COGNIZANCE

 When I walked into my office/music room this morning, there sat Charles Darwin. Of course, it was the Alien C.W. shapeshifted, but gosh, he looked like the photos of Charles Darwin. I couldn’t think of an appropriate greeting. I finally managed, “Dude.”

“I never said it,” came the reply.

“Never said what?” I sat my coffee on the desk and sat.

“Most of the things they attribute to me.”

“The ‘Mark Twain Effect’ you mean.”

“What’s a mark twain?”

“A person,” I said, remembering that C.W. sometimes gets deeply immersed in his character when he does what he calls “enphasing.”

“Elucidate.”

“False attribution,” I said.

“Expand.”

“Saying someone said something they didn’t.”

“Clarify.”

“Like when you said my wife said you could borrow our car when you said I said it would be okay.”

“Embellish.”

“Misquoted. Now what’s up?”

“I never said it.”

“Said what?”

“That evolution was ‘the survival of the fittest.’ That counts for two misattributes or whatever you call them.”

“Two?”

“Yes. I never used the work evolution.”

“I think I read that somewhere.”

“Then you know I never attributed descent through modification as ‘survival of the fittest’ or such nonsense.”

“So I understand.”

“How silly,” he said. “If it occurred over millions of years that blindness would allow some of your species success in surviving on scarce resources, causing a change in sight characteristics, would that mean they were fit in all respects?”

“Not by the standards of the film industry.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.”

“And what if it happened that the unknowing, uneducated, unlearned, and non-cognitive were to prove more adaptable to seizing political power? Fitness or extinction?” His face dropped, the long white beard forming a cushion. Then his head rose. “Tell me,” he said. “If A equals B and B equals C, does A equal B?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “There’s hope. But you have no power, do you?”

“Not a bit.”

His head dropped again. After a long silence, I rose and turned to leave the room. As I reached the door, I heard a soft snoring.

 

438: School

Late yesterday, I walked into the living room at our East Little Rock condo and found a character I call “Ronald Charles, the National Merit Scholar,” sprawled on the couch studying the view of Little Rock’s skyline. Of course, it was C.W., and I usually enjoy him in this shape.

Today he seemed a bit down.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, using the most common response a teenager uses when something is truly bugging him.

“Share,” I said.

“Can I have a beer?”

“It’s ‘may I have a beer’ and, no, you’re too young.”

“I’m 647 years old in your time,” he said.

“Then choose another form. What’s bugging you?”

“The schools,” he said. “Those things called ‘charter schools.’ I visited one yesterday.”

“How did you do that?”

He looked at me as if I had just asked how he managed to tie his shoes this morning.

I changed tactics. “What did you find out?”

“It was weird,” he said.

“How so?”

“For one thing, the entire first hour of class was devoted to what they called ‘dialogue training’ and it was most odd.”

“How so?”

The kids were divided into groups and were being made to memorize and deliver standard bits of dialogue.”

“Like what?”

“One group was being made to stand as the teacher walked up and say, ‘Good morning. Welcome to ‘Betsy DeVoss High School.’ Each student had to practice it until the teacher was satisfied.”

“Anything else?”

“Another group was doing the same thing, only with a different dialogue.”

“Which was?”

“How are you folks doing today?”

“I see. Any others?”

“Some were practicing giving directions, like ‘yes sir, or ma’am, it’s right down on Aisle Five’ over and over.”

“I see. Then they held classes?”

“Not until they assembled in the auditorium and did a few school cheers. This included a final arm salute to someone named Saint Sam.”

“And then?”

“They went to their classes, but they weren’t classes like any I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh really?”

“No. I snitched a schedule that one student left lying on a bench.” He produced a sheet of wrinkled paper, smoothed it and said. “Listen to these.” He took a breath and read, “Proving Science Wrong 108.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I stood outside the door and heard the teacher say, ‘It is a well-known historical fact that Charles Darwin accepted Christ as his personal savior on his deathbed and recanted his entire body of work. Now that’s false science for you.’ She then told them the assignment for the next day was to read the chapter called ‘Paul’s Travels as the Basis of Modern Geographic Systems.’”

“That’s not true about Darwin. I can’t believe you actually heard that.”

My Falloonian Elders don't
understand your concept
of flexible truth. - C. W.

