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.

 

300. Fear

Sometimes C.W. ends up explaining things to me in the strangest fashion, like this morning when I found him in the shape of a young police officer reading the daily news and smoking a cigarette.

“Don’t let my wife catch you doing that,” I said.

“Doing what?”

“You know. Smoking in the house. She’s warned you before.”

“I’m not afraid of her. Are you?”

“Hell yes,” I said. “I recommend it very highly.”

“What? Fear or Mrs. Big Dope?”

“Both,” I said. “Or don’t Falloonians experience fear?”

“Anxiety,” he said. “We sometimes experience anxiety.”

“Oh really? Like when?”

“Like,” he said and stopped to think. “Like when we worry that the illogic that pervades your species might clean, polish, or manipulate by the application of pressure and friction off on us.”

“That our illogic might rub off on you?” Then I decided not to rise to the bait, as he took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled. “You’re going to die,” I said.

“Did you know,” he said, “that the Victorians in England used the word ‘die’ as a euphemism for a sexual orgasm?”

I was pleased at his vocabulary and the fact that he was doing outside research. I nodded and asked, “And did you pick up that bit of trivia there?” I nodded toward the newspaper.

“Oh no,” he said. “I read that in one of Mrs. Big Dope’s books.”

“My wife doesn’t read books like that,” I said.

“How do you know what she reads? You’re always asleep and snoring away by the time she begins to read. You might be surprised.”

I quickly moved to change the subject. “So is there anything interesting in the news today?”

“Illogic and contradictions, unless you understand what you people call evolution.”

I waited.

“Most of the articles are stirring up fear,” he said. “Fear of the food we eat on the left, and fear of the people we meet on the right. Fear of everything else in the middle.”

I nodded. “So where is the illogical?”

“Here,” he said, motioning at the front page. “Seems that even in your largest city, the crime rate is dropping.” He motioned again. “There’s not a country in the world that wants to invade yours.” He opened the paper and nodded. “You are living well past any expectations, given the poor care you take of your bodies.” He lowered the paper. “Yours is one of the safest places on the planet.”

I sat thinking of all this. “Then why,” I said, “all the fear?”

“Evolution,” he said.

“We fear evolution?”

“Some of the least of those among you fear the concept,” he said, “but no, I mean your so-called evolutionary process creates the fear and anxiety.”

“Elucidate,” I said. He paused, and I could almost hear the whirring of his Galactic Universal Translator. “Your GUT giving you problems again?”

“My GUT is fine and I trust it,” he said. “Now, where was I? Oh, I remember.” He paused again. “You asked me to make something that is hard to understand clear or easy to comprehend.”

“Quite so,” I said, enjoying his discomfort. “Evolution and fear.”

“Imagine,” he said, “you are Australopithecus afarensis, one of your ancient cousins, roaming the savannah with your pals.”

I closed my eyes. “Okay,” I said.

“All of you are as tense as a mouse in a cat food factory,” he said, “watching for things that love to eat you, and those things are legion.”

The biggest problem with fear is; it sells so well. - C.W.

“Okay.”

“Except one of you is not tense, afraid, or nervous,” he said. “You are so laid back you could listen to a Jennifer Hudson song without flinching.”

“That’s pretty laid back,” I said

 

“My point exactly,” he said. “Now which of you do you think is going to be eaten first?”

I opened my eyes. “You mean the value of anxiety has lingered with us?”

“Stuck in your DNA like stink on …”

A voice exploded from the next room, “What the hell is that I smell?” I turned toward it. When I turned back, C.W. was gone and, by my hand, the cigarette burned in an ash tray, its smoke rising to curl in the form of a noose.

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249. Games

It was a rainy, lazy morning and C.W. and I were alone, the ladies having gone to a memorial service somewhere. I always take this opportunity to persuade him to play one of my favorite games. It goes like this.

He goes into the next room where he can hear me and I yell out a name from history. He then shapeshifts into the form of the person I call out and returns to where I am.

I use it to sharpen my knowledge of history and expand my intellectual background. It’s purely an educational exercise.

