435: Business

 It was obvious that something was troubling C.W. He had been moping around all day in the shape of one of his more troublesome characters. I call him “Carl the confused.” He prefers “Charlie the Wonderer.”

Whatever. He finally asked me to take a walk around the pond on our farm. I didn’t really want to do it because of all the goose poop on the bank, but he insisted, and reminded me that when I had taken on the job of being his host, that I had agreed to explain our ways as well as I could. So we took a walk.

He had filled a pocket with rocks from one of my wife’s dozens of piles that she has picked up over the years. There are no natural rocks on the farm, so they have all been collected by her.

He sailed a rock over the surface of the pond. It skipped once and sank. “She’s going to whip your ass,” I said, “for stealing her rocks.”

“She won’t miss a few from all the thousands she has stacked around.” He sailed another. It failed to skip even once.

“Are you kidding? She knows every one in every pile, where it came from, and when she collected it. Besides, you’re not doing it right. You have to bend low and get it closer to the surface.”

“Show me,” he said, handing me a rock.

“You won’t tell?”

“Heavens no.”

I bent low and sailed the rock. It skipped three times and sank.

“Tell me,” he said as he pulled another rock from his pocket. “Can you really run government like a business?”

The question surprised me. “Why do you ask me that?”

“Writing a report. The Elders sent me a communication saying this orange-faced guy has them all confused.”

“What orange-faced g…, oh.”

“They aren’t sure that he is for real. They think it’s just another Earthling television show. I must explain it all to them. So can you? Run government like a business?”

“No.” I said.

“Why not?”

“Several reasons. First, business can operate anyway it wishes as long as it doesn’t break the law.”

“But what about …?” He began.

“As long as it doesn’t get caught breaking a law.” I corrected myself.

“Oh.”

“Government,” I said, “on the other hand can only operate under specific laws that allow it to protect the public health, safety, welfare, and morals of the people, laws that have been validated by the courts.”

“Then there is an actual law somewhere that allows the president of your country knowingly to lie to the public in order to carry out his aims?”

I thought. “Not exactly.”

“So he can just do it anyway, without punishment?”

“That’s what elections were designed to do.”

“Back in the old days?”

I didn’t answer. After a moment, I said. “There are other differences between business and government.”

“Such as?”

“The business model is that for my company to win, your company must lose. Government, on the other hand should enact policies or take actions that benefit or protect us all.”

“How’s that working for you?” he said, bending over and throwing a stone. It bounced twice.

I veered away. “Business operates under the so-called ‘Law of Supply and Demand’ in providing goods and services. Generally, low supply and high demand increase price. In contrast, the greater the supply and the lower the demand, the price tends to fall. Businesses flourish when high demand justifies an increase in supply.”

He stopped. “But,” he said. “Didn’t your late president Ronald Reagan say that supply creates its own demand?”

Sometimes there
 is the smell of sulfur
 in the halls of
 government. - C.W.

"Reagan received a lot of bad advice,” I said. “Have you ever heard of Oliver North?”

“So, the idea is that if we keep building things, producing products, and providing services that nobody wants, we’ll get rich?”

“No,” I said. “We’ll eventually go bankrupt, time and time again. Soon, nobody will lend us money anymore, nobody who is operating solely on sound business practices.”

“That sounds reasonable,” he said. “Nobody supports a loser?”

“Uh,” I said, foreign interests might, if the rewards outweighed the risks. It seems to be done for political ends at times, and that blurs the proper demarcation between government and business.”

“And the ‘government the people, by the people, and for the people,’ as you great man put it, would allow that?”

“If it has enough backing.”

He bent low and sailed a rock. It bounced four times and sank slowly. He stood up with a bright look on his face.

“I’m beginning to see,” he said. “It’s all just a matter of how far you're willing to bend over.”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw Press, Amazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.

332. Names

If I hadn’t known better, I would have said it was John Wayne in a navy officer’s outfit who joined me in the backyard of the farm. He pulled up a lawn chair and dusted it so as not to soil his crisp white uniform and sat.