“I don’t think ‘true’ was a measurement of accuracy in that class,” he said. “There’s more. You should have listened in on the one called ‘Flexible Mathematics: The Limitations of Numbers 107.’”

“You’re not serious.”

“Seems one no longer needs to learn things that the machines will do for you anyway.”

“You’re making me nauseated.”

“It gets worse.”

“How?”

He read from the list. “Obsolete Teachings 101: History.”

“No.”

He ignored me and continued. “Obsolete Teachings 102: Public Administration.”

I waited. He read, “Obsolete Teachings 103: Moral Imperatives in Modern America.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

He said, “No, it gets better. Standing outside the class on business administration, I heard a lecture called, ‘The Use of Tag-Team Matches in Conflict Resolution.’ It was the most interesting of call.”

“I can imagine. What did you do next?”

“I stood outside the Religion 104 class and heard a lecture called, ‘The Beatitudes as False Doctrine.’ It required the students to rise on cue and give a salute to that Saint Sam person.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

“Wait,” he said, “I haven’t even told you about the classes they were holding in the Athletic Wing. Well,” he said, “they called them classes anyway.”

“I think,” I said, “that you can have that beer now if I can join you.” 

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.

432: Accountability

Hearing a voice in the living room, I went in to see what C.W. was up to. I heard him say, “I’m not here to judge you but to help you.” There was a silence, and he said, “That’s the judgment of people worse than you, sweetheart. You are the only person on Earth with whom you must deal. Now you go on and try to think things through better from now on.”

I turned the corner as he clicked my cell phone off and sighed. He had taken a shape that he uses from time to time now. I call it “Eddie the Empathizer.” He was in the shape of a young man, maybe in his thirties, with close-cropped hair and a slight stubble of beard. He wore a “ZZ Top” tee shirt and neatly pressed jeans with sandals. A pair of what we used to call “hippie glasses” rested halfway down his nose.

He didn’t look at me.

“What’s up?” I said. He turned and stared as if he had no inkling I had been there.

“It’s getting worse,” he said.

“What’s getting worse?”

“Word’s getting around that they can talk to me and get information without being told they are going to burn in this Hell that your species has thought up. Tell me,” he said, “just where in the he…, uh, … heck did that nonsense come from? I asked the Galilean and he said some writers just made it up for dramatic effect.”

“Maybe, but what about it?”

The phone played “This Land is My Land.” He grimaced and answered. “Eddie here.” He listened, then said, “Yes, I remember you.” He listened again, longer this time. When he spoke, his voice was firm. “Now you remember what I told you, don’t you?” He listened. “So you just can’t wait, is that what you are telling me? You just can’t wait?”

He listened, looked at me, shook his head with a sad look, and then spoke. “Once more,” he said, “it can happen any time, the first, the second, the fifteenth, … any time. It can happen in any position. Holding your breath won’t work, I don’t care what they told you in the locker room.” He smiled, “No, eating spicy food won’t work either. There are pharmaceuticals that work, but they are getting harder to purchase. Did you read the information I sent?”

He listened. “Yes, they work most of the time and are easy to buy. They are also easy to forget about when he gets aroused and wants things to feel natural for him.”  There was silence, then, “There are other considerations, and some of these can make you die. Do you understand? Die. Do you know this boy?”

There was a long silence. “Tell you what you do,” he said, “you take him down to an attorney’s office and have an agreement drawn up where he will promise to pay in full for an accidental baby’s care. Have it witnessed by your local Sheriff.”

Another smile. “No, I don’t imagine he would either. That should tell you something. You think about it.” He clicked off.

“The hormones in your species are among the strongest and most virulent in the Galaxy,” he said, just as the phone exploded in song. He didn’t respond, but said to me, “It’s a losing battle.” Then he pressed a button on the phone. “Eddie,” he said again. As the listened, his face seemed to elongate. Finally, he spoke. “When did you find out?”

He listened for what seemed like an eternity. “Now quit your crying,” he said. “We need to work this out. Can you report the boy?”

He listened and shook his head. “Really?” he said. “Captain of the football team? Why are they exempt from accountability?” He listened, then said softly. “College. I see. Why did you allow him to do this to you?” There was a pause. “Did he really threaten to do that?” 