“Next,” he yelled from beyond the doorway.

“Uh,” I said, “how about a young Sophia Loren?”

“How young?”

“Oh … maybe 19 or so.”

I heard a shuffling and in he (she) walked and, oh my goodness.

“How’s this?”

I couldn’t answer. It was impossible for me to talk. Sophia made a circle around the room while I tried to catch my breath. She smiled at me and paraded out before I could request another circle. From the other room, I heard a sweet voice, articulated by a soft Italian accent. “Mrs. Big Dope had better not catch us playing this game.” There was quick chuckle. “Remember the last time?”

By now, I had found my voice. “That was a different game,” I said.

“How so?”

“It was called ‘Modern Movie and TV Actresses’ and it didn’t qualify as historical education.”

“Oh,” he said. “Who’s next?”

I thought. “Brigitte Bardot,” I said.

There was a silence, then, “What age?”

“How old was she when she made ‘And God Created Woman?’ That should do it.”

“How in the world should I know, darling?” This time the voice had a different accent, maybe French. I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

 

“Say, 21 or 22.”

“Wait a moment,” the voice said.

I dropped my coffee in my lap when she walked in. As I jumped to wipe it up, she giggled. “Your wife will be furious.”

“Just wait a moment,” I said, not able to look back at her for cleaning the mess.

“Oh,” Bridgette said, “here she comes now.” I looked up as she pointed at the window. I spun around, spilling the rest of the coffee. There was no one in sight.

“Ha ha,” she said, turning to leave. “I fooled you.”

Did I mention that she (he) was only wearing a small bikini bottom?”

“Are you sure,” the voice from the next room, “that this game is educational?”

“Quite sure,” I said, wiping the last of the coffee away.

“You earthlings have a strange way of learning things,” a man’s voice sounded. “Did you hear the one about the woman praying for her husband to be cured of cancer?”

“No,” I said.

“A voice comes down from the sky and says, ‘Why hell, I sent you Charles Darwin.’” He laughed long and hard.

It reminded me of the laugh of a James Bond villain. “Jane Seymour,” I yelled, “as Solitaire in ‘Live and Let Die.’”

“Oh I’m sure,” a soft feminine voice said, “that this one is educational.”

“The study of American film is taught at our colleges and universities,” I said, “so …” I didn’t finish for I heard a car driving toward our farmhouse. Oh no. It was the wife and mother in law.

“Wait,” I yelled, “change of plans. The Jane Seymour who was one of the wives of Henry the Eighth.”

“What?” I could hear a lot of scurrying and shuffling about in the next room with the sound of car doors slamming outside. “Married to whom?”

For some reason that I've never understood,
Big Dope enjoys my company more
at some times than at others. - C.W.

“Henry the Eighth,” I yelled. “Henry the Eighth.”

Seconds later, my wife opened the door as a figure clad in a tight waistcoat and close-fitting breeches that displayed the outlines of a grossly overweight male body, waddled hurriedly from the room.

She regarded the scene. “I’m not even going to ask,” she said.

“It’s an educational game,” I said, “about the Elizabethan era, tailored to teach history.”

“Elizabeth Taylor,” a sexy voice said from next room. “Wait one.”

 

 

 

 

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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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222. Explanations

Oh no, it was “Explanation Day.” I can always tell I’m in for it when C.W. appears as a faint resemblance of Thurgood Marshall. We had decided to meet for a short walk along a downtown park. He had been in hiding for a few days while we entertained out-of-state friends and I was feeling a little blue after their departure and not wanting to talk much. I had hoped he might entertain me with another of his get-rich schemes and I could just listen.

It was not to be.

“Good morning sir,” he said.

Oh no, formality. It would be especially taxing,

“Good morning. What you been up to?”

“I greet you with much new insight,” he said. Oh boy.

“And how did you gain such insight?”

“From walking to and fro upon the earth,”

When he “goes Biblical,” on me, it is going to be a long day.

