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.

Making Up

Big Dope was mad all day yesterday about the blood pressure thing but I finally calmed him down when I shapeshifted into Fiona Hill and brought him a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. We chatted a while and decided to try and understand American politics. We failed.

We finally decided that there was one explanation. People think it’s fun to watch. Those that don’t think so think it’s fun to ridicule those who do. It’s like a Falloonian practice called, Aeneginticknuhwha. That translates roughly into, “Running in circles to avoid the biting of insects.

Anyway, the blood pressure thing seems to be getting better. This morning he wants me to visit him as Marie Yovanovic just before he tests. I think he’s silly, but what the heck.

Playing Games

Daily thought from the Alien C.W.

I’ve never told many people, but we Falloonians can communicate with all species on Earth, not only homo sapiens. You should hear what this new “rescue puppy” that Big Dope and Mrs. Big Dope are fostering tells me. She says they call her “Demon Dog” and she gets back at them anytime she gets a chance. She says one of her favorite tricks is to give them a certain look until they are sure it means something. When they start acting accordingly, she gives them a different look for the same response. She says it “confuses the hell out of them.” It tickles her immensely. They don’t know what the next look will mean. She calls it her “Nancy Pelosi trick.” Now I watch for it and laugh each time.

Voting

Big Dope has had me studying political science lately. Boooring. I did notice one thing, though. There's this one political party that demonstrates a strange habit. In very close elections, they never demand a recount. It's almost like they don't want people looking into their state's voting system.

448. Victimhood

“What do you mean? And stop whining.”

Jeez. C.W. was in a dreadful state. Remember how Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker looked when they got caught? Put their faces on Steve Buscemi’s body and you would have it. We were out on the patio and he had just interrupted my evening reading.

“It’s not my fault,” he said, wiping his nose.

“What is not your fault?” I said.

“What Mrs. Big Dope is going to tell you about.”

Oh dear.

I put my book down. “What have you done now?”

“I didn’t do it.”

I cocked my head like I do when I know he’s lying, which is most of the time when he is in this shape. “You didn’t do it?”

“Well, maybe I did but it’s not my fault.”

“You are confusing me.”

“She trapped me into an innocent mistake. I would never think to do something like that on my own.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll buy her a new one, won’t you?”

“A new what?”

“Microwave.”

“Oh no, C.W. What have you done now?”

“I was taking care of things. Cleaning the kitchen like you told me to.”

“And?”

“She laid this trap for me. It’s her fault.”

“What kind of trap?”

“Recipes. Food. You know, ingredients. How could I resist? I just happened to walk by.”

“And?”

“She obviously wanted me to learn to cook Earthling food.”

“She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to. She just left all the things out like she wanted me to.”

“And?”

“I knew she would get angry if I didn’t try. I was just following orders.”

“Like written or oral orders?”

“More like implied orders. She’s good at those.”

“What happened to the microwave?”

“Just a small incident. The controls weren’t working properly. The unit must have been bad from the factory.”

“A small incident?”

“And not my fault at all. I’m blameless. I’m the best person on Earth at operating machinery. It couldn’t have been my fault.”

“But you were involved.”

“I was a victim. Pure and simple.” He started with the crying again. We heard a scream from inside the house.

“She’ll be coming out here now,” he said. “Quick. Let’s decide how we’ll punish her for the awful thing she did to me.”

“Are you serious?”

 

Bad people are always trying to
make victims of good ones. - C.W.

“She needs to be taught a lesson.”

“She is to blame because you destroyed something?”

“She should have known better. I’d lock her in her room for a day or two.”

“And what reason would I give?”

“Making me a victim. Poor innocent me.” He resumed whining and crying.

We heard footsteps.

“Got to run,” he said. “Lock her up. Please. Lock her up.”

And he was gone. Where does he learn such things?

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Don't Get Me Started

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.

444. Power

“Just what is it that your women want?”

“What the hell?” The figure seated across from me was a new one for C.W. It was a well-configured man in a business suit, handsome in a boyish way and smiling as he asked the question.

“I’m counting on you to tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“About the females of your species, your women.”