He took a deep breath as he listened to the phone. I felt I was intruding and started to leave. He motioned for me to stay and spoke. “What about your parents?” After a moment, he said softly, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I thought I saw an eye moisten. “Now, you hush, maybe we can arrange for adoption.” He stopped suddenly and listened. “I see,” he said, “what would the other race be?”

So they tell an alien
and stranger. Why? - C.W.

He listened again, “No stop it,” he said in a clear voice. “No one will judge you except yourself,” repeating what I had heard him say before. He listened and said, “There is no such place. I’ve been over this entire Galaxy, and I can assure you of that. Cut that out. Franklin Graham is a lonely, unhappy, and evil man. What he says means nothing." 

The caller must have broken in, for he stopped and listened. “I know,” he said at last, “that you are all alone, and have no means with which to attend college yourself right now, but you might someday. Would you like that? Maybe a family when the time comes?” He listened, smiled and said. “I thought so.”

I couldn’t bear it anymore and slipped out as I heard him say, “Now child, you are going to have to make the greatest decision you will ever make it your life …”

It was then that I realized I had tears in my own eyes.

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.

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.

399. Beliefs

C.W. asked me for an hour or so of his time interrupted so I knew he was in serious mode. Imagine my surprise when he showed up as Bozo The Clown.

“What the … ?

“Howie Kazowie, little boy,” he said, taking a chair opposite me. “Are you ready to help old Bozo with his job?”

I sat speechless as he opened his notepad and clicked his pen to the ready position. He huge mouth opened into a grin and came up with “Ready?”

“I thought you wanted to have a serious conversation.”

“Well?”

“You look like a damned clown.”

“Shhh,” there are usually children following me around.”

“That’s my point,” I said. “Why the clown shape?”

“That’s the only way I can seriously discuss my topic du jowl, drawing his cheeks into a huge grin.”

“I think you mean ‘topic du jour’ don’t you?”

“I was making a joke, and don’t start in about my GUT.”

“I wouldn’t dare mention your Galactic Universal Translator,” I said. “Now what is up?”

“We are going to discuss what our planet sees as one of the most laughable aspects of your species. I’m simply dressed to fit.”

“And that aspect is?”

“The obsession your species has with conspiracy theories.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It came up again recently concerning an assassinated president, the one murdered by the lone gunman who sneaked a rifle to work, stayed in during lunch, and shot the president from the building where the gunman worked.”

“And the Falloonians think that was funny?”

“Oh no,” he said. “What they find funny is how your species has concocted such idiotic folk conspiracies around the event.”

“Oh.”

“We differentiate between conspiracy theories, legends, and myths,” he said. The first is the most difficult to understand, and … .” He stopped. “Well,” he continued, “the most laughable, I’m afraid.”

That caused me to think. While I did so, he continued.

“How about the man who shot up a pizza shop because one of the presidential candidates was operating a child sex-slave ring in the basement?”

“That wasn’t funny to the manager of the shop who had a rifle pointed in his face,” I said. “And besides, I think we blamed that one on the Russians.”

“Would it have been better to blame it on the Schcrooarandians?”

“Who?”

“They’re considered by many to be the greatest jokers of our Galaxy.”

“Oh.”

“Or how about the former president who managed the demolition of two of the tallest office buildings on your planet from the White House and managed to have an airliner flown into each one to cover up his crime? They still laugh about that conspiracy effort all over the Opaque white fluid rich in fat and protein, secreted by female mammals for the nourishment of their young … Way.”

“You mean the Milky Way?”

“Old Bozo was just joshin’ you, lad. Wowie kazowie. What fun.”

“I’m leaving,” I said. “I have better things to do.”

“Wait,” he said. “You need to hear this.” He reached inside his outfit and produced a scroll, which he unrolled. “This was compiled by a Falloonian youth with the comparable education of one of your twelfth-graders. He did it as a homework assignment.”

“How old is he.”

“In earth years?”

“Yes.”

“He would be three months old.” Before I responded, he continued. “I’ll skip right to the meat of it.” He read, “It the absence of a single shred of evidence, physical documentation, or deathbed confession after more than 50 years, Earthlings, believe that a master conspirator, hereinafter referred to as ‘MC’ compiled the following conspiratorial body to cooperate seamlessly in the assassination of the aforementioned president.”

He scrolled a bit, with great ceremony.