“You seem to be such an intelligent species in some ways,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your advancement from blue algae to a species capable of mechanically escaping the gravitational force of your home planet with manned craft in a little over four billion years is remarkable, truly remarkable.”

“I had no idea.”

He looked to see if I was kidding, Satisfied I wasn’t, he said, “It took us Falloonians almost seven billion,” he said.

“It’s good to know we can excel,” I said.

“Of course,” he said, “we weren’t doing it for domination.”

“Oh? Then why?”

He cocked his head in that funny way he does when his circuits become temporarily overloaded. “Why,” he said, “for the simple love of knowledge.”

I knew the other shoe was about to drop so we walked along in silence as the birds sang and vehicles sped above us on the Interstate. A hawk suddenly appeared and landed on a tree near us, a sight that would normally have delighted my alien friend. He scarcely noticed it. I braced myself.

Finally, he spoke. “Why then?” was all he said.

“Why then what?”

“Why do you elect mendacious ignorami to public office/”

“Hey,” I said. “You got your Galactic Universal Translator fixed.”

“My GUT is fine,” he said, “and I trust it completely.”

“Only I think,” I said, “we would simply say ignoramuses.”

“You are certainly proving all over again that you are one,” he said.

 

When he goes “snippy,” I usually back off. “Want to tell me,” I said, “what brought this all on?”

“Gonasxhitoowicitasan.”

“Pardon?”

“You call it ‘Ebola’ but that isn’t the galactic name.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Everyone has heard of it,” he said. “It is planted on developing planets by Castasurneans.”

“By whom?”

“They have appointed themselves as purifiers of the Galaxy, They plant a deadly, but controllable virus on developing planets.”

“Why?”

“To determine if the controlling species is worthy of existing. In their view, those that are will combine their intellectual resources in a communal effort to defeat the threat, while the galaxy is best cleansed of those who don’t.”

“Did they do that to Falloonia?”

“Some five billion of what you call years ago.”

“You seem pensive today,” I said. “Is that a bad sign?”

“We had reached the commercial corridor that we call the ‘River Market’. He stopped in front of a newspaper stand and pointed. “Look,” he said.

There was a front page article in which a congressman stated that our President was spreading the virus for political gain.”

“How did he get elected?”

“The congressman?”

“Yes, the ignoramus.”

“Someone thought they should invest in him, I suppose.”

We walked on. I was the one getting pensive now.

“So …” I began, “Can you predict our chances?”

“Look,” he said, pointing at a magazine in another stand. Its front page advertised an article stating, “Governor of Louisiana says the state won’t limit the teaching of science in state schools to fact-only curriculum.”



Isn't it a little dangerous to allow grown
men to make statements like this in front
of little children? - C.W.

I was getting worried. “Any conclusions?” I said.

“Look,” he said. There was a pickup truck waiting at an intersection. A bumper sticker read, “Got a problem? Get a gun.”

“Uh …, I said, “and?”

He stopped and turned to me, His eyes grow large and black and within them I could see a vast field of eternity in which a tiny spark growing was growing dimmer as the scene turned dark.

“You haven’t started any long novels, have you?” he said.

 

Click an ad. I have to purchase a ticket home. - C.W.

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199. Knowledge

I knew better. Everyone said I should have known better. Anyone could have told me. Would I have listened?

Apparently not.I’m visiting friends in Cincinnati, Ohio. Someone said, “Why don’t we go to the “Creation Museum? It’s just a short distance away in Kentucky.”So I thought, maybe a person should go see what it is all about.

Maybe a person should. But they certainly shouldn’t take an alien from another planet. I didn’t really. He just appeared. This young boy suddenly started following us. I knew immediately who it was but kept the secret to myself. It was embarrassing enough just to be there. It was like sneaking in to see a professional wrestling match, but some things you just have to experience for yourself.

I knew for sure it was he as soon as we reached the first exhibit that boldly stated the belief that the world was 6,000 years old. By this time he was standing with us and was evidently part of our group. He waited until a large group had assembled in front of the exhibit before he spoke.

“That’s going to come as a hell of surprise to the Roonkalarians.”