“You are a Navy veteran, I understand,” he said.

“So have you heard the latest?” He crossed one leg over other and looked at me with despair in this eyes.

“Heard what latest?”

“Our Navy is going to name a ship after the late Mayor of San Francisco.”

“First of all, C.W.,” I said, “it is not ‘our’ Navy. I’m not even sure they would claim me and I’m sure they wouldn’t claim a deranged alien. Second, I have indeed heard of plans to name a ship after Harvey Milk.”

“Isn’t it a bit odd to name a ship after a …”

“A Californian? No, they named one after Ronald Reagan.”

“That man who secretly sold all those weapons to our arch-enemy Iran?”

“That’s the one.”

“Odd,” he said. “But back to our late friend. Wouldn’t it be strange to name a ship after …”

“A naval officer? No, they do that all the time, and he was one.”

”But Harvey Milk was also a ..”

“A mayor? He may very well be the first mayor to have a ship named after him. I think Grover Cleveland had been mayor of Buffalo, New York and there were reports that the Navy’s first fully submergable nuclear aircraft carrier would be named after him. But that turned out to be a joke.”

He thought. “What was the joke?”

“I think the whole thing was a joke, but one could certainly go broke from dismissing wild ideas about what the military might build.”

He began to swing his crossed leg slightly. “But really,” he said, “don’t you think it strange that the United States Navy would name a ship after a man with a different …”

“Political background? Lord no, they’ve named ships after Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson for goodness sake.”

I understand that many American
sailors are ecstatic about the news. - C.W.

“After all the Americans they had killed?”

“After all that.”

“But,” he said, “this Harvey Milk was active in the fight for …”

“Human Equality? So was Caesar Chavez. They named a cargo ship after him, though he probably wouldn’t have approved. I seem to remember his saying that the two years he spent in the U.S. Navy were the worst two years of his life.”

“Was that true for you too?”

“No,” I said, “the worst two years of my life were the two weeks I had to spend in Vacation Bible School while my friends were playing Navy on the bayou.”

“Sad story,” he said. “But listen, let’s get down to the real point. Now when all is said and done, don’t you think would be the saddest thing imaginable to see, on a United States Naval vessel, the name of a man who was …

“Assassinated for his beliefs? No,” I said, “that would be the USS Abraham Lincoln or the USS John F. Kennedy.”

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292. Lies Are Us

“You’re what!”

“Calm down.”

“Look, how many get-rich schemes have you tried over the last five years?”

“This one is different.’

“In what way?”

“Give me a moment.”

“C.W.,” I said. “The fans and readers are getting sick of your ideas for making money.”

“There you go again. You’ve just proven my point.”

I felt stupid. I was talking to Richie, the Young Conservative, one of the Alien C.W.’s favorite shapes. “What point,” I said, “have I proven?”

“You just told a lie.”

“What lie?”

“You just introduced or worked in gradually that my fans are not loyal.”

“I insinuated that your fans are beginning to think you are insane and careless with the facts.”

“My point exactly.”

“What point?”

“That," he leaned back and smiled, “your species delights in using falsehoods for achieving their ends.”

I thought about if for a moment. Actually, he had a point. I considered all the ads I had seen proclaiming how Windows 10 was a step forward in human evolution. “But how,” I said, “are you going to make money from falsehoods?”

“By giving them away.”

“Say what?”

“Got you, didn’t I? Of course I won’t give them away. I’ll just pretend to. Haven’t you ever heard of a Love Offering?”

My head was spinning. To whom will you sell, give away, or whatever, lies?”

“Not corporations,” he said. “There are firms that already have that business sewed up.”

“To whom then?”

“Politicians of course, you silly boy. Haven’t you noticed what they have been getting away with?”

“So,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “what sort of lies will you sell?”

“Harmless ones.”

“What?”

“Ha,” he said. “Got you again.”

“Maybe,” I said, “you could give me an example.”

“I thought you would never ask.” He produced a notebook and began to read. “How’s this?” he held up a picture of a current presidential candidate and read, “My opponent inherited a fortune and never had to work, but says he thinks you and I don’t work hard enough. Isn’t that a beaut? My company, ‘Lies Are Us’ will make a bundle from that.”

