297. Love and Grace

Oh my, y’all, C.W. has a new shape, and it may be the strangest one yet. He calls it simply “The Galilean.”

Yes. That Galilean —white robes, sandals and all.

It’s not just one shape. It’s two: the Galilean and a pal. (He can do that if he wants). Anyway, they’ve been going everywhere together, the one in his robe and the other in a three-piece suit with vest and tie-pin. They’ve already been thrown out of a Chick-fil-a and menaced at Hobby Lobby.

Did I mention that they don’t bother bathing all that often?

Of course the one wants me to interview the other and pay close attention to his testimony, that is to say that Three-Piece wants me to be pals with the Galilean. Actually, I haven’t minded so far, since he always brings a bottle of “Four Roses Single Barrel” to make the conversation flow more easily. Three Piece keeps the glasses full while the Galilean pontificates.

Yesterday he was grumbling.

“You won’t believe, Big Dope …”

“Wait,” I said, pointing to Three Piece. “Did he tell you to call me that?”

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” he said. “Does it matter by which name I call you out?”

Three Piece giggled. “Go on,” I said.

“I get a bum rap,” he said. “Some of your species make up and blame me for all kinds of cr…”

“Careful,” I said. “Remember that the sun rises on the evil and on the good.”

“I am the way,” he said. “Let not your heart be troubled.”

I directed us back to the point of the conversation. “So just how have you been maligned?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a character named Franklin Graham?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Joel Osteen?”

“Oh, boy.”

“John Hagee? The guys and I call him Piggy.”

“He’s a work of art all right.”

He had a sad, far-away look in his eyes. “Well, how would you like to have them invoke your name?”

“Not really,” I said.

“The worst though,” he said, after taking a sip of his Four Roses and Three Cubes,  “was that son of a …”

“Careful,” I said. “My wife is in the next room.”

“That jerk,” he said, “Algernon Charles Swinburne.”

“Swineburne dissed you?”

“If it were not so, would I have told you?” He drained his glass and handed it to Three Piece with a flip that indicated a refill.”

“What did Swinburne do, exactly?” We waited for Three Piece.

“Ah,” he said, taking his drink in hand. “It’s nice to have a dear companion. Ask and it shall be given.” He winked at Three Piece. “I used to hang out with The Apostle,” he said, “but he wouldn’t get off this ‘thorn in my side’ kick and it got to where I wouldn’t go into a public restroom with him.”

“About Swinburne,” I said.

“He wrote this afwful poem,” he said, “in which he judged others. You know I don’t like that …”

“Others?”

“Well, me,” he said. “Claimed the old gods were bright, colorful, and full of life.”

“And you?”

He gazed off into space and thought, so he would get the passage correct. “Me? Try this on for size, ‘Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath.’ I complained to him about it once.”



Swinburne can just kiss my grits. - The Galilean

“And what did he say?”

“'Everyone who humbles himself will be exalted.’ I sort of like that quote. I’ve used it myself.” He drained his glass. “But I never though anyone would use it on me.”

I contemplated this for a moment, while Three Piece scurried about. “So you think the line is unfair?”

“Thanks,” he said to Three Piece. Then he turned to me. “Don’t you ever read the scriptures?”

I fought the urge to borrow the famous line from General George S. Patton. Instead, I said, “Well yeah.”

“One of the few who do,” he said. “Anyway, then you know we were a bunch of wild and crazy guys, back in the day.”

“Oh really?”

“Hell yes,” he said. “Me and my bros just wandered about not bothering a soul, sipping wine, breaking bread, …” he giggled, “sometimes wind as well, and telling people to love one another as we loved them.” His eyes took on that far-away look again. He sipped. “I don’t really recommend that you do that, though.”
 

“And why not?’

“You see where it got us, don’t you?”

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250. Blacklists

Oh my, I thought someone was staging a production of Animal Farm in my living room. It was that extraterrestrial rascal C.W., of course, but what the …? I thought it was a pig wearing a silk suit sitting at my computer.