I ignored him but my friend couldn’t resist. “Why is that?” he said.

“They’ve been on their way here for a half-million of your so-called ‘years’ and they are only half way.”

A mother shielded her daughter’s ears and moved away from us. I tried to do the same but he stuck with us like glue.

He was quiet until we reached an exhibit that explained how dinosaurs and homo sapiens lived together. It was quite simple.

“It says here that dinosaurs were all vegetarians until man started sinning,” he said.

“That explains it then,” my friend said. “How they all lived together in harmony.”

C.W. said, “What is sin?”

“It’s when someone murders an obnoxious kid,” I said, suddenly realizing that a family of four had moved in beside me. I hurried off.

He was mercifully quiet until we reached a diorama depicting a nude Adam and Eve enjoying a tropical lagoon while a huge serpent hovered above them.

“Hey,” C.W. yelled for all to hear. “They ought to label this one ‘The Heavenly Hot Tub.”

I fled.

It was no use. He caught me at Noah’s Ark. There, we stood inside a “scale model” of a portion of a boat that was to have held two of every species on the planet. There was an animated diorama of an elderly Noah barking orders to workers high the scaffolding. I presume they were his sons. A small-scale cross section of the ark showed a male and female deinonychus, both docile and apparently awaiting the cruise with eagerness. That’s when it happened.

A voice rang out and everyone nearby turned to it. “Hey Big Dope,” it said, “get a load of this.”

I pretended to look around and search for the person he was addressing. No chance, he ran to me and pointed to the figure of Noah, again yelling to his workers.

“Noah was from Brooklyn. Can you believe it?”

Actually, he had a point. The voice of Noah did sound as if it came straight out of Flatbush. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw uniforms approaching and retreated from the exhibit and then from the museum.

My friends had left, pretending not to know us. One was intently studying an exhibit designed to discredit much of what Charles Darwin said and some of what he never said. The other was pretending to be part of a collection of faces depicting species close to humans, an exhibit designed disproved the tenets of natural selection.

A good job of hiding? hardly

The last words I heard were those of C.W. explaining the rudiments of space travel to a bewildered child.

I doubt that we will ever be invited back.

Plant eaters 6,000 years ago? Doubtful. - C.W.

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192. Controversies

It is said that hope springs eternal. That seems to be the case with C.W. as he is determined to “suddenly attack it bountiful,” as he puts it.

“And just how do you propose to strike it rich this time,” I said as he appeared in one of his favorite forms, Richie the member of the Young Conservatives of America.

“Easy,” he said, straightening his club tie. “I’m starting a charter school corporation."

“And?”

“It will be designed for children of parents who fear the advance of knowledge.”

“Your conservative friends.”

“Without vaguess.”

“Exactly what will you teach?”

“Controversies.”

“Controversies?”

“Controversies. In fact the name will be Controversy Charters Incorporated.”

“You must be kidding me.”

“Why would I make you a baby goat?"

“No,” I said, “you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Your species seems addicted to alternate versions of the truth. I’m simply filling a demand.”

“That’s what Al Capone said.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What makes you think you could be paid to teach alternate versions of the truth?”

He said, “Didn’t your own state just award a charter to a company that had used in its curriculum a mythical version of science, something called ‘creationism?’”

“Seems I read that.”

“Interesting,” he said, producing a set of notes. “That myth has, in itself evolved, no pun intended.”

“Evolved?”

“Yes,’ he said, reading. “It began as something called ‘creation science,’ then evolved into ‘creationism,’ then into ‘evidence against evolution,’ then ‘intelligent design,’ and finally, ‘teach the controversy’ and it has all generated a great deal of merriment within the Galaxy.”

“I’m glad we provide a service,” I said. “So what controversies will you teach?”

“Glad you asked,” he said, handing me a sheet spelling out the course curriculum, I read:

Unicorns: Nonexistant or Just Shy?

Earth: Round or Do We Just See it That Way?