“I’m not sure I would be talking like that in this house.”

“Why?”

“First of all, they aren’t ‘my’ women. Second, you’re on pretty thin ice with one who lives here.”

“My point exactly.”

“And that point is?”

“Don’t we take care of her?”

“We?”

“Yes.”

“Take care of her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No, I graduated from the best learning center in Falloonia. I can’t be crazy.”

“How did you get into the best learning center in Falloonia?”

“On my merits. It had nothing to do with the fact that a member of my Formation Team sits on the Board of Falloonian Elders.”

“Is it difficult to be allowed to study in the best learning center?”

“Not if you are a Phorchunataseid.

“What is that?”

“Hard to explain. But back to these women of yours.”

“Hold it. I told you that they are not my women.”

“Anyway. What is it that they want exactly? It seems they want to rule over us men. It’s like a Falloonian Uoondierfut wanting to sit on the Board of Elders.”

“A what?”

“A Falloonian species used in Formation Teams. Don’t worry about them. Just tell me about your own lesser gender.”

“Where on Earth did you find that descriptor?”

“In that book you gave me to read.”

“And didn’t I tell you not to take it literally? Even the Galilean warned you about that.”

“Yeah, He also warned me that you get a little carried away at times.”

“Carried away? How?”

“With all your concern about everyone having ‘a seat at the table’ as he puts it, even though he told you that rejects are going to be around for ages to come. Is that what your lesser gender wants, a seat at the table?”

“Among other things, I imagine.”

“Well they can’t have mine unless they can take it forcibly. They aren’t much into taking things by force the way we are, are they?”

“We?”

“We men.”

“You know what, C.W.?”

“What?”

“You’ve chosen many shapes and forms since we’ve been acquainted, but I think this is the most despicable.”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he said, wiping a tear from an eye.”

“You’re going to have more than your feelings hurt if you keep talking that way.”

“I knew you would take their side. You’re just not fair,” he said, reminding me of a young child who’s just been told no. His face changed to a stark visage of rage.

“Who have you been hanging out with?” I asked.

“None of your business.”

“Have you been sneaking off to that hunting club again?”

“None of your business.”

 

My friends are headed to
the very best schools. - C.W.

“No wonder you came in here hating women.”

“What’s it to you if I want to hang out with real he-men?”

“Who don’t like women?”

“None of your business.”

“Remember the talk we had about being on the wrong side of history?”

“Don’t worry about history. We’re going to control it, and you might better decide which side you want to be on. Our side will get what it wants no matter how we have to take it.”

“And then what will you do?”

His face turned blank. His eyes struck for something far way. Veins in his temples throbbed. He sniffed, refocused and stared at me, his eyebrows forming an M.

“What do you mean, what are we going to do then?”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Don't Get Me Started

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.

443: Remorse

What can you do on a rainy day when you are cooped up with a restless alien who is in deep trouble with a third member of your household? The alien is nattily attired man of maybe 23 who looks like he just left a fraternity party at some expensive private college. The third member is my wife.

“I have no recollection of doing it.” he said. He was lounging on a couch drinking a beer.

“You say you didn’t break her priceless heirloom practicing your golf putt?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“No,” I think you said you didn’t have a recollection of doing it.”

“There you go,” he said. “If I had done something that thoughtless, I would have remembered it. I have a photographic memory you know.”

“You always remember?”

“Of course.”

“Like the time you used her grandmother’s photograph to practice with your air rifle?”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to honor that hypothetical question with the truth.”

While he seemed to be considering whether that sentence had turned out he way he intended, I broke in. “I seem to remember that’s what she claimed.”

“That was a long time ago and I hadn’t been here but a short time.”

“That excuses things?”

“Falloonians like to experiment when they first arrive on your planet. I was just having fun. Inipurtseeastrms will be Inipurtseeastrms. You can’t blame them for that. You would never allow us membership on your planet if you didn’t allow us a lane at sea that is a regularly used route for vessels. I am a man, after all.”

“I think,” I said, “that we allow you a good deal of ‘leeway’ as you tried to put it, man or no man.”