“Except for one thing,” I said. “It’s the truth.”

“What?”

“It’s true, I said. You can’t sell that for a lie.”

His face fell. Then he brightened and held up another photo and read from his notebook. “This candidate,” he said, “operates on the brains of living people, no doubt using antibiotics to prevent infection, but claims that the most basic and underlying principles of natural science are tools sent by something called “Satan” to ensnare us into a life of sin. What do you think? It’s a little over the top but I think it will sell.”

“I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“You are kidding,” he said, after I explained. He tossed the photo aside with a dejected look. “Well there’s this one,” he said, hold up another photograph while he read, “My opponent’s party once elected, as President of the United States of America, this candidate who had to have his daily schedule approved by his wife’s astrologer.”

I shook my head slowly.

“Know what?” he said, dropping the photograph.

“What?”

“Facts are stupid things.” Suddenly his face brightened. “Say,” he said, “I could sure sell the lie that a presidential candidate once said that on national TV.”

We're lucky this man is not around.
He would try to tell us that our
President isn't a citizen. - C.W.

He almost cried when I told him.

“Maybe I’ll have to face the fact,” he said slowly, “that no American political party would ever  follow the premise of the propaganda minister of another country, who said, ‘If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.’"

 

He smiled at me with a kind look. "Your species,” he said, would never do that.”

“Now,” I said, “you’ve hit on one.

 Please click some ads. I need a new BMW. Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com
And ... www.allhatnocattle.com

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

Available at major on-line retailers, or
www.wattensawpress.com

219. Transgressions

“You use a mug instead of a cup and saucer for your coffee.”

“Say what?”

“A cup and saucer is more appropriate. Someone who is supposed to be the head of the household should maintain decorum and you don’t.”

“C.W.,” I said, “don’t f … mess with me in the morning before I have had said coffee. And why do you look like that O'Reilly guy on TV, what’s his name?”

“Why do you call people by their last name only? Doesn’t that show disrespect? You certainly don’t act like a leader to me.”

It was hopeless. I drank my coffee in silence. He had started in early this morning for some reason. Anything I did, even the slightest gesture was grounds for disapprobation. It was annoying, even by C.W.’s standards.

“The fact that you didn’t answer me means you agree,” he said.

“Don’t you have a report to work on or something?”

“I suppose you are going to wear that awful cap today.” He was relentless.

“What cap?”

“The one that has ‘Vietnam Veteran” on the front.”

“I may. Why?”

“It’s old and dirty and it brands you.”

“Brands me as what?”

“A loser. Your kind lost that war. A leader wouldn’t advertise that he was part of it.”

“You are beginning to annoy me.”

“Ronald Reagan never got annoyed at anything.”

“Except the Constitution.”

“There you go again. Disrespecting those past middle age or characteristic of later life.”

“You may never reach the status of ‘elderly’ if you keep it up.”

He didn’t miss a beat, just said, “I suppose you want to take the day off.”

“If it pleases you.”

“With so much to be done, you want to take the day off? That is unmanly.”

“Have you been analyzing the liquor cabinet again?”

“So what do you intend to do?”

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, “If it is any of your business, I thought I might read.”

“George W. Bush didn’t waste his time reading.”

Oh, the temptation was there, but I took another breath. “Mind telling me what you are planning now?”

He seemed pleased with the question. “A job.”

“With whom? What kind of job?”

“In comedy, on this TV network, named after a small wild animal that is related to dogs and that has a long pointed nose and a bushy tail.”

“Fox ‘News,’ I said.

“That’s what I said.”

I ignored him. And what exactly will be your title?”

“Transgressionater.”

“Transgressionater?”

“Yes. They have several openings. My job is to monitor every move, even the slightest, that the President makes.”

The light began to shine. “And turn each slightest move into a …”

“Transgression,” he said. “The people have a right to know. Isn’t that great?” He actually saluted.

“I think I’ll have another cup of coffee.”