Introduction to Witch Identification

Earth-Sun Revolution Realities—The Day the Earth Really Stood Still

Air and Water Pollution: Nature's Character Builders

The Life and Death of Paul McCartney

Moon Landing Conspiracies

 

Preparing Guardian Angels for Tsunamis

Osama Bin Laden: Comparative Theories

Anti-Christ Identification: The Clinton-Obama Controversies

Contrails: Government Plot or Alien Panspermation?

I said, “Maybe you should tread lightly on the alien angle.”

“Hmm.” He took the sheet from me and made a notation. “Maybe we’ll move that to ‘Advanced Placement,’ along with the 9-11 Controversies.”

I groaned. He said, “Got to go. Can I borrow your car? I have to pick up a man at the airport from Liberty University.”

This would seem even more hilarious to the Galaxy
if so many of your species didn't believe that your
Civil War wasn't about slavery. - C.W.

I must have looked confused.

“He’s bringing plans for the new building.”

“New building? You’re constructing a new school building?”

“Yes.” He beamed and smiled. “It’s going to be a replica of Noah’s Ark, with the stalls serving as classrooms.”

I slumped into a chair. “Beam me up, Scotty,” I said.

He frowned. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You know that could never work.” His face brightened. “You know that,” he said, “and I know that.” He began to make notes. “But they don’t know that.” He looked away, thought for a few seconds, and resumed writing. “Tele-transportation—How The Government Keeps it a Secret.” He thanked me, took my keys, and ran out the door singing “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

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188. Debates

Oh no, C.W. has another of his “get-rich” schemes incubating and it is a doozy. He told me about it yesterday while we were housebound by bad weather. He charged in as a thin, energetic man wearing a blue-blazer and a sporty bow tie, his face beaming.

“It’s official,” he said. “I’m going to be rich.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Legally, I presume.”

“All atop a plank.”

I thought. “Above board,” you mean.

“Exactly. Why must I repeat everything for you?”

“Never mind,” I said. “What is your scheme this time?”

“I’m going to be the Great Debater.”

“Say again?”

“Debates. I’m going to stage debates.” He smiled. “The ‘net’ is buzzing about a so-called debate last week as to whether your world is 6,000 years old or five billion.” He broke into laughter.

I said. “What’s so funny?”

“Your species,” he said.

“We’re funny?”

“Oh, hilarious.”

“You find us funny?”

“Of course,” He said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just how do you mean, ‘funny?’”

He checked to see if I looked serious, then laughed again. “We started watching your planet—we the Falloonians—when the last big asteroid hit it 60 million years ago. It was pretty boring except for the last couple of hundred thousand.”

“And now?”

“We show clips of you for entertainment … like the show last week.” He started laughing again. This time it was at least a minute before he could control himself. I waited while he regained his composure. He wiped an eye and looked at me. “Six thousand years.” Then he broke up again.

“Are you hinting that we are the laughing stock of the Galaxy?”

“Not all of you,” he said. “We take accountants pretty seriously… and railroad engineers, cowboys, music teachers, sailors, and a few others.”

I wanted to re-direct the conversation. “So what will you debate?”

“Correction,” he said. “You and I. What will we debate?”

“What?”

“You will be my thin layer of aluminum used for temporary food preservation.”

“No,” I said with a huff, “I will not be anyone’s foil.”

“Oh,” he said. “Think of the fun.”

“Fun?”

“Can’t you see us on TV debating whether or not we breathe air?”

“No.”

“How about this one?” he said, pulling a notepad from his jacket pocket. “The Theory of Sexual Insemination—If Mother Mary didn’t need it, why should we?”

“Don’t you have something to do?”

“Wait,” He said. “You’ll like this.” He read from his notes. “Disease—From Science or From God?”

You know ... I'm not sure I could make the
trip from Earth to Falloonia using
Biblical physics. - C.W.

“I need to take care of some things.”

“Okay,” he said. “You won’t be able to resist this one. “Sunrise—fact or optical illusion?”

I started to leave.

“Newton’s Theory of Motion?” he said. “Let’s ask Joshua.”