Actually, he had taken on the form of that TV evangelist John Hagee. It was pretty frightening.  “What on earth?” I said.

“Making a list,” he said. “Be quiet or face the wrath of God.”

Well I certainly didn’t want to risk that, so I sat on the couch and waited until he had finished a thought.

“There,” he said. “That should about do it.” He looked up at me.

“Do what?”

“Complete my list of forbidden customers—ones that good Christian salespeople can no longer serve.” He studied the screen for a second, and started typing again. “Divorcees,” he said.

“You’re making a list,” I said, “of people that Christians can’t serve?”

“The Conference commissioned me,” he said. “Badly needed now. Badly needed. Lots of sin going on in these end-times.”

“And the point is?”

He grimaced. “Can’t risk a good Christian selling goods or services to the wicked and damned,” he said. “Might be contagious. Just like those ‘homo-weddings’ that the Bible wouldn’t allow.”

“You mentioned divorcees,” I said.

“Oh yes. Hell a lot of those wicked folks running around wanting to do business with the sanctified.”

“Divorcees?”

“Don’t you read your Bible? Christ was real clear about that.” He pointed to a large-print Bible belonging to my mother-in-law. “Right there in Matthew Nine, ‘I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another woman commits adultery.’ Christ himself said it then, and I’m telling you now,” he said with a smug expression, “we can’t have us godly folks serving such base sinners.”

“Jesus never married,” I said, “so he didn’t have to face that possibility.”

“Never married,” he said. “Neither did any of those who traveled with him. They were, uh, celibate.”

“I see,” I said. “Anyone else on your list?”

“Well,” he said, “Pharisees. Jesus didn’t much care for them.”

“So your people shouldn’t serve Jews.”

“Just the Rabbis,” he said. “The others are okay.” He thought for a moment, “Besides, we need to keep them alive until we need them.”

I let this one go. “And the rich?”

“What about them?”

“I seem to remember,” I said, “that Jesus was pretty hard on the rich.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s all taken out of context and overblown. Besides … they’re the ones with the money. Can’t quit serving us, … I mean … them.”

“Anyone who has ever made fun of a bald-headed man?”

“Yes,” he said excitedly as he began pounding on the computer again. “Thanks.”

“Let’s get back to this adultery thing,” I said.

“Let’s,” he said.

“So any couple who may have lived together before marriage or …,” I struggled with the words.

“Played the little ‘in-out’ game before they got hitched,” he said, laughing.

“Quite,” I said.

The laugh went away. “No can serve,” he said.

“Uh,” I said, “isn’t that pretty strict?”

“The Bible is the Bible,” he said. “I don’t make the rules. It says that if you can’t go without sex—absolutely can’t go without it for another day—you have to get married to do it, but you shouldn’t anyway because there isn’t a lot of time for such nonsense before the world ends.”

“When was that said, and by whom?”

“Um,” he said, looking at his notes, “About two thousand years ago. Paul said it, or maybe it was his partner Timothy. They traveled together and their notes got mixed.”

“His partner?”

“Now look,” he said, “If you’re going to be a thorn in my side, you can just leave.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m terribly interested. Just what are you calling your list?”

“Ah,” he said. “I have chosen a wonderful name: ‘A Holy Omissions List for Evangelist Salespeople.'”

“Oh my,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “I call it my AHOLES list.”

I didn’t say another word.

 

I just don't understand why some people think Jesus
wouldn't like rich folks. This man is rich and he
claims Jesus loves him a lot. - C.W.

 

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243. Sin

“So what did he preach on?”

“Sin.”

“Is that all?”

“He was agin’ it.”

We both cracked up. No matter how many times C.W. and I do that old Will Rogers skit, with him of course shaped like Will himself, we get tickled as we reenact Calvin Coolidge’s wife asking him about his trip to church.

We soon got down to serious business, though. The media was full of news about states, including ours, passing laws against what they feel is the sin of being gay. C.W.wondered why our state legislature thought it is a sin.

