waters of the river raging in anguish.

As one might imagine, I was speechless.

“So,” he said. “Get them published and if any come to pass, I’ll be branded a prophet.”

“You want me to publish these,” I said.

“Immediately. I’ll be making some more in the interim.”

I thought it over for a moment and considered prophets of the past.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

77. End Times

If you remember, some time ago C.W. decided he wanted to learn to drive. Since then, he proudly announced to me one day that he had procured a driver’s license.

Don’t ask.

At any rate, it was hardly a surprise when he showed up in the country wanting to borrow a pickup truck. I have to admit that he looked quite trustworthy. He was in the form of a nice looking young man in western attire, including cowboy boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt.

Still, there was no way I was going to trust an alien to drive one of my vehicles. But I was curious to know what he wanted with a pickup truck.

“I’m collecting loot,” he said.

“Loot?”

“Lots of loot.”

“What kind of loot?

“Mostly guitars and stuff. Some banjos and a fiddle or two.

“And where are you getting it?"

He looked a little sheepish.

“Where?” I insisted.

From folks who trust the Mayans.”

“That do what?”

“Folks who believe that the Mayans acurately predicted that the world would end this year.”

“And?”

“Look, I have to go. Can I borrow the truck or not?”

”No, and what does needing a pickup truck have to do with the Mayans?”

“Oh nothing. Do you know anyone else that might have one?”

“C.W.?”

“What?”

“Give.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

But I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily. “Where are you getting stuff to haul in a truck?”

He looked at the ground and then back at me. “Well, some people are giving their things away because they think the world is going to end.”

“And what makes them think the world is going to end?”

“Because the Mayans said so.” He grinned. “It’s been in all the news.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I believe it is a good time to collect some loot.”

“Because?”

“Because some people don’t think they will be needing it any longer. Look, you should be buying up property all over.”

“C.W.”

“Now listen here,” he said. “You and I have talked before about the tendency that some members of your species have for believing any weird and strange thing they are told.”

“And?”

“Why shouldn’t I profit from it? Everyone else does.”

“If everyone else drove their spaceship over a cliff, would you do it too?”

The faithful are gathering for the end of times.
Will you be there? - C.W.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” I said. “Have you been involved in any other way?”

He avoided eye contact.

“C.W.?”

“Well I did publish a video.”

“You did what?”

“A video,” he said. “But it’s okay.”

“And why is it okay?”

“Cause I put your name on it.”

And sure enough, he did. Click here if you would like to see it.

24. Prophecy

Who in the world should knock on my door last night while my wife was gone but—get this—Bernie Madoff? In the flesh. Well, it was C.W. in the shape of Bernie Madoff’s flesh but I still thought it was pretty neat. And was he excited.

“Jimmie, guess what?” he said, with that famous hustler’s grin.

“You’ve been in prison?”

“No. What makes you think that?”

“Just a wild guess. What’s up?”

“I have discovered this ability that I have. You are going to love it. It must be something I transported from Falloonia that evolved in earth’s atmosphere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have the 'thing willingly given' of prophecy.”

“Uh, the ‘gift’ of prophecy?”

“Quite so.”

“Have you tested it?”

“Yes, I told the girl who makes sandwiches at the Cox Center that someone was going to give her a 20 dollar tip the next day, and guess what?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Like magic, there is was: stuck in the tip jar, crisp and new before noon.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘beginner’s luck’?”

“No. What’s that?”

“Never mind. Have you tried it again?”

“Oh yes. I struck up a conversation with a lady at a nursing home last week when I went to see how you treat your old people.”

“And?”

“She was in tears because her son in California hadn’t called her in a month. She was on the verge of giving up.”

“And”

“I told her that her son would call her that afternoon. And guess what?”

“He did?”

“Like timepiece-work.”

“Are you sure this is legitimate?”

“Absolutely. Now, one reason I came is that I need to borrow some money.”

I allowed myself to dream. The stock market would open tomorrow at 8:30 p.m. our time, and we were right in the middle of college football season. Less than 50 miles from here was a simulcast horse betting casino. Holy Mackeral!

“C.W., if you are right, you can borrow all the money you want. But are you certain about all this?” I was feeling great.

“You are proof positive.”

“Me?”

“Yes you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told my colleague in South America that you would receive a visitor at exactly 8:00 p.m. tonight.”

“Me? A visitor?”

“Yep. Now check the time.”

It was 8:10 p.m.

“But you are the only visitor I’ve had.”

“Well?”

“Holy crap!”

“I knew you would be astounded. Now about the money. The airline ticket to California was expensive, not to mention the 20 dollars.”

“You little Falloonian asshole.”

“What’s wrong?”

“C.W., if you make it happen, it’s not the fulfilling of prophecy.”

“According to the ministers on television, it is. Where do you think I got the idea?”

“I hope you rot in jail.”