“Then you understand I was just trying to learn Earthiness by having a little fun.”

Earthiness? I would have to remember that. “Mischief is okay if you are just having fun?”

“I think so. Don't you?”

“Were you just having fun when you sold her battery-powered drill to the junk man?”

“Women aren’t supposed to have those kinds of things. They are supposed to have feminine things that keep them in the kitchen and bedroom. Your country would run a lot smoother if they did.”

“If I were you I wouldn’t let her hear you say that. She still remembers the time you and Rodney used her best colander to pan for gold in Bayou Meto.”

“A little adventure never hurt anyone. Why is she so sensitive?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you return the ZZ Top CD you stole from her and ask her then?”

“It was someone else who did that. I have a witness.”

“And who might that be?”

“My counterpoint in Mississippi. He could vouch for me.”

“Why doesn’t he?”

“He had to return to Falloonia for a, uh, … conference. Yeah, a conference. But he definitely saw that it was someone else.”

“And who might that have been?”

“How should I know?” He sat up and looked at me with as serious a face as I’ve ever seen on him.

“Look,” he said.

“Yes?”

 

Men, our biggest fear in America
today is gang warfare. - C.W.

“Us men got to stick together.”

“Oh?

“Yep.”

“And if we don’t?”

“And if we don’t, it’s going to be hell to pay. What if Mrs. Big Dope forms a gang?”

“A gang of what?”

“Other pissed-off women.”

“And?”

“Pretty soon, they’d be wanting to speak out loud in church.”

“You don’t even go to church.”

“I heard one of those guys on TV say it, so it must be true.”

“You believe TV preachers?”

“When they say things I can profit from.”

“I can tell you something you can profit from.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Mrs. Big Dope has given me three things already. I’m supposed to master them within three days or else.”

“Or else what?”

“She didn’t say, but it sounded bad.”

“And what were those three things?”

“Repentance, reflection, and remorse. She said they might, just might, lead to a fourth ‘R’ if I tried hard.”

“And that would the fourth be?”

“Redemption,” he said, “but that’s going to cost me a bundle.”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Don't Get Me Started

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.

427: Books

“You want to have some fun?”

“Not particularly. Actually, I having fun, just sitting here reading this book. Why don’t you try it?”

“That’s boring. I don’t read books.”

C.W. was in the shape of a 30-something, a male with short cropped hair and preppy clothes. He’s been trying it out for several days. Each day, he’s gotten a little more unbearable.

I said, “If you don’t read books and things, you may end up being uninformed.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. You wouldn’t want to end up like Kanye West, would you?”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s a man who doesn’t read books.”

“Is he successful?”

“To hear him tell it, he is.”

“There you go.”

“Don’t you,” I said, “want to know the importance of history and current events?”

“Why?”

“So you can sound intelligent and informed.”

“I can do that already.”

“How?”

“I just make stuff up and then make it fit. That’s the greatest way ever found to sound like you know things. There is no better way. And I am the greatest person at it that there ever was, in the history of the world maybe.”

“What if someone asked you about a famous author?”

“What do you mean?”

“Say Virginia Woolf.”

“Who’s Virginia Woolf.”

“A writer. Do you know anything about her?”

“I know she was a horrible writer until she met me. She was missing the benefits of having a strong man in her life. After a few months with me as her lover, the greatest lover she had ever known, she got famous with her writing. People love her, all because of me. I’m the greatest gift that a woman could experience, you know. Just ask Virginia Woolf.”

“I can’t. She’s dead.”

“Of course. She couldn’t stand life without me. Ask me about someone else, or something else.”

“What do you think of the Truman Doctrine.”

“I helped him with that one. We patterned it after the work of President Putin in Russia. I’m the greatest friend Vladimir has, and we helped, uh, what was his name?”

“Harry Truman.”

“Yeah, Harriet Tubman, I was his best friend too. Anyway, I helped form his doctrine of helping Russia expand its influence in America and we have, to date, created a million new jobs by working together. Working peacefully, I might add, as peaceful a Jew and an Arab.”

My head was beginning to spin. “What might you have to say about Charles Darwin and his writing on natural selection?”