By this time I was out the door. The last thing I heard him yell after me was, “The Theory of Pi—If it is true, it would be in the Bible.”

Does anyone want to keep him for a while?

186. Myths

I found C.W. in my favorite chair surrounded by piles of paper. He was in his “college professor” form, complete with corduroy pants, sweater, and bow tie. He was frantically scribbling notes.

“What’s up, Galactic Wonder?” I said.

“Shut up. I’m busy.”

“My,” I said. “Aren’t we being a good example of interstellar love today?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I have a matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome.”

“Hmmm.” I said. “Sounds like you have a problem.”

“Why do you repeat what I say so often?” He wrote furiously and then looked up.

I said, “So what’s your problem?”

“I’m in trouble with the Elders.”

“The Falloonian Elders?”

“Who else?”

“So,” I said. “Did they find out about your experiments with the ‘wacky weed’ and your secret stash of Twinkies?” (Sweets make him as silly as martinis make me).

“No,” he said. “They have accused me of confusing facts with allegories.”

“They found out that I really can’t walk on water?”

He sighed. “It all started with this,” he said. He rummaged in the stack of papers and retrieved a newspaper clipping. He held it before me and I read that 60 percent of Americans believe the Biblical account of Noah’s Ark and the universal flood is literally true.

“And?”

“They say I must learn that, with your species, statistics like this are meant as allegories.”

“Allegories?”

“Yes, their purpose is to present universal lessons, in this case the tendency of your species to prove points with mythical statistics.”

“And the point here is?”

“They think it has something to do with your love of the printed word and its almost magical effect on your sense of homeostasis.”

“So the statistics are not meant to illustrate actual occurrences?”

“Give me an interrupt,” he said.

“Uh, you mean ‘give me a ‘break,’” I said.

“There you go again.”

“So you don’t really think anyone believes that two of every species of life on the planet, with the necessary food and water for more than a month’s captivity, fit on a wooden vessel 400 feet long?”

“Don’t you have something to do?” he said.

“Oh,” I said, “my job today is to have fun and I’m doing it.”

He groaned. “Well, at least help me.” He thrust a pile of papers into my hands. “Find me something that I can use in my report to show them that they may be correct in assuming you, that is your species, uses statistical references in a purely allegorical sense.”

It seems to me that you view statistics as a
 bunch of monkeys in a tree. Get them down and
treat them right, they'll do anything you want. - C.W.

“Doesn’t that go against your position?”

“One never wants to urinate the Falloonian Elders off.”

“Quite right,” I said as I began rummage. It only took a second. “Here’s something. You know of course that there are more than 350,000 separate species of beetles on earth.”

He grabbed if from my hand and read. His entire face brightened. “Thanks,” he said. And then he began to copy the following.

There is a story, possibly apocryphal, of the distinguished British biologist, J.B.S. Haldane, who found himself in the company of a group of theologians. On being asked what one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of his creation, Haldane is said to have answered, “An inordinate fondness for beetles.”

178. Thanks

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Peace.

150. Rage

It was to be a quiet walk in the neighborhood. I had gotten three blocks from home and crossed a major street near I-30 when I was joined by a tall, neatly dressed African-American man whom I recognized immediately as one who often strolls our city’s River Market area. He eased in beside me and we walked to the next corner before he stopped and spoke.

“This is where it happened, isn’t it?”

I stopped, thought, and remembered. “Yes, along here somewhere.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“No, but I might have. I walk this way almost daily.”

“And I as well.”

“You didn’t witness it?”

“No.” He looked wistfully at the scene. “It would have been an interesting experience to report to the Elders. Your species has a unique approach to settling disagreements.”

“C.W.?”

“Who did you think it was?”

“I never knew … I mean … has this been you all along?”

“I sometimes wander the earth without you.” Before I could speak, he continued. “But tell me about this ‘rage of the road’ that is so unique to your kind.”

“This was apparently a classic case. Two motorists got into a feud on the interstate and both pulled off at this exit and stopped. One got out of his vehicle and started toward the other. The man in the second car produced a gun and shot the man three times, killing him.”