“Because the Bible says it’s so,” said one of our state’s senators—as C.W. described him: “A strange looking little fellow with a goatee that looks like it might slide off to the floor at any moment.”

So here we were, in our living room pondering the concept of sin in more detail. How did it take its origin or rise?” C.W. asked.

“It originated,” I said, in the book that so many of our local species claim to observe.”

“This?” He picked up a worn copy of a King James version.

“That’s the one.”

“So when, in this process, did sinning start in earnest?”

“Well,” I said, “there is the issue of ‘original sin’ which I guess is the granddaddy of them all.”

“And that sin involves?”

“Having sex,” I said.

“So it was forbidden for your species?”

“Quite so, it seems.”

“But,” he said, “ain’t that sorta like telling a chick that it’s sinful to peck its way out of the egg.”

“I guess you might put it that way.”

“Any other long standing sins? I mean the ones that could really get you a spiritual butt-whipping?”

“Well,” I said, “we’re not supposed to kill.”

“Not supposed to …” he had begun to take notes but stopped in mid-sentence. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But your species in this country has been at war constantly this time for uh …” he consulted some notes. “Twelve years.”

“More or less.”

“With not only no end in sight but lining up a couple more?”

“Our junior senator seems to hope it’s so.”

“Wouldn’t it put more milk in the bucket to aim some laws toward stopping war?”

“Maybe so,” I said, “but some of us seem to like it?”

He took a deep breath. “Hit me again,” he said.

“We are supposed to honor our parents, otherwise we are sinning big time.”

“What?” He picked up the Bible and began turning pages, “Where oh where is it?” he muttered to himself, “Here,” he said, “In what you call ‘The Gospel of Luke,’ your Fearsome Father’s favorite son says, ‘If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.’ Now what the heck?”

“Some things in that book we take more seriously than others,” I said, rather weakly.

He made a note. “Anything else?”

“Adultery.”

“And the Fearsome Father’s take on that?”

“He’s agin it.” I said. We both smiled.

“What about this King David, whom your religion regards so highly?”

“What about him?”

He opened the Bible. “Reads like the crack of dawn wasn’t safe when he was on point.”

“Stop it,” I said.

“But tell me,” he said, turning very serious, “Where will I find the stricture against one of worst sins that we Falloonians could imagine. We treasure our children,” He added, handing me the Bible.

“And that is?” I prepared to begin searching.

“Purposefully inducing primal fears, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress disorder in young children.”
“Doing what?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, his face gray and hard.

“No,” I said, “I don’t think I do.”

“This practice that your species seems not only to condone but encourage during the rearing of children”

What does it say about the power of your religion
if you must have the government enforce it? - C.W.

“And that is?”

“The practice of taking those precious young things into a dark room and telling them that the Fearsome Father might just, if they displease them, hurl their bodies into a fiery pit for all eternity where they will writhe and scream in constant agony forever and ever.”

I couldn’t speak.

“When are your lawmakers going to deal with that?”

“I don’t know how we could,” I said.

“Maybe you could put a monument forbidding it on your state capitol grounds.”

 

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- C.W.

Bigotry

Dear Friends and Followers:

Big Dope is still sleeping so I take these moments to share a few thoughts that I plan to include in my next report to the Falloonian Elders. They don’t think I have been paying enough attention to your politics, so I have been slipping away and watching the legislature in Big Dope’s home state. I find the process bewildering or perplexing to the point of making me unable to think with clarity or act with intelligence or understanding. (Editor’s note: He means “confusing.”

The most interesting escapades I observed involve what I am calling in my report as “Bigotry Support Laws.” These seemed to be proposed for the purpose of legitimizing bigotry against outsiders whom the sponsor of the legislation doesn’t trust. There also seems to be a fear of changing conditions in your sociological evolution to which the sponsor is unable to adjust. Myself, I find these changes and trends one of the few positive indicators within the behavior order of your species. But then I am not a legislator.