“An actor playing the role of a crazed gunman who may or may not have known the role was terminal.” He looked at me and raised one of his huge eyebrows, then continued.

“The Dallas, Texas police department, the Cook County Sheriff’s department, various American Army, Marine, Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard officers, the American CIA, various organized crime organizations, the Cuban president and government, Lyndon Johnson and wife, the entire American media establishment … .”

“Stop, please,” I said.

 

What? - C.W.

He ignored me. “the American FBI, … .”

“Stop stop.”

“The equivalent of a military platoon of armed gunmen scattered secretly among the throngs lining the parade route, … .”

“That’s enough,” I said.

“One more line,” he said. Before I could protest, he skipped to the bottom and read. “Study Conclusion One: … .”

That caught my attention.

“American earthlings should immediately receive the galactic title of Doobprndoong now being held by the inhabitants of the planet Boochedufhaimerz++.”

“And what,” I asked, “does that award mean?”

“Wowie kazowie son,” he said. “It means ‘Goofballs of the Galaxy,’ more or less.”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Enjoy theses at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw Press, Amazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy.

352. Goverment

Ahhh. I’ve had a whole week off from C.W. He’s trying his hand at consulting. Somehow, he got a gig working on the re-organization of our state government. I guess he finished since he showed back up this morning. As I figured, he was still in the form of Reggie the Young Conservative.

“I’m bushed,” he said. “I thought getting rid of old-timey government would be easy.”

“Oh?”

“Government is hard,” he said.

“That’s what I’ve always heard.”

“Who said it would be easy?”

I looked at him. “Uh,” I said. “Your pals?”

“Well,” he said, sipping a latte he had brought with him. “I did my part.”

“Which was?”

“My assignment was to reduce the number of state agencies.”

“And?”

“I got it down to six.”

“Which were?”

“One,” he said, holding up a finger, “The Department of Tax Cuts.”

“The what?”

“It’s a ‘sunset department.’ Self-liquidating. It’ll be gone in three years, max.”

“Say what?”

“Two,” he said. “the Department of Energy Consumption.”

“Which does what?”

He smiled. “Well let’s just say you won't see any more of those solar panels or windmills dotting our landscape.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Three: The Department of Payroll and Expenditures.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes,” he said. “Have to. The governor’s wife has expensive tastes and his pals need jobs.”

“What kind of jobs?”

“Four: The Department of Peace and Quiet. I saved us loads of money there.”

“How?”

“For one, no more state police. The cities have to take care of their portion of the highways. Same with jails. We’ll tell them who we don’t want associating with the good folks and the city of origin will take care of rounding up, and herding in, and keeping them from public view.”

“I guess next is a department for education.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “Walmart will take care of that.”

“How?”

“They’ll add classrooms onto their stores. Sort of a ‘drop them off to learn while you shop’ arrangement. Each employee will take a shift teaching.”

“Teaching them what?”

“All they need to know.”

“Which is?”

“How to greet, stock, sweep, watch over the auto checkouts, run computers, and compute profits.”

 

The legislators in charge of
reorganization rejoice upon
completion of their work. - C.W.

“What about history and math and language skills?”

This time he looked at me funny. “Are you crazy?”

“No, but I’m beginning to think I’m living in an asylum.”

“That brings me to number Five, the Department of Emergency Care.”

“The what?”

“Emergency care. Our Health and Welfare Committee decided that was all the care we really needed and the various emergency rooms around the state will provide that. All our department will have to do is print and distribute directions to the emergency rooms along with parking instructions.”

“Any more departments?’

“Six: The Department of Truck and Commuter Mobility. Want to hear about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s about it,” he said, with a noticeable display of pride. “The Guv says it will be the smoothest operating government this side of Somalia.”

“With only six departments?”

“And a few agencies. The largest will be run by a group of evangelical ministers: The Agency for Funny Acting Groups.”

“And they will?”

“Funny you should ask, I happen to have their mission statement here.” He took a folded page from his coat pocket, opened it, and scanned the contents. “Here is the main part,” he said. Then he read, “our mission will have been completed when our state is cleansed of deviants, those who would take from the wholesome and give to the unworthy, teach unilateral forgiveness to our youth, wander jobless throughout our state, cohabitate with individuals of the same sex, and refuse treatment of, or cure for, such ailments as a thorn in their side.” He folded the paper. “Neat huh? We’re thinking of having that carved in granite and placed on the state capitol grounds.”