“In front of the man’s family?”

“Yes.”

“What could cause such an angry response?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps one saw a car on the highway with one of those ‘these colors don’t run” bumper stickers?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps they each had seen one of those TV shows where the hero solves problems by beating up someone.”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe they watched that so-called news channel whose pundits tell their listeners that the government is coming to get them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps those guns of which you are so fond have an unsettling psychological effect on a person.”

“Dammit I just don’t know.”

“Have you ever carried a gun?”

“Once. For a time I carried one with me constantly, even when I ate. I stored it next to my bed at night. It was my constant companion.”

“Did it make you crazy?”

“I dunno.”

“What happened to it?”

“The United States Government took it away from me one day.”

“Well, there you go,” he said. “That’s too bad.”

“Oh no. Quite the contrary. It was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“You are weird.”

I thought this was a little bizarre coming from a shape-shifting alien and told him so.

“So we have one man dead in front of his family and another facing first-degree murder charges because of a minor fracas that either could have avoided.”

“That’s about it.”

“This worship of the gun and automobile, where do they teach it?” He pointed toward the spire of a church a couple of blocks away. “There?”

“No. They are supposed to teach just the opposite.”

“Supposed to?”

“Some of them have gotten a little off-track.”

All in all, I think music produces
a better effect on your species
than does driving a vehicle. - C.W.

“Surely your schoolteachers warn that your DNA contains dormant remnants lying ready to activate and produce violent responses during times of stress.”

I pointed at the church. “You and I have talked about this before. They don’t quite approve of teaching science to young kids.”

He stood silent for a moment. Then he lowered his head until his chin rested on his chest. “I hope …,” he said, then stopped to gather his thoughts.

“Hope what?”

“I hope that my next assignment is to a simpler planet.”

118. Similes

“I’ve been reading here,” C.W. said, with a frown on his face. “That 60 percent of public-school biology teachers don’t mention the process of natural selection.”

“Of what?” I said. I was reading a book on the ratification of the U.S. Constitution, and frankly didn’t want to be bothered by a ruddy-faced adolescent playing with his iPad.

“What your species calls ‘evolution.’”

“What about it?”

“It says teachers avoid the subject because some parents and legislators don’t approve of the topic. Is this true?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said.

“And they are allowed to teach the biological sciences?”

“Why not?”

“Without mentioning natural selection?”

“I suppose so.”

“Isn’t this a bit like teaching arithmetic while avoiding the topic of long division?”

I thought. “A bit like it, I suppose.”

“A bit like teaching physics without mentioning gravity?”

“Hmmm, maybe so.”

“A bit like teaching chemistry without including hydrogen or carbon?”

“So what is your point?”

“How did you people ever advance to the point of landing folks on your moon. You should know that’s when we first noticed you.” His freckled face sparkled in the light of his iPad.

“We had help from other countries,” I said. “Besides, those were the old days.”

“Before the founders of your ‘your neo-conservative paradigm’ began attacking the teaching process?”

“If you say so.”

“It says here,” he began as he punched the iPad again. “That one of your elected congressmen says the earth is only 9,000 years old.”

“Seems like I read that somewhere.”

“So, he is a laughing-stock and will be voted out of office?”

“No, actually, I think I read somewhere that he is quite popular among his constituents.”

“And he is in a position of establishing educational standards?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit like the CEO of McDonalds establishing dietary standards?”

“C.W. …”

“Or,” he interrupted, “A bit like the Koch Brothers establishing air-quality standards?”

“Actually, they do but …”

“Or like the Grover Norquist establishing fiscal policy?”

“Well, you may be surprised to learn …”

“Or, like Paris Hilton setting standards for behavior.”

“C.W.!” I screamed. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy?”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit like someone driving Donald Trump to greediness?”

I groaned.

“Or, driving Lindsay Lohan to drink?”

“I’m warning you …”



I'm not greedy!
I just need a lot of money for hair care.
It's like protecting a national treasure.



“Or,” he said, returning to his I-pad. “Driving teenagers to distraction?”