The sponsors of such bills often seem to be in what Big Dope humorously refers to as “panic mode” as if the changes, such as the acceptance of a loving relationship between members of the same sex, would threaten the sponsor’s own safety.

Now, none of this is new. My study of the history of your species tells me that bigotry has been a dominant feature of your behavior patterns for ages.

Therein lies the irony of this current behavior.

Oddly, the supporters of Bigotry Support laws (I’ll just call them BS laws for short) feel that the chances for passage improve to the extent that they are presented as supporting what you call “religious freedom.”

How idiotic, if you don’t mind my saying so.

These BS laws are, to one familiar with the nature of our galaxy, a direct result of over four billion years of what you call "evolution." Consider the distrust of strangers. It is obviously a remnant of the ancient impulse of your developing species to band together in tribes for mutual protection.

The fear? The individual organism on the ancient savannah who wasn’t stressed and kept alert by constant fear of predators would be the first one eaten. Fear is a prime motivator for your behavior, and when it doesn’t exist, you can develop BS legislation to support it as an artificial motivator..

And the panic exhibit by BS legislators is nothing more than the old “flight or fight” syndrome writ large.

So, the passage of BS legislation certainly doesn’t derive from your literary figure who said, “Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” Oh no, BS legislation could not be further in intent than that.

It more closely matches, I believe and shall report accordingly, the words of the English poet Alfred Lord Tennyson who spoke of “Nature, red in tooth and claw.”

 

I would hope that you will eventually realize
that bigotry can take you to dark places
to where you should not return. - C.W.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Prophesies

Dear Friends and Followers

 I got the biggest blow or forceful thrust with the foot out of this cartoon from my friend Lisa at

http://www.allhatnocattle.net today. (Editor’s note: he means “kick.” His Galactic Universal Translator has tricked him again.).

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161. Credentials

C.W. is back on his kick of having a career. He thinks that the simple fact of being an alien qualifies him for some area of expertise. Maybe so.

“You are the species, after all,” he pointed out. “that made a Oliver North into a political pundit.

“Well yes.” I had to agree.

“And we won’t mention that TV show about the little fat girl that breaks breezes as her primary talent.”

“You must mean Honey-Boo Boo,” I said. “I have heard she has a tendency to fa…, uh break wind as you say.”

“So let’s talk about standards.” He had taken on one of his wildest forms in months, wearing a rumpled outfit set off by a corduroy jacket with, oh yes, suede patches on the elbows. His wild gray hair stood straight up at least six inches and he wore those half-frame reading glasses that he glared over as he talked.

“I want to be a TV personality,” he said.

“Don’t we all?” I said. “How do you propose it?” We were sitting in front of our farm shop where I had been working with my new woodturning lathe. Two friends had come for a visit and had just left when C.W. appeared.

“I will become a UFOologist,” he said with a bright smile. “It’s a natural, don’t you agree?”

“Uh,” I said. “That sounds a little ridiculous. Whatever gave you such an idea?”

“I saw it on the History Channel,” he said, assuming a defensive air. “They wouldn’t put anything ridiculous on the History Channel, would they?”

“I need to get back to my work.”

“So I need to prepare my credentials,” he said. “Then I can be the expert they interview on these shows about flying saucers visiting Earth.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be dismissive,” he said. “They have it all wrong.”

“What all wrong?”

“About visitors from other galaxies. They avoid this place at all costs.”

“Why?”

“Well, your species has a habit of shooting strangers who wander by.”

“But you’re here.”

“Yes, but I fit in,” he said. “I assimilate.”

I looked him over. “Quite so.” I said. “Now, can I get back to work?”

“What about my credentials?”

“What about them?”

“Should I be registered, certified, or licensed?”

“Are you serious?”

“Registered sounds good,” he said. “Like a ‘registered engineer,’ the ones who design pipelines and such.”

“Sounds a little too close to ‘registered sex offender’ I said.

“I’ve never offended anyone of either sex,” he said.