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Also check out www.allhatnocattle.com

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Sports

Dear Ask The Alien:

Our state loves its football team like Donald Trump loves a headline. The problem is that the team is currently losing every game it plays. My husband is near suicidal. One night he woke up in the middle of the night screaming, “No, no, they’ll spend the money on something stupid like science labs.” Our home life is becoming unbearable. Last evening, I walked in and stood between him and the TV, completely nude with my hands on my hips and my feet wide apart. He just looked, shook his head sadly, and said, "We can't handle the spread offense." Believe it our not, he was talking about football. Please help me.

Loser’s Wife

Dear Loser’s Wife:

On Falloonia, when a sports fan becomes over-agitated, we have members of the team come over and read to him passages from our classic literature. I’m afraid that won’t work in this case for a couple of reasons. So I suggest a substitute to watching football games. Finding one of comparable worth was difficult, but no problem is too great for “Ask The Alien.” So I am forwarding you, under a separate post, the location of a TV channel that consists of a camera trained on a large tropical aquarium 24 hours a day. In one week, your husband should be back to abnormal. If this doesn't work, contact me for a personal counseling session.
Your Friend,
The Alien C.W



Oh, that your species could get this
excited over matrix algebra. - C.W.

See also: www.wattensawpress.com

269. Anniversaries

I took C.W. for a ride yesterday to get him out of my wife’s hair. Given a chance, he can start to annoy her. This time, he found an old photo album of her high school days and, using a secret process he calls “enphasing,” began to appear in the form of one after another of her old classmates. Just imagine what might go wrong.

Let’s just say that it was good to get him out of the house. I told him to take on the form, more or less, of a typical person you might see at Walmart. His first attempt wasn’t too good. He appeared as an unkempt man with a belly extending nearly a foot over his belt, a backward NRA cap, and a sleeveless tank top revealing tattoos on both arms, one stating “The South Rools,” and the other “Remember Gettisbirg.”

“Whut?” he said when I shook my head in disapproval. “I’ll fit right in.” He picked at his nose. “Better’n you anyway. Remember the time you wore your ‘Support Our Public Schools’ tee-shirt and they asked you to leave?”

“Back,” I said. “Try again.”

“This time he looked quite a bit like an old Navy buddy from a photo of the two of us after we had used our day off to visit some enlisted clubs. I frowned in disapproval but let it slide.

Once in the car, he instantly started to get on my nerves.

“What’s wrong with Mrs. Big Dope?  

I just looked over at him and said nothing.

“Did you mix paint with her favorite measuring cup again?”

It didn’t seem worthwhile to respond.

“Don’t tell me you spilled more wine on her ZZ Top CD.”

“No,” I said, “and that wasn’t me, if you will remember. Someone lied about it.”

He ignored me. “You didn’t badmouth Matthew McConaughey did you?”

“Could you ever imagine,” I said, “that it might be something you did?”

“Me?”

“You.”

He didn’t speak for almost a minute. “Can’t imagine a thing.” He said, after the pause.

“That last shape you took.”

“Oh,” he said, “that real pretty girl with the big …”

“That’s the one.”

“Weren’t they good friends? I mean back in high school?”

“Hardly.”

He truly seemed dumbfounded. “Why … what … how could it be? You mean they weren’t best friends?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“They didn’t like each other?”

“Bingo.”

“What was the the cause, explanation, or justification for the action or event?”

“The reason, as I understand it, was a boyfriend. I learned long ago not to ask.”

“She had another boyfriend before you?”"

“Well yeah,” I said, mimicking the young folks.

“How could that be? You’ve been married for how long now?”

“Tomorrow marks 43 years,” I said. “That’s where we are headed: to buy her a gift.”

And Big Dope tells me that you see
some weird-looking people at Walmart. - C.W.

“Hey,” he said. “Maybe she would like a new Astrocelestial Sound Synthesizer. You know how much she likes to mimic that woman with all those kids.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I read where the women in California all want a new A…”

I cut him off. “Forget it,” I said. “I think she wants a new tool box and a set of metric wrenches.”

“A true romantic,” he said and we continued in silence.