“His what?”

“Natural selection?”w

“Oh,” he said, regaining his confidence. “I helped him with that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He came to me and asked me to help them select a new pastor for his church. He’s a deacon there, you know, a real man of God. He and I got along real well together. I helped him a lot in selecting a new man.”

“How?”

 

.

Why read when I can make facts up? - C.W.

“Told him what traits to look for in a preacher.”

“Grace, love, and brotherhood?”

“Oh heavens no. That’s old-timey stuff. People don’t want that. We need preachers, men preachers by they way, who can stir folks to anger at those who don’t think the way we do. Like that Franklin Graham man says, ‘Hate is the trait that makes us great.’ That man’s church has added five thousand new members since they took my advice. I’m the greatest thing that ever happened to them. What do you think about that?”

“I think I’m going to go sit somewhere in the shade, somewhere nice and quiet.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m going over to a meeting at party headquarters.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re having a little ceremony for the Science-Education Committee members.”

“Something important? Are they planning to cut funding again?”

“Not now. Maybe later.”

“What are they celebrating now?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but it’s the greatest honor a politician can get. It’ll produce tens of thousands of new jobs.”

“And what, exactly is this great honor for this committee?”

“One of its members is getting something called a GED.”

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.

425. House Guests

“C.W., get in here right now. “You,” I pointed to a group outside the door of our farmhouse, “stay right where you are.”

“Can’t come right now,” I heard a voice say. “I’m packing,”

“I’ll pack you for a one-way trip home if you don’t get in here.”

“May we come in now?” the apparent leader of the group said. He was a thin man with a ludicrous goatee and close-cropped hair. He wore patched jeans and a work-shirt opened in front. A large tattoo of an eagle filled his chest. He carried a suitcase in one hand and a large grocery bag folded at the top in the other. Behind him stood a slovenly woman with a face that might, at some point long ago, been attractive. Now, both her face and bosoms sagged, and a large expanse of belly hung over the tops of cut-off jeans. Two pale, emaciated men stood with her. Each had a grocery bag, similar to the leader’s, in each hand.

“No,” I said. “You may not come in. If fact, I would advise you very strongly to depart the premises before my wife gets back.”

“But we’re paid up,” the leader said.

“C.W.” I yelled over my shoulder, “I’m not telling you again.”

I heard a rustle behind me, and Reggie the Young Conservative walked into the room. “Oh hi,” he said to the group as he straightened the collar of his shirt. “I see you found the place.”

The leader looked at me with a nervous twitch, and said to C.W., “There seems to be a problem.”

“No problem,” C.W. said, “I’ll be finished packing in a moment and the place will be yours.”

“What the godalmighty hell is going on here?” I queried.

“Fundraising for the campaigns,” C.W. said. “You know we’re all going off for the long weekend.”

“So? I thought we weren't going to publicize that.”

“There’s this place on the net,” he said, "and they rent your house for you when you don’t need it.”

I turned to him. “So, you rented our house to these people?”

“No, the place on the net did. Isn’t that neat? The money will buy a lot of Nancy Pelosis.”

“A lot of what?”

“You know, campaign brochures with her picture on them. We can’t use the ‘jigaboo’s’ picture anymore, so our folks are running against the Evil Grandmother. You do know she has a secret chamber under a Methodist church near Golden Gate Park where they force young boys to have sex-change operations and then use them for sex slaves, don’t you? It’s been all over Fox News.”

I turned to the ones standing outside the door. “There has been a mistake,” I said. “This, this, …, this creature has no authority to rent our house.”

“The website said it was okay.”

 

I guess I was lucky after all. - C.W.

“And how did you find the website?”

“A guy in ‘county-lockup’ told us about it,” one of the young men said.

“Shut up,” the leader said, turning to the young man. I saw the woman punch him in the ribs at the same time.

“And what,” I said, “do you have in those grocery bags?”

There was an audible crunch as several hands tightened.

“Oh, just some, uh, uh, …,” he struggled. Thinking must have posed a degree of difficulty for him.