He beamed. “Too much coffee causes a leader to make snap decisions from a part of the alimentary canal, you know?”

“And speaking of the ‘gut,’ your Galactic Universal Translator …”

Wear a brown suit? Why a man might as well
invade the wrong country to start a war. - C.W.

“I know,” he said, “you think it needs adjusting. But I trust my GUT and besides.”

“Besides what?”

“It reflects poorly on a leader to demean a simple investigative reporter.”

Coffee. That was my only hope, more coffee.

Click on an ad. It helps us and it costs them money.
And check out www.wattensawpress.com  - C.W.

210. Punditry

 C.W. is back on his dream of becoming a pundit. He showed up in a nice dark suit, immaculately groomed gray hair, and a stuffy Caucasian demeanor that made every attempt imaginable to look above average.

“It’s easy,” he said. “All you need to be a good pundit is gray hair and constipation.”

“Say again?”

He looked at me as if I had just belched out loud at a formal dinner party. “Simple,” he said, “the gray hair is to make you look distinguished and the constipation is to make you look concerned.”

“Uh,” I said, “isn’t there a bit more to it than that?”

“Not much,” he said. “Once you decide where you are going, it is a simple process to get there.” He studied me. “For example,” he said, “you are President Obama.” He cocked his head sympathetically, “Mr. President,” he said, “there is a conspiracy theory being stated that you are a secret alien taking on the shape of an American to prepare the earth for an invasion from outer space.”

“A conspiracy theory?”

“Yes sir, a conspiracy theory.”

“And I am supposed to respond to that?”

“Sir,” he said, taking on a more threatening look, “are you saying that you refuse to respond to it?”

“You are crazy,” I said.

“I got you there, didn’t I?”

“No,” I said, “you exhibited once more that you are a whacked-out idiot.”

“Mr. President,” he said, ignoring me, “is it really true, as Sarah Palin says, that you intend to extend your defense cuts by making American families board our military personnel?”

“Have you gone totally mad?”

“Shall I take that as a ‘yes,’ Mr. President?”

“C.W.,” I said, “Our bill of rights protects us from that very thing. A pundit should know the Bill of Rights.”

“What’s that … the Bill of Rights?”

“It’s the first ten amend…,” I began before stopping. “For goodness sake, C.W., you have to know American history to become a pundit on TV.”

“Says who?”

Wow. He had me there. I thought about some recent clips I had seen and decided I might be on shaky ground.

“See,” he said as he leaned toward me as a father might when explaining the facts of life to a son. “We pundits no longer see the need for such nonsense. We operate in a post-factual paradigm. Haven’t you ever watched Fox News?”

“Only while picking something up at the used tire shop.”

“Then you know the Reagan Doctrine that guides the moral compass of media pundits.”

Facts? We don't need no stupid facts. Now that's the style of
 a good pundit these days. It frees up a lot of our time. - C.W.

“And that is?”

“Like he said, ‘Facts are stupid things.’”

“I think if you research that, you will find he has been misquoted, or at least mischaracterized, by history.”

“Research is for sissies. We have a job to do, as pundits, and we can’t be distracted. Besides, if The Great Communicator said it, it is true.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “with a new paradigm, you might adopt a new name as well.”

“So I and my colleagues will no longer be pundits?”

“No,” I said, “I think the term ‘pundidiots’ suits you better.”

 

Now click an ad for my new computer. - C.W.

And check out www.wattensawpress.com

Voting

Dear Friends and Followers:

Big Dope is out walking so I take this opportunity to communicate without his interference. As usual, I am mentally confused by the presence of a difficult problem or matter. (Editor’s note: He means “puzzled.”

I ran across the following photograph on your book of faces site.

 

Now, as understand it, some members of your species want to hire an assassin to rid the populace of anyone voting who is unqualified for the privilege.

I understand not wanting people like J. Gordon Liddy, Chuck Colson, Oliver North, and John Poindexter to vote, but shooting them? Seems a bit strict, but you Americans know what kind of government you want.