Later, at Walmart, I had to rush over and intercede when I heard him tell a vacant-eyed adolescent “associate” that he wanted to buy a card for “the yearly recurrence of the date of a past event.”

Would anyone like to keep an alien for a while?

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

Available at major on-line retailers, or
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268. Places

C.W. is being punished. As best as I can manage, he is confined to quarters, meaning the spare bedroom we keep. Of course he can escape anytime he wants, but I’m locking the computer away when I’m not using it so he won’t go far.

What did he do this time?

Hitchhiking.

Yes. Hitchhiking. It all began when he started asking me about the GPS navigational systems that people are increasingly relying upon to get around.

“Can’t they read a diagrammatic representation of an area of land or sea showing physical features, cities, roads, etc.” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Reading a map has pretty much disappeared as skill.”

“That’s what I feared,” he said, “when I read that more than 20 percent of your population can’t locate the Pacific Ocean on a map of the world.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“It’s not as though it is not prominent,” he said.

“Pretty prominent,” I said.

“And 11 percent can’t locate the United States?”

“Sad to say.”

“So people use those little boxes with the obnoxious voices emanating from them to get around?”

“Many do.”

“They go exactly where the boxes tell them?”

“Without question.”

“Don’t they know that a superior mental force …,” he paused. “Say a visitor from the Wobeenanis Galaxy, could scramble the directions?”

“You don’t think highly of those folks, now do you?”

A vicious place producing creatures of low expectations,” he said. Then he brightened. “Wait one,” he said, and then he disappeared.

When he returned, he was in the form of that actor, Brad Pitt. He said he was going for a walk. Actually, I found out later, he was going hitchhiking. After deputies had returned him several times, I deduced that he had been hitching rides with strangers willing to assist him because of his appearance. Using some Falloonian powers of which I was unaware, he had used his ability to re-direct automobile GPS systems so that he had, on different occasions,

- Led a Bluegrass Band to a Hip Hop concert.

- Led a mine operator to a Sierra Club meeting

- Led a “Tea Party” activist into a public housing complex

- Led a pro-wrestling fan to a ballet recital

- Led an ardent vegetarian to a pig farm

- Led a “creationist” to the public library … and … was finally caught, wouldn’t you know it … leading a prominent Baptist minister to a barn dance.

Don’t contact me asking for clemency. He is confined indefinitely.

 

Why do so many of your species
live in the constant fear that
at some place, somewhere, someone
may be having fun? - C.W.

 

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

W
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267. Facts

“What on earth are you doing?” There was Eddie the Entrepreneur sitting in the middle of my living room floor amidst a pile of posters and paper scraps. Of course it was C.W. in one of his favorite shapes, the young genius who will someday match Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg in fame and fortune.  He looked up, pushed his long, shaggy hair to the back of his head, and stared over his horn-rimmed glasses at me.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said. “I need to test some ideas.”

“Ideas for what?”

“My new non-difference between the amount earned and the amount spent in buying, operating, or producing something.”

“Do you mean your non-profit?”

“There you go repeating me gain.”

I ignored him. “So what are you not going to make a profit in now?”

“This,” he said, holding up an ad mock-up. There in bold type was a call-to-action for one to “Cure Cognichasm.”

“Cognichasm?”

“Yep. You all need to be cured of it.”

“What is your solution?”

“A seven-week course designed to cure one of the greatest mental shortcomings of your species,” he said.

“And that is?”

“Your apparent inability to connect cognitive phenomena,” he said, “and the mental chasm it produces.”

I began to sense his meaning. “And you got this idea when?”

He looked at me sternly. “You know very well when.”

“Those ten so-called ‘presidential candidates’ didn’t constitute a fair sample of the ability of our species to engage in linear thinking,” I said.

“Well they did mention a cure for a problem that was tried by the Chinese, with no apparent success, centuries ago. That’s a pretty big cognitive gap.”

“They were just kidding about ‘building an immigrant-proof wall’ and maintaining it,” I said. “After all, they were appearing on an entertainment venue.”

“Forget them,” he said. “Between the ten of them, they couldn’t connect two dots if they were standing in a field of sunflowers.” He consulted a sheet of paper filled with typing. “Let’s look at some examples.” He read for a few seconds. “Here’s one,” he said. “We can stop teen pregnancies by telling teens not to have sex.” He gave me a smug nod. “Now just how disconnected is that from reality?”