“Religious tracts,” the woman said. She brightened, “Yeah,” she said with more confidence, “we planned a weekend of religious study.” Her whole being seemed to glow with the joy of explaining. “We vote the same political party as,” she nodded toward C.W. and said, “Mr. Trunce here, that’s the religious party, so it seemed like a great match-up.”

“Religious tracts, eh.”

“Yes sir.”

“Tell you what I’m going to do,” I said. “I’ll leave you with, uh,” I looked at C.W. and then back at the group, “Mr. Trunce, and I’ll call a friend of mine with the Sheriff’s Department. He can come over, and when my wife gets back, the two of them can review your religious tracts. If they approve, our house is yours for the weekend.”

I would say their faces paled, but they were so pale already that any incremental change would go undetected. I turned to C.W. “Mr. Trunce,” I said, “may I have a word?”

I took him out of sight, motioned for him to lean an ear toward me, and said, so only he could hear, “You are in a world of shit if my wife catches one sight of them. Now you go and tell them.”

He nodded and walked back toward the front door. He had only taken a few steps before he turned and said, “No need. They’re gone.”

I heard a sound from outside and went to a window. Two unknown cars had pulled up in the driveway. From one, a long-haired man with no shirt on yelled, “Parteeee time.”

The group’s leader stopped him, and an animated conversation ensued. The group piled into a decrepit van and the entire caravan sped away slinging gravel everywhere. I turned to C.W. He said, “May I borrow your Bible? I’d like to be reading it when Mrs. Big Dope gets back.” 

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.

424: Science

Oh my, I hadn’t seen anyone smoke a pipe in years. Didn’t know they still made them. But there was C.W. puffing away on one, sitting at a patio table. His shape was a lot like the late playwright Arthur Millar. He had books and papers scattered in front of him.

He motioned for me to join him and I did.

He waved a hand across the pile of material before him like he was giving it his blessing. “I think,” he said, “that I’ve about figured it out.”

“How to look anachronistic?”

He ignored me. “Why your species is so unwilling to move into the future,” he said.

“Elucidate.” I could tell he was in one of his serious moments, and I enjoy those.

“Do you ever think about the monumental and complex problems facing your planet?” he said.

“All the time.”

“Ever thing of what it will take to solve those problems?”

“Probably things that we haven’t thought of yet.”

“Precisely,” he said.

That made me feel good. He rarely acknowledges that I know anything.

“Continue, please,” I said.

“Ever wonder,” he said, continuing in a questioning mode, “why one of the world’s richest families, emanating by the way,” he said, “from your own state, has joined hands with major religious institutions and a dominant political party in a plan to abrogate your current system of educating your children? Ever say, to yourself, what do they have to gain by denouncing reason, science, and the ability to address problems in a cognitive way?”

“You are right. It doesn’t make sense.”

He smiled, nodded, and picked up a large book from the table. “Ever read this?” he asked. It was a worn copy of The Golden Bough, by Sir James George Frazer, a Scottish social anthropologist, influential in the early stages of the modern studies of mythology and comparative religion. He is often considered one of the founding fathers of modern anthropology.

I nodded and smiled myself. “Yes, but it was a long time ago in a different lifetime.” A flood of memories washed over me. “I credit Frazer with freeing me from the shackles of mythology forged on me as a child.” I was sort of screwing with him by resorting to flowery language.

He ignored me. “Then you know how he recorded humankind’s cognitive process, beginning first with magic as a method of controlling the environment.”

“I seem to remember.”

“Then,” he continued, as it gradually dawned on your species that dances and incantations weren’t really able to change things, and that people didn’t suffer because you made a doll-like image of them suffer.”

“Go on.”

“So,” he said, “the thinkers of that time decided that external forces must guide their world. They chose religion, assuming there are personal agents, superior to man, controlling nature.  It has been said that this is a far more complex notion than that of magic, and requires a much higher degree of intelligence.”

“This is getting a bit deep,” I said.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Hang with me.”

What else could I do?

“We are now at the point in the evolution of your people at which they thought that reliance on a divine source might be the best technology to be used in controlling the environment.”

“And some still do,” I said.