Now though, how do you assassinate Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck? Would it be cruel to inform the sponsors of voter suppression legislation that both are cartoon figures?

Dead people? Seem messy to dig them up and shoot them, but why not? Lots of folks around here love to shoot guns and it might keep them from killing helpless animals.

The problem is: according to my research, the actual amount of voter fraud in your country is negligible.

When confronted with this data, sponsors of voter suppression legislation say they are acting to prevent something they imagine might happen.

My question is, purely as an alien observing your country: if one desires to craft legislation designed to prevent something that they imagine might happen, wouldn’t it be more productive to imagine that:

- The water and wastewater plants in the country will fail for lack of resources.

- Bridges in the country will begin to collapse for lack of maintenance.

- Nearly 20 percent of children go to bed hungry each day.

- Global warming will make Pine Bluff, Arkansas a seaport.

And finally, if there is voter fraud, the fact that such legislation is being passed seems to indicate to me, again just an observing alien, that it is not happening among the ranks of thoughtful voters, dead people, or cartoon characters. That just leaves felons.

 

Your Friend

C.W.

 

Also check out www.wattensawpress.com

 

History

Oh no. One of my worst fears realized. It was too late to back out of the room for C.W. had already spotted me.

“Come in, old Sport.” He looked up from his pile of papers and motioned me forward. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

Few of his favorite shapes are as obnoxious as one he seems to treasure above all. Yes, I am referring to Paulie Penchant, the political pundit.

He indicated that I should take a seat. He said, “I want to ask you a few questions about this fellow Mandela that just died.”

“The former President of South Africa and Nobel Prize recipient?”

“The terrorist.”

I was aghast. “What do you mean ‘the terrorist?’”

“Your country’s words, not mine.”

“C.W.,” I said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He was wearing a pair of those half-glasses one uses for reading and he looked at me over the top rim. “Come on, old Sport. Surely you know.”

“Know what?”

“That the man was a commie.”

That rendered me speechless.

He continued. “Don’t take my word for it. Your government had the man on a terrorist watch list until 2008.” He waved a newspaper clipping at me. “You almost wouldn’t let him in your country.”

“But,” I said. “Look at the outpouring of grief.” I struggled for the words. “Look at the tributes.”

“Look at the facts,” he said. He handed me a copy of a magazine piece that chronicled then President Ronald Reagan’s veto of a sanctions bill designed to end apartheid in South Africa and free Nelson Mandela from a prison sentence he endured for 27 years.

“He didn’t like communists.” I said. “President Reagan didn’t.”

“And?”

“The African National Congress—Mr. Mandela’s group—harbored some communists.”

“There you go,” he said. “Makes him a commie in my book. So why all the tears?”

“Congress overrode the veto,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “They were always screwing around with the man when he tried to stop the commies.”

“Oh please.” I said. “Can’t you let it rest?”

He ignored me. “Look at what congress forced him to do in Nicaragua.”

“Forced him?”

“He had to sell weapons to Iran to get money for the brave Contras who were fighting the commies in South America.”

“And killing nuns,” I said. “Also selling cocaine.”

“No problem if they were stopping the commies.”

I groaned. “Back to Nelson Mandela,” I said. “We, I mean we as country, got over it.”

“Got over what?”

“The commie thing.”

“So you say,” he said, fumbling with his papers. “Look at what former Vice-President Dick Cheney had to say about Mandela.”



This is what President Obama and Michelle had to say
when they visited Nelson Mandela's former prison cell.
Seems like a nice sentiment - C.W.

On behalf of our family we’re deeply humbled to stand
where men of such courage faced down injustice and
refused to yield.  The world is grateful for the heroes
 of Robben Island,  who remind us that no shackles or cells
 can match the strength of the human spirit.

 Barack Obama and Michelle Obama

“May we please not?”

“Aren’t you a good American?”

“I try to be but it gets harder when we start quoting Dick Cheney.”

“He was your country’s vice-president, for goodness sake, a heartbeat away from the Oval Office.”

“Please don’t try to frighten me. Besides, he is no Nelson Mandela,” I said.