I was on the defensive all of a sudden. “I didn’t come up with that,” I said, “but some people believe it.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “the teens of your species have such a long history of doing exactly what adults say.”

“That’s a strained example.”

“Oh really?” he said. “Try this instead: Sex education leads to teen-aged pregnancies.”

I couldn’t think of an answer, so he kept reading.

“Cutting revenue inflow increases available revenue.”

I said nothing.

“The more you charge on your credit card, the more money you make.”

I said nothing.

“The only way to save a country is to destroy it.”

I said nothing.

“Facts are stupid things.”

Silence on my part.

 “Training children to excel on standardized tests makes them more educated.”

Oh dear.

“The drinking of whiskey puts the spirit of conviviality in one’s heart and enhances our existence.”



What can I add? - C.W.

“Now wait just a minute.”

“Oh,” he said. “Excuse me. My mistake.” He ran his finger down the list. “Here it is: The drinking of whiskey destroys our families, communities, and civic organizations.”

“And your point?”

“Each member of your species tends to interpret facts to fit its own beliefs.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “We can be as logical as the next species, perhaps more so. And we are a pleasant example. You said yourself that drinking whiskey—especially, I think, Four Roses Single-Barrel—helps a lot.”

“You aren’t much help,” he said, “maybe my fans can come up with some examples.”

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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

257. Writing

It is uncertain as to whether I have mentioned this, but C.W. exhibits a tendency toward imitation. I think it is part of the training he received on Falloonia prior to coming here. Anyway, he sometimes goes to great lengths to imitate things he sees Earthlings do.

For example: he remains impressed by the fact that I have written a book and am on the verge of completing another. Evidently, reading is considered an admirable pastime on his home planet.

"How would a species that doesn't read ever expect to explore our marvelous galaxy?" he says. Good point.

So it was no surprise when I caught him, or at least him as Johnny Ray, the adolescent student, busily blasting away at my computer and muttering to himself.

"There you go," he said to the computer, "thrust it in and rotate. That'll make her scream. She loves it."

"C.W.," I said, yelling to get his attention. "What are you doing? Mrs. V can hear you."

"Now she's moaning," he said, ignoring me. "You got her motor purring now. She'll take you anywhere you want. Oh baby, baby."

"Johnny Ray, " I said. "Stop it."

That finally got his attention. He evidently wasn't answering to "C.W." today.

"Wait one," he said, "This gal is hot and ready to go."

"Stop it," I said. "What are you doing."

He finally looked up at me. "Writing," was all he said.

"I can see that," I said, "but what are you writing?"

"A novel."

"About what?"

"A time machine," he said. "It's creator has just inserted the rod that energizes its engine and it is becoming operational."

I covered my face with my hands. "And where did you get the idea for a novel? And what is it about, other than a time machine?"

"From reading the news," he said, "and it is about victors and victims."

"As in?"

He leaned back and smiled. "It's about the future."

"I thought that might be the case," I said. "What about the future?"

"It's like this," he said. "The powerful class has eliminated education and intellectual curiosity from among the victim class."

"Now where did you get that idea?"

He ignored me and continued. "And they have created a race that just prances around clueless all day, never questioning their fate or purpose, totally trusting in a mysterious higher power."

"And?"

"The power class becomes so depraved from all that unrestrained power that they even hate the illuminating power of sunlight and have taken to living underground."

"I see," I said. "Would you be interested ..."

He interrupted me. "That's not the best part."

"Oh?"

"No, the ruling demons feast on the helpless above-grounders, since food can't grow underground. It's a metaphor for symbiotic relationships among the classes: pleasure and sustenance and all that. Bound to be a best-seller." He leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I hate to tell you that it's already been done," I said.

"What, taking education from the masses, disempowering them, and devouring them?"

"Well," I said, "we'll talk about that later. What I mean is ... that book has been written."

"It's what?"

"Afraid so, by a man named H.G. Wells, back in the late 1800s."

Earthlings need to remember that their
future rests completely in their hands. - C.W.

His face fell. "Drats," was all he said.

"Sorry," I said.

"No sweat," he said. "I have a backup plan."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. A novel about a bunch of animals with no moral foundation other than self-enrichment taking over your farm and running it."

"Oh," I said, "that sounds like a good one. Go for it."


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Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com

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

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