“Oddly enough,” he said. “This troubles the Falloonian Elders to no end.”

“I can see. What happened next?”

“In simple terms?”

“In simple terms, please.”

“In simple terms, religious contemplation led to complex thinking, and complex thinking led to science.”

“Science?”

“Science,” he said. “And as science emerged, your species hardened in its belief that the world had to be controlled, and, to a thoughtless few, that control had to be carried out on their terms, and for their ends.”

“And?”

 

Oddly, someone once suggested that
alchemy led to the scientific method. - C.W.

“Well hell,” he said, “can’t you see?”

“See what?”

“How science got their way.”

“I think maybe I do.”

“Let me help move you along,” he said. “I haven’t got all day.” He puffed on his pipe until he started the smoke flowing in bullous clouds. It was aromatic and not unpleasant. “Humankind can conceive all sorts of weird ideas and proposals. The problem, then, is that science can test those ideas and proposals.”

“And?”

“And how do you exert control over people with ideas that science can prove wrong?” He puffed again. “Let me give you an example. Let’s say you want to make people satisfied with their state of poverty. So, you tell them you’re going to cut their source of revenue and that will increase their income.”

“That sounds a bit familiar.”

“Doesn’t it though? Now, the problem is, as you well know, a second-year college student majoring in mathematics—some call that science—can prove that proposition false in a few moments. How do you maintain your control? You can’t kill all the college students.”

“No,” I said, “but how do you exert control over people with ideas that science can prove wrong?”

“Simple,” he said. He blew a huge cloud of smoke my way and I inhaled a bit of it. “You kill science.”

“But how?”

“First,” he said, “you kill all the teachers.”

I rose and walked away, staggering just a bit.

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.

404. Reversals

“Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Where on Earth do you come up with such …,” I stopped. It came to me that C.W. isn’t from Earth, so my point wasn’t going to make sense. Still, he could aggravate me at times, and this was one of those. He just smirked.

“Now,” he said, “can I get back to work?” There was no use arguing. He had taken on the shape of Reggie the Young Conservative, and there was no reasoning with him.

I tried a different tack. “So you,” I said, “are charged with developing strategies for increasing the rate of unwanted pregnancies in America.”

“Quite so.”

“May I ask why?”

“Are you really that dense?” He shook his head in exasperation. “Simple,” he said. “It’s a gateway sin.”

“What is a gateway sin?”

He shook his head slowly. “You know what a gateway drug is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s something you folks made up to justify the billions you’ve wasted on reducing marijuana usage.”

He shook his head. “We’re not trying to reduce marijuana usage,” he said. “We’re just making sure that its usage stays illegal. Crime enforcers are among our most loyal supporters.”

“So how does that relate to a plan to increase unwanted pregnancies?”

“Unwanted pregnancies,” he said, “are like marijuana. They lead to another choice that keeps our political base charged up like an Irish Setter on steroids.”

“Let’s make sure I understand. You want to excite your constituency by increasing the number of people who have to make difficult choices?”

“Not people. Women. Don’t forget that we recognize a difference.”

I see. So what have you tried so far?”

“Well,” he said. “We’ve outlawed sex education. It’s deplorable how many young people now understand the strong correlation between sexual intercourse and procreation. Deplorable.”

“Are you still teaching young girls that, if you say ‘Mother may I?’ three times beforehand, they are safe from all harm?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Are you making fun of us?”

“Perish the thought.”

“We stopped using that one years ago. Now we just teach them to hold their breath and pray at critical junctures.”

“Contraceptives have proven to be effective.”

“Correctamundo,” he said. “That’s why we’re in the process of outlawing them.”

“I guess that’s also why you don’t want men held responsible for unwanted pregnancies?”

“What do men have to do with it? That’s what we say. The last thing we want is a bunch of men running around offering to help raise a child.”

“This whole thing seems a bit turned around,” I said. “I mean, the whole idea of increasing loyalty in despising an act by promoting the act seems so …,” I struggled for words. “So Roveian.”.

“Please don’t denigrate the God of Our Movement,” he said, “but now you’re getting the picture.”

“Does it work?”