“Not even when you wanted my wife to star in ‘Desperate Housewives of Arkansas’”?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be certified."

“That’s what she keeps saying.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“How about licensed, then? That has a nice ring—Licensed UFOologist—don’t you think.”

“A license to deceive people for personal gain?”

“They license acupuncturists and faith healers, don’t they?”

“Yes, and also dogs that have been vaccinated.”

He was a bit deflated by now. I could sense that his dreams of glory were evaporating. He stood and walked over to our shop building. He looked in and then turned toward me.



Don't fear aliens from another planet, my friends.
If you see one, just say "Klaatu barada nikto."
That is a galactic message of friendship. It means:
"Peace to you. I'm just walking along eating my Skittles."
C.W. - Certified UFOologist

“Who were those men who were here?”

“Just friends,” I said.

“What were you talking about?”

“Woodworking mostly.”

“I was up at the hose,” he said. “Mrs. Big Dope said you were talking about ‘it,’ whatever that is.”

“I can’t imagine,” I said.

“Hey,” he said, brightening as he looked inside the shop. “Look at this mess. I could help you. Maybe I could become a certified organizer. I’ll bet nobody ever thought of that one.”

160 Deities

I was questioning C.W. the other day on the concept of religion on his home planet of Falloonia. In the middle of the conversation, he abruptly left the room. I could hear sounds of scuffling in the next room, punctuated by an occasional “Oh, you’re looking good, baby.”

He reemerged in as strange a getup and shape as I had ever seen him. He had on a double-breasted suit that could almost blind a person by its sheen. His hair was a dark auburn and shone to match the suit. It was piled on his head as if a slight shake might make it tumble into a haystack of oily confusion. He waved a hand, exposing a wrist circled by a Rolex watch and fingers encrusted with diamonds. His shoes were patent leather and completed the “sparkle” effect.

“Wadup child?” he said, making a sign of benediction.

“Uh,” I began before going speechless.

“Lay it on me, oh ‘Searcher for Truth,’ and let me sooth your soul.” He sat on a couch, revealing patterned socks that matched perfectly the color of his suit.

“We were discussing the concept of religion on your home planet,” I said.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“Do you have such a concept?”

“Well,” he said as he thought it over. “We wouldn't buy into serpents who speak in Hebrew to naked women.”

“No,’ I said. “I wouldn’t suppose so.”

“They tend to worship knowledge there,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.” He stopped and thought for a moment then continued. “I’m not sure we ever had a deity paradigm that espoused getting angry at the way its creation was behaving and drowning everyone. Or nearly everyone.”

“Oh, really,”

“No, we would have believed that design flaws were the fault of the designer.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“But we would like ‘The Song of Soloman,’” he added quickly.

“Oh really?”

“Oh man,” he said. “Want to hear some of my favorite passages?”

“Maybe later,” I said.

“Ah, breasts like two young roses,” he said dreamily.

It was time to redirect the conversation. “But do you, on your home planet, have a guiding philosophy, a religion that guides your moral behavior?”

“Religion guiding moral behavior?” He pondered the question.

“Some say it does.”

“Like,” he thought for a moment, “… like killing children who make fun of bald men?”

“As an extreme, I suppose.”

“Uh,” he said, “then no.”

“So you don’t see a connection between the two, religion and moral behavior.”

He studied the question. “Isn’t behavior determined by preservation of the individual, the group, and the species?”

If you don't mind the observation, this
represents a bit of a strange method of what
you call "Beta Testing." - C.W.

“That’s a rather bleak picture, according to some,” I said.

“We can’t erase a picture simply because it seems bleak,” he said. Suddenly he brightened and extended a finger towards me, exposing an onyx cufflink set off by a sparkling ruby. “We would like the parts of your theology that speak to blessing the meek.”

“Oh really?” I said.

“Yes,” and giving to the poor,” he said, becoming visibly excited. “And lauding the peacemakers. And about agreeing with thine adversaries quickly.”

Then he stopped and his face grew dark. “Except for those damned liberals.”