“Maybe not, but look at what this other ‘truth-warrior,’ this uh …” he dug into his papers again, found one and continued, “this Rick Santorum. Look at what he said.”

It was 17 degrees outside, with a howling wind and sleet, but I decided that I preferred it at that moment and grabbed my jacket.

“Hey,” I heard him say as the first blast of cold air hit me. “Don’t you want to read what Sarah Palin thought about it?”

179. Presidents

“Looks like some folks are pissed off at the President.”

With these words, C.W. plopped himself onto the couch and began eating an apple. He tilted his Stetson hat to the back of his head and crossed one leg over the other. His boots were of dark leather and as polished as his oversized belt buckle.

I said, “What the hell are you supposed to be, a cowboy?”

He smiled and chewed his apple. “Just a citizen of the world, Pilgrim.”

“Oh please,” I said.

“I been studyin’,” he said. “Studyin’ about the presidency.”

“I fear for us all,” I said. “Are you the second coming of George W. Bush?”

“Who was he?” He laughed, then added. “Just kidding.”

“So what have you learned? I’m terribly interested.”

“Sarcasm won’t get you nowhere,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Go on.”

“Well,” he said. “Seems a large group of folks gets really irritated with the president of these here United Sates from time to time.” He pronounced it “yooo-nited.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Like when that feller Lincoln freed those who were the legal property of another and forced to obey them.”

“Lincoln didn’t free the wives,” I said, unable to resist screwing around with him. "You need to adjust your Galactic Universal Translator.”

“I trust my GUT,” he said.

“You Texans seem to have a problem with that.”

He ignored me. “Anyway, it was the coloreds that he freed.”

“We don’t call folks that anymore.”

“And it really pissed some people off.”

“It did indeed.” I decided to let him continue.

“Then there was the furor that the second Roosevelt caused when he enacted them programs to help the poor and elderly, you know, some of the least of those among you.”

“Continue.”

“Oh,” he said, “and look what happened when Harry Truman integrated the armed services.”

“Not pretty.”

“Nope. Seems like his policy of ‘if he fights alongside you he can sleep alongside you’ didn’t set too well with some.”

“You do have a point.”

“And lord,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you what happened when Eisenhower and Kennedy took on the educational system in our southern provinces.”

“Uh. No.”

“They’s folks still pissed about that and you see what it has caused: the motion of an object emitting all spectra of light it receives in or through a medium, especially through the earth's atmosphere or through space.”

“White flight,” I said.

“Ain’t that what I just said?”

Never misunderestimate the fact that, where
politics are concerned, a good smile and a
good hat get a person a lot further than doing
good deeds. Hell, a person won't need no
 "nucular option" then. Heh. Heh. - C.W.

“Please continue.” He was beginning to make a point.

“The passage of the civil rights acts of the 1960s by our native son—who by the way we don’t claim no more—Lyndon Baines Johnson cost his party the south. Maybe forever.”

“But look at the good the laws did.”

“My point,’ he said. “It seems to me that if a president wants to get his ass in a crack, the fastest way to do that is to try to help folks. Look at this current occupant.”

What could I say? “So your advice?”

He thought. “I reckon it’s this. If you want to be beloved by some people, cut out all that ‘do-gooder crap.’ Do no good. That’ll get an airport named after you faster than anything.”

“But what about the people who need help?”

“There you go again,” he said.

178. Thanks

From the so-called “mind” of the Alien C.W., edited by the Blogger.

 

Since arriving in your midst, I have been puzzled, bemused, amazed, and sometimes astounded at your habits. But your attitude on Thanksgiving takes the soft sweet bakery item. (Editor’s comment: He means “cake”). You seem to have so many fortuitous dynamics that have created a society basically free from the wars and pestilence that plague so many other societies. Yet, on this day you seem to be most thankful for an overabundance of food and the chance to spend money. It makes my boughntacojitet gland smoke. (Editor: it roughly translates to his “brain,” such as it is).

As a visitor to your society, I would suggest other subjects of this giving of thanks. To wit:

- The historical figure of Jesus of Nazareth who, though failing gloriously in his “end of the world” predictions, left you with such epochal and wonderful admonitions ( abandoned since your 1980s) on brotherly love, cautions against judging, forgiveness of your brothers, care for the poor, and honoring the peacemakers. As an aside, I think you might also be thankful for a current President who would risk the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” to pursue the last. But I am just a shifty alien and what do I know?

Buddha, who, if you would pay attention, showed you a path upon which you might not, in medical terminology, be wound so tightly. (Editor: don’t bother. He’s on a roll).

John Newton, who first gained our attention on the planet of Falloonia when he took you from the “take aways” and “goes intas” stage of mathematics and allowed you, eventually, to escape gravity, of both the physical and religious type.

- Charles Darwin, who explained some very elementary things to you. I was highly amused when Big Dope told me about his epiphany regarding the findings of natural selection. Seems he had encountered the basic theories in a junior high school science class and had been pondering the implications for several days when, while taking a shower, he dropped his washrag. As he, without thinking, retrieved it with the toes of one foot, a great truth of the universe opened for him. Goes to cause to illustrate, doesn’t it? (Editor: “show”.)

- Abraham Lincoln, who held your union together and set the stage for the freeing of a huge segment of humanity. Wonder how many votes he would get today?

Would not a quiet day of reflection work as well? - C.W.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who empowered and ennobled the “least of those, your brethren.”

Martin Luther King, Jr., who truly died for your sins.

William Jefferson Clinton, who gave you eight years of peace and prosperity in the face of unprecedented hate and persecution, and, in return, only asked for a simple … (Editor: Censored).

Hillary Clinton, because the Falloonian Elders thinks she is wonderful.

 

Matthew McConaughey, because Mrs. Big Dope thinks he is dreamy beyond words.

The list could go on, but I am at a borrowed keyboard and must bid you farewell. Let me close by saying that I am thankful today for the time I am getting to spend with you.

Peace.

146. Veracity

“You what?” I couldn’t believe what C.W. just told me.

“I hit paysoil.”

“You mean paydirt?”

“There you go again.”

“Okay, stop and tell me what’s going on.”

He looked up as he hit “send” on my laptop. “Can’t stop now. Too many orders. Just listen.” He scrolled with the mouse and tapped a few keys. “Way to go Sean Hannity,” he said. Once again he had assumed the shape of Archie the Third, one of his favorites. His blue blazer with its “Young Republicans” insignia lay on the couch as he pounded furiously on the keyboard.

“C.W.,” I said, raising my voice to command level. “What business have you started and what is does it have to do with Sean Hannity?”

He didn’t look up. “It’s called,” he said while studying the monitor, “Selective Paradigm Instant Truth.” He fiddled with the mouse and began typing. “It is a ‘fact depository’ and Sean Hannity is my best customer.”

Since we don’t allow that name, as a rule, to be mentioned in our house, much less in the context of a business relationship, I felt the moment demanded action. Not being a physical person by nature, but being more than a match for an alien posing as a “trust fund baby,” I swung into it. I snatched the laptop from the table and retreated to a nearby chair to view the screen.

There, to my amazement, was a large photograph of the daughters of the President of the United States reading books in the Rose Garden. Underneath was an official looking communique stating that this was a photo of the President’s daughters studying the Koran by his command, listing a "source." A message, accompanied by an official-looking SPIT logo, stated, “Sean. Hope this is what you needed. Thank you, as always, for your ord..”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I managed a “What the hell?”

“Please return the laptop to me,” he said.

“Please explain,” I said. “This is monstrous.”

“There you go again,” he said. “Laboring under your ‘reality paradigm.’”

“Okay,” I said. “Explain.”

“I don’t have much time,” he said. “The Rush Limbaugh show starts in a few moments and they need some material.”

“Just give me the short version.”

“Well,” he said. “Suppose you are a pundit.”

“May I please not?”

“Okay, say you are the editor of the New York Post.”

“You are making me feel nauseated,” I said.

“The director of Fox News?”

I made a retching gesture.

“A CNN reporter?”

“Okay, we’ll go with that.”

“Fine,” he said. “So you have decided what you will say, report, disclose, reveal, …whatever.”

“I decide what I’ll say first?”

“Of course.” He fidgeted slightly. “So you need a fact to back you up.”

“Okay, I’ll go along.”

“So you contact me,” he said. “You tell me what you need and …”

“And what?”

“Hit ‘source’ on the screen.”

I did and immediately a directory appeared listing “anonymous, government, inside, professional, reliable, and usual.” I looked back at him.

“So you provide a ‘fact’ and a ‘source’ for the customer to use.”

“Yes, but I call them clients. You've heard of Rand Paul, I suppose. He's one of mine.”

“C.W.,” I said as I scrolled. “These aren’t facts at all.”

“There you go again.”

“Will you stop channeling Ronald Reagan?”

“Why? He said, expressing indignation. “Don’t you remember his famous line, ‘Facts are stupid things?’”

There is a lot more money
in lies than there is
in truth. So, enjoy! - C.W.

“I think he was befuddled and simply misquoted John Adams,” I said.

“There you go again,” he said. “Confusing facts with proof.”

 

113. Platforms

There was nothing for me to do but sit there and enjoy the spectacle. C.W. was in full animation sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in the form of an early American patriot. The only modern accoutrements were several tea bags hanging from his three-corned hat.

“Just about finished,” he said.

“Great,” I said, “Finished with what?”

“The most patriotic, god-pleasing political platform ever designed  by …,” he paused.

“An alien?” I said.

“Who do you think oversaw the preparation of your Constitution in the first place,” he said with a taunt in his voice.

That caused me to think. “So how is it coming?”

“Very well,” he said. “Listen to this: ‘No American will profit by, live upon, aggrandize themselves or otherwise enjoy the fruits of another person’s labor’” He stopped and smiled. “That’ll get those deadbeats.”

“You mean like Alice Walton, the Koch Brothers, and the Romney boys?”

He stopped. “No,” he said. “No … just the regular deadbeats.”

“The disabled, the widows, and the orphans?”

“Just listen,” he said. “We don’t need any liberal input.”

“Sorry, please continue.”

“Okay,” he said. “No candidate shall be considered for office without passing the party’s Religious Adherence Testimony. The RAT administrators will be Rush Limbaugh, Donald Trump, and Newt Gingrich.”

“Uh,” I said. “Those RATs have had nine wives, all totaled.”

“So?”

“Wasn’t Jesus of Nazareth sort of clear about divorcing your wife? As in, ‘it’s a big no-no.’”

“Our party is the religious party, so shut up,” he explained. (Proper apologies applied for.)

“Well what about Article Six of the Constitution which forbids religious tests for public office in our country? The preparers were pretty clear about that.”

 

“They didn’t mean our religion,” he said.

“Oh?”

“No,” he said. “Just those others.”

I let it pass.

“But here is a good one,” he announced proudly.

“I am all ears,” I said.

He looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. Seeing none, he continued. “We shall invade the nation of Iran within six months of taking office and proceed with our patented ‘Shock and Awe’ treatment for religious infidels.”

“What happened to ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ and all that?”

“There you go again,” he said. “Playing the religion card.”

My head began to swim. “But I thought your party was on friendly terms with the Iranians.”

We fired the shot heard round
the world at Gettysburg, and
we are the true patriots. - C.W. 

“Oh, go wash out your mouth,” he said indignantly. “Do you think for a second that the Israeli Prime Minister would allow that?”

“Didn’t your Pater Familias, —one Ronald Reagan—negotiate with the Iranians, while he was fist running for office, to hold the American hostages until after the election?”

“That was simply to prevent four more years of invalid government in our county,” he said. “Extremism in the pursuit of liberty is no vice.”

“I suppose,” I said, “The Iran-Contra Affair was similarly justified?”

“Why don’t you just shut up and learn something?” he said. “Now,” and here he paused for dramatic effect. “You know what evil lurks in the hearts of those women who practice birth control ...”