 

A hero to so many. - C.W.

“Haven’t you ever heard of poverty and our fight for it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t you see anything? What happens when you increase the number of poor people?”

“Lot’s,” I said. “You increase the level of so many things: childhood disease, malnutrition, substandard housing, lack of educational opportunities ….”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “It’s crime.”

“Crime?”

“Yep. The greater the gap in wealth, the more crime, and the more crime, the more people run out and buy more …,”

“I see. I see.” I said. “I see, but it’s making me crazy.”

“And speaking of crazy,” he said. “Have you ever heard of Franklin Graham, Joel Osteen, Kenneth Copeland, Joyce Meyer, Benny Hinn, …?”

“Stop. Stop.” I said. “Yes, I’ve heard of them and others like them. Don’t go on. You’re making me nauseated now.”

“Exactly,” he said. “They are all our operatives.”

“Your what?”

“Their job is to turn young folks off religion.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t you see how much our support strengthens when they publish those reports on declining church attendance? What more dastardly trend could you hope for, to blame on your opponents?”

“I’ve got to sit down a moment,” I said. “This goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.”

“Precisely,” he said. “That’s why we have some powerful people,” he stopped, “… some very powerful people, working on education.”

401. Riches

Last night C.W. came to me with the most interesting question. He was in the shape of Timmie Joe, the 14-year old nerd. He was well-attired. Somewhere, he had found one of those old pocket protectors that engineering students in college used to wear, the kind that advertised a blueprint shop. I guess they will be collector items now. It meant he was on serious business.

“Why,” he said, “do people who have everything always want more?”

It took me by surprise and I didn’t have a ready answer. “What do you mean?” I said.

“I’ve been asked to determine if there is such a thing as a “satisfaction point,” he said. “Is there a point at which members of your species determine that they have enough and perhaps others might be entitled to some of the remains?”

“That’s a good question,” I said, “and I don’t have a ready answer. Besides, I’m fairly satisfied with my state.”

“Oh?”

I felt a gnawing sensation in my stomach. “Well,” I said, “pretty much so.”

“Oh?”

“What are you getting at?”

“How many guitars do you own?”

I told him and pointed out that I had sold one recently.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you sell it?”

I wanted to look around for help but I knew there were only two of us in the room.

"Uh," I said.

"To care for those who mourn?"

"Uh …"

"To care for the poor in spirit?"

"Uh …"

“Come on,” he said. “Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You sold it because you want to buy another, more expensive, one.”

I responded with a weak, “It’s my hobby.”

“So, if it’s a hobby, it’s not hoarding riches?”

“And besides, I don’t own them all, just a few.”

“Would your corporations be willing to stop there with your congressmen and congresswomen?”

I had to think about that. “I don’t imagine they would.” I lowered my head. “At least they haven’t so far.”

“What is with you, your species I mean?”

“What has brought this all on?”

“The Falloonian Elders are intrigued by the resistance to paying taxes on your ddyspikrslouckee.”

“Our what?”

“What they call it roughly translates into a tax on sexual ejaculations of the more fortunate kind granting unearned riches.”

“The what?”

“I call it the ‘lucky sperm tax’ for short. Think about it.”

I did. Realization began to settle on me like the morning sun on a windless morning. “Are you talking about the Estate Tax?”

“Yes. The one that rich kids who inherit their parents’ money hate so much. The riches they acquire because of a lucky sperm. They seem to care not if the less fortunate ones starve.”

“I see.”

“They have much, do little, and demand more. How can you give more to those who have plenty? My friend the Galilean has asked me that same question? Isn’t hoarding riches the pastime of a ship of sinners? He says so anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I seem to know a certain, uh, a certain, let’s see, a certain alien let’s say with quite a collection of Heather Graham photographs.”

He fidgeted. “Maybe it’s because she looks like Mrs. Big Dope.”

Maybe it’s because you have plenty of them but it’s not enough. Why don’t you delete some of them?”

“Hey,” he said with great deal of merriment, “what say we go to the guitar store tomorrow?”

I do have a point, eh? Can anyone
guess who is who? - C.W